Captive Rose (37 page)

"
Shhh
, Leila, do not
fight me," Guy murmured, his warm breath finding a ticklish place beneath
her earlobe. "I have not deceived you. You have deceived only yourself.
Surely you know a man and woman sleep little on their wedding night. There is
too much love to be shared."

"I don't love you!"

"Ah, but I love you," he said huskily. "More
than life itself. That gives me plenty to share with you until the day you
admit you love me, too."

"That day will never come—"

"It will!" Guy insisted passionately as he
gently but firmly drew her chin around to face him. He caressed her jaw and
throat, his eyes searing hers with unflagging conviction. "It will."

Leila gasped as his mouth came down on hers, his kiss
so achingly tender that she felt it all the way to her toes. His lips were
startlingly warm and he pressed lightly, as if savoring the taste of her. His
tongue felt like velvet when he flicked it across her wet lips, then he parted
them and probed deeper, his kiss becoming rough as he stroked her inner
softness.

His kisses went on and on for long breathless moments, growing
so demanding, so irresistible she could not help but respond with equal fervor.
She scarcely realized she had fallen back onto the mattress until he lifted his
head. She was facing upward and staring dazedly into his eyes, her arms wrapped
around his neck.

"I want to know everything about you, Leila,"
he said ardently, caressing her cheek. "Everything. You are a wondrous
mystery to me, like that brightest star in the heavens. I want to know what
makes you smile, what makes you laugh" —he seized her mouth in another
deep, prolonged kiss, breathing his next words against her parted lips when he
pulled away briefly—"what makes you moan and writhe in pleasure."

Leila was so dizzy from his impassioned kisses that she
did not protest when his hand slipped under her
nightrail
and glided slowly up her leg. His touch was whisper light, his fingertips just
grazing the curved line of her hip before sweeping upward across her belly to
the rose-scented hollow between her breasts. She sighed aloud when he cupped a
firm mound and squeezed gently.

"So you like it when I do this," Guy
murmured, trailing his tongue down her throat as he ran his roughened palm
across a sensitive tip, back and forth, back and forth, until she thought she
might surely scream. "Tell me, Leila. Tell me if you like it. I want to
know."

"Yes," she breathed, tossing her head. "Yes!"

"Then I'm sure you will enjoy this even more."

Leila's eyes grew wide as he suddenly flung back the
covers and brought himself up on his knees beside her. Then taking the thin
fabric of her
nightrail
in both his hands, he ripped
it in two. As her delicately limbed body was bared to his gaze, he straddled
her with strong, muscled thighs the size of her waist and bent over her
breasts, flicking a taut, rosy nipple with his tongue.

"How do you like this, my beautiful love?" he
asked huskily, circling first one aureole,
then
the
other, with what felt like a wet ring of fire. His caresses were no longer
gentle but fierce and possessive.

Leila could not
answer,
her
throat was so constricted with pleasure. She had already surrendered to the
sensual power he wielded over her. All she wanted now was for him to continue
what he was doing to her . . . to feed the sweet madness that was escalating
inside her like a fever.

As he covered a tingling nipple with his mouth, drawing
upon it hungrily,
incredible
flashes of heated
sensation surged through her, and she pressed her hands against his thighs, her
fingers splaying spasmodically against skin and corded muscle. She thought
fleetingly of his hard arousal so close within her reach and was tempted to
caress and stroke him as she had been taught. But something deep inside her
forbade the wanton impulse. A tiny inner voice told her she must hold some
small part of herself back from this man who had taken everything from her.

The voice was suddenly silenced, Leila's thoughts
scattering when Guy spread her legs wide and knelt between them. His lips
forged a fiery path along the soft undersides of her breasts and then down her
taut belly.

"I know what will please you, my lady wife,"
he whispered hoarsely, his tongue dipping into her navel. When she arched in
delicious surprise, moaning softly, he raised his head and smiled roguishly at
her, his eyes stained dark blue with passion. With a low growl of laughter, he
licked a sensuous trail to the downy black hair at the juncture of her thighs.

Leila cried out as he cupped her buttocks and lifted
her to his mouth, his panting breath as hot as his tongue which speared into
her. She clutched the sheets, her thighs tensing in excitement, wholly overcome
by his wet, thrusting assault. An intense pressure was building inside her,
radiating from the tiny swollen bud where he teased her so relentlessly.

"No more, please . . . It is too much," she
begged him almost incoherently, bucking and twisting. She pushed frantically at
his shoulders, her nails leaving red scratches. "Please . . ."

Guy ignored her cries, pressing further into her warm,
seductive fragrance. Her taste intoxicated him, exciting him beyond measure. It
was all he could do to contain his own burning desire, yet he wanted to drive
her to the brink of ecstasy. Only when she began to tremble uncontrollably, her
moans becoming throaty whimpers, did he rise above her. Catching her wrists
high above her head, he embedded himself to the hilt within her slick softness.

"Ah, Leila . . . how I have dreamed . . ."

He said no more as her hot sheath tightened inexorably
around him. He began to move within her, pulling back, then straining into her
again as far as he could reach. He wanted to go slowly, to prolong the sweet
agony that was consuming them both, but it was impossible. His movements became
bold and fierce, made all the more so as she began to writhe beneath him, her
hips rising
seductively to meet his every thrust. He was
shaking and on fire from want of her, his own climax looming ever closer.

"Come with me, Leila . . . love," he urged,
the scorching pressure in his loins like nothing he had ever felt with any
other woman. "Come with me. Now!"

For a breathless instant Leila marveled that she was
not torn in two by the sheer size of his pounding flesh, then in the next
moment, she was being carried away with him upon a wave of such blinding
rapture that time ceased for her altogether. She was oblivious to all but the
wild beating of blood and heart, then a throbbing rush of wet, blazing heat,
deep, deep inside her . . .

She could not say how many minutes passed before she
felt Guy release her wrists and lift his weight to his elbows, but it was long
enough to allow their frantic breathing to ease. She opened her eyes to find
him gazing down at her, smiling tenderly.

"I take it I pleased you well, my lady," he
said, brushing her swollen, love-bruised lips with a kiss that was as light as
air. He moved his hips provocatively against hers, their bodies still joined as
one. "I think you can guess how well you pleased me."

She did not answer, a furious blush creeping over her
cheeks and spreading down her throat to her high, upturned breasts. Seeing it,
Guy chuckled. He bent his head and was about to draw a soft pink crest into his
mouth when she gasped, trying to twist away from him.

"What are you doing?" she asked
incredulously. "We have already—"

"Surely you don't think I have had my fill of you,
my love," Guy cut in huskily, feeling himself grow hard again from her
abrupt movement. God's blood, he would never have enough of her! He stroked a
delicately boned shoulder, reveling in the silkiness of her skin. "Wedding
nights
are
meant to last well into the morning. There
is still much I'd like to share with you, and I believe you have things to
share with me." He dragged his gaze from her puckered nipples and stared
into her eyes. "Tell me more about those sensual arts you were taught in
the harem, Leila. What special techniques did you learn?"

Anger swept her. How dare he expect her to share her
erotic knowledge with him! To do so would be a final betrayal of Jamal and
everything she held to be right and decent. When she returned to Damascus, she
would still possess at least some of her innocence.

"Anything I learned in the harem was not for your
benefit, Lord de
Warenne
," she said tartly. "Those
skills are reserved for my husband."

"I am your husband, Leila."

"Not my rightful husband!" The minute the
words were out she regretted them, for Guy's powerful body tensed, his eyes a
dark, stormy hue.

"This afternoon you became my wife before God and
man in the holiest of ceremonies," he said with quiet fury. "Your
consent was witnessed by me, the priest, and King Edward. If that does not make
me your rightful husband, Lady de
Warenne
. . ."

To her utter amazement he suddenly rolled onto his
back, carrying her with him. Her hair, loosed from its braid, spilled over them
like a veil of glistening black silk, and she braced her hands on his muscular,
sweat-glazed chest. She could feel his heartbeat race beneath her fingertips as
he seized her around the waist and began to move slowly within her, his
breathing coming harder, faster, his eyes burning into hers.

"I told you that the day would come when you would
admit your love for me. If that means I must also wait for you to share
yourself fully with me, everything that you know, everything that you are, then
so be it! But understand this, woman. You are mine!"

Leila felt her anger fading as raw excitement gripped
her, his deep thrusts stoking flames of desire that she thought had been long
since quenched. There was no use fighting him. His sensual power over her was
far too compelling.

But that did not mean he was gaining any hold on her
heart, she told herself, losing all control as he drew her roughly toward him
and nuzzled her breasts. Her body might surrender, but not her soul. She would
shelter it against anything he might say or do while she watched for the time
when she could leave him and his futile love behind forever . . .

Her defiant thoughts fled as passion overcame her, his
glittering blue eyes sending her an unmistakable challenge.

You will love me,
Leila,
his gaze seemed to say.
One
day, you will love me!

Guy captured her lips, kissing her with a possessive
fire that drove her ever closer to flinging herself from that shimmering
precipice . . .

God help her. No matter how often she assured herself
otherwise, deep down she feared she already did love him.

Chapter 2
0

"My dear girl, wake up! You must bathe and dress
quickly or we'll miss the opening festivities." Leila's eyes flickered
open and she half sat up, surprised by the trio of female faces looking down at
her. She recognized the plump Matilda de
Warenne
, countess
of Surrey and wife to Guy's overlord, John, but not the two other well-dressed
women.

Had she met them last night at the coronation feast?
she
wondered dazedly. Guy had introduced her to so many
people after they had returned as husband and wife to the great hall . . .

Guy. Leila glanced at the empty space beside her and
realized for the first time that she was alone in the bed.

"Of course he's gone, child. Your husband is
jousting in the king's tournament today. He's been up since dawn preparing for
his match."

Since dawn? Leila's cheeks grew warm. Obviously only
she had fallen into an exhausted slumber after the abandoned lovemaking that
carried them into the early morning hours. Her wanton thoughts scattered when
she felt a friendly tug on her arm.

"Up with you now, Leila. Your husband will be most
anxious to see his lovely bride seated in the royal pavilion when he rides onto
the field. I know you must be bone-tired from your wedding night, but we'll
surely miss . . ." Matilda paused when the two younger women standing
beside her tittered, quelling them with a not-too-severe glance. "Have you
met these ladies?"

Leila shook her head. "I'm not sure. Yesterday was
such a blur—"

"Of course it was," the countess interjected
kindly, patting her hand. "I still can't believe your brother . . . On the
other hand, I suppose I can—" She stopped, clearing her throat, and
gestured to the pleasant-faced woman on her left, who dropped a quick curtsy. "This
is Lady Margaret Gray, and this" —she nodded to the other woman, who had
very pale, pinched features that were pretty nonetheless— "is Lady Blanche
de
Hengham
. They're both married to knights who serve
my husband. In fact, their husbands are also riding in the tournament."

"It's a pleasure," Leila intoned with a small
smile, remembering the expected niceties Guy had taught her on the way to
London.

As the two women smiled warmly, the countess added, "I
brought Blanche and Margaret along this morning because I thought you might
like to sit in the pavilion with some young women your own age. Guy left me a
message asking me to allow you to sleep as long as possible, and I have, but
now we must hurry."

Leila gasped and hastily covered her breasts as Matilda
matter-of-factly threw back the covers.

"Oh heavens, child! I possess the same equipment
as you, only much more padded. Now out of bed with you and into the tub before
the water grows cold."

Leila quickly obeyed her, recalling that Guy had said
the countess was like a mother hen not only to her brood of seven children but
also to the wives of her husband's knights. Now it was clear that she, too, was
under the countess's maternal wing.