Desire and Deception (24 page)

Then in a low growl, so low that Lauren thought she might have imagined it, Jason swore.

"Bloody,
bloody
hell," Jason mumbled again under his breath.

The insane jealousy that had kindled a blind rage in him was fading, leaving behind guilt and self-contempt.
Again,
he thought disgustedly. Again he had attacked the woman he had planned to make his wife. He couldn't remember when he'd last lost control with a woman, but in his desire to have Lauren, he hadn't even waited to shed his clothes. He had taken her like a trollop from the streets, pounding into her with a relentlessness brought on by four years of frustrated longing.

And yet she had reached the pinnacle with him. She hadn't feigned that writhing response or those cries of passion. Had she learned in her trade that such ardor made a man feel his own power? How many men had she given herself to with such abandon?

Not that those questions mattered now. His dream was a mere obsession, an aberration of the mind. He couldn't take a high-class Cyprian to wife, regardless of his personal feelings. He owed more than that to his name, to his breeding, and he had an obligation to the illustrious title he had inherited but never wanted.

He would fulfill his promise to Burroughs, of course. She wouldn't be required to sell her body again for gold, for she would be rich enough to afford whatever she desired. And when he completed his business with her, after he handed over her fortune, he would sail for home and not look back—if
he could.

Jason lifted his head to search her face, his brows knitting with concern. "Are you all right?"

Hearing the grimness in his husky voice, Lauren regarded him in confusion.
All right?
She was still dazed by the shattering experience of the last few moments, her body limp and exhausted. Her position was awkward and uncomfortable, to say the least, and she found it hard to breathe. Yet she felt warm and sated and more completely alive than ever before. She wanted to savor Jason's closeness, the heat and heaviness of his powerful body.

When she nodded, Jason eased his weight from her and stood, adjusting his clothes. Shakily, Lauren raised herself up on her elbows, and was shocked when she looked down at herself. Her breasts were bared lewdly, her nipples glistening and swollen from Jason's attentions, while her skirts were bunched up around her waist and her pale thighs still parted in an erotic invitation. This couldn't be her. Not this wanton creature with the flushed skin and disheveled clothes. Feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment in the silence, Lauren pushed her gown down to cover her bare limbs and slid from the desk to her feet.

She was straightening her bodice when Jason held out a linen handkerchief. "You look like a Haymarket doxy with that paint on your face," he said quietly. "Wipe it off. You need no artifices to enhance your beauty, and I need no reminder of your occupation."

Lauren flinched before giving him a wary glance, and for a moment Jason thought he would have to force her compliance. But then she silently began to scrub away the traces of the cosmetics. Jason raked his fingers through his hair, wondering how he was going to repair the shambles he had made of this evening. Catching sight of the broken crystal on the desk, he retrieved another glass and poured himself a large measure of brandy, then sank heavily into one of the chairs.

Lauren watched him, trying not to think of what had just happened between them, of how effortlessly Jason had brought her to that shattering, gasping release. It had shaken her that he should have such control over her. And his silence now made her feel like she had committed some dire offense, or more painfully, that he had made love to her and had found her wanting. As the dull ache between her thighs began to throb, she made a shaky attempt to gather her shredded pride about her. "Was I so very bad?"

His blue eyes found hers, and she was surprised to find his gaze held uncertainty. "You know very well you weren't. But I didn't mean to take you so roughly. My only excuse is that it has been some time since I've been with a woman. Forgive me, please."

Lauren smoothed the green satin of her skirt. "Well," she replied after a time, "if you are quite finished with me, perhaps now I may go. You can have no further need of me."

Jason's mouth curved with self-mockery as his desire suddenly rekindled. "I wouldn't say that precisely, Miss Carlin."

"I
. . .
I wish you wouldn't call me by that name."

"Why not?
You
prefer to remain incognito? Don't you intend to claim the fortune you left behind in England?" When he saw the flicker of alarm in her eyes, Jason cocked his head to one side, contemplating her. "Have I stumbled onto a secret? You don't wish anyone to know you're an heiress?"

Lauren only stared at him, wondering what he was driving at.

"It seems I've discovered a point of leverage," he added when she remained silent. "But never fear
,
I'm prepared to bargain. Are you not curious to hear my . . . proposal?"

Lauren found her voice. "I don't care for your bargains and conditions and proposals. They don't interest me."

Jason leaned back in his chair, crossing his long legs at the ankles. "You were willing enough to bargain four years ago. And I was going to promise my silence in exchange for—" He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Ah, but you said you weren't interested."

"In exchange for what?" she demanded with a frown.

"I still want the night you promised me."

His reply was low and soft, a velvet murmur that stroked her, but Lauren's eyes widened at his audacity. He was blackmailing her!

Yet she couldn't dismiss his offer without careful consideration. In the first place, she still owed him money, and she didn't like being indebted to a man who could wield such power over her with merely the force of his personality. Moreover, he could expose her to Burroughs if he chose.

"And then you will let me go and not say a word about knowing who I am?" she asked, realizing she couldn't risk refusing him.

"If you truly wish it," Jason said softly.

Lauren searched his face, trying to determine whether or not she could trust him. At last, she said in a voice that trembled slightly, "It seems again, you leave me no choice."

The gentle look in his eyes faded.
"No, sweetheart.
You will always have a choice. But whether you're wise enough to make the right one remains to be seen."

"You are very sure of yourself."

"Sure of myself, yes," he said solemnly, "but not sure of you. The last time you drugged me and ran away. I can't help wondering what tricks you will try next. Even now, when I seem to hold all the trump cards, I'm not at all certain of winning."

Lauren regarded him with puzzlement. "You speak in riddles. What trumps? What game are you playing?"

Jason waved his hand in dismissal.
"Nothing.
Come, Lauren, I'm waiting for your answer. You are free to go. The choice is yours."

Lauren's glance went to the door and then back to Jason. He was wrong, she thought as she took one hesitant step toward him. She had no choice, or at least no will to resist the force that seemed to draw her to him.

He seemed to sense her capitulation, for his expression softened. "Come here," he ordered, the quiet timbre of his voice playing on her senses.

Slowly she closed the distance between them, until she was near enough to touch him. Her pulse skittered wildly as Jason rose to his feet and stood towering above her.

"Now, kiss me."

It was his fascinating aura of power, Lauren decided as she obediently closed her eyes and tilted her head back to receive his kiss. That was why she felt so helpless and overwhelmed whenever she was so near him.

"No, sweetheart, I expect you to do the honors. I don't want to be guilty again of forcing you."

Lauren's lashes flew up as she looked at Jason questioningly. He was watching her intently, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Oh, those blue, blue eyes. Fathoms deep. A woman could drown in those blue depths. Taking a deep breath, Lauren moved closer and stood on tiptoe. Pursing her lips, she planted a brief kiss on his chiseled mouth, being careful not to touch any part of his large body.

Jason gave her a wry smile, shaking his head. "Nor do I want the kind of salute reserved for cousins. You can kiss better than that. Put your arms around me and do it properly this time. And have pity on me, I beg. Make it last a while. I might not be the recipient of your favors again."

Pity was not what Lauren was experiencing as she warily placed her hands on his shoulders. Confusion, breathlessness, desire, and a great deal of mistrust, yes. But she couldn't imagine anyone feeling pity for this man who seemed to be the very ideal of masculine beauty. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself against the startling physical attraction she felt for him and slowly encircled his neck with her arms.

He refused to make it easier for her by lowering his head, so she was forced to move closer, pressing almost full against him. She felt herself suddenly quivering, but Jason stood very still, his hands at his sides, waiting. If it weren't for the gleam in his blue eyes and the rapid heartbeat that seemed to mingle with hers, Lauren might have imagined herself attempting to embrace a statue.

Except that the lips that waited for her were infinitely warm and tender. She wasn't at all prepared for the melting rush of feeling she experienced with that kiss. It was gentle enough to draw the very soul from her body. And it had every nerve ending in her body clamoring for more.

Her lips parted beneath his, hungering for the taste of him, and when he wouldn't give enough of himself, she slid her tongue into his mouth. Her boldness gained her the response she was seeking: Jason's breath quickened as his arms came around her.

Lauren pressed even closer, tangling her fingers in his sun- kissed hair. It was hard to convince herself she was doing this for a debt owed. She
wanted
to kiss him. The vital current that flowed between them was warm and vibrant and infinitely arousing, and she wanted it.

She could feel her pulse beating wildly as Jason's hands slowly stroked her back, gliding effortlessly down the smooth satin to caress her buttocks, and up again, to fondle the silken skin at her nape. And by the time his fingers gently cradled the back of her head, she was trembling. His arousal pressed against her thigh, hard and demanding and urgent. . . .

She was startled when Jason lifted his mouth, breaking off the heated embrace.

He was breathing heavily as he cupped her face in his hands. "Lauren," he said hoarsely, urging her to look at him, "before this goes any further . . ." He wanted her to understand why he had been so angry. And he needed to explain his reasons for bringing her on board the
Siren
before he lost control of himself again. He had known where a kiss would lead.

His searching gaze caressed the perfect oval of her face, the golden-green cat-eyes,
the
lips that had tasted like wine. "I have a confession to make. I never intend for you to return to the gaming house tonight. And when I demanded a night with you in exchange for my silence, I wasn't being completely honest. I want more than a night with
you
. . . .
I want all of you.

Lauren gazed up at him with passion-glazed eyes. "I know," she replied, her voice a husky murmur. "You are very obvious about what you want, Jason Stuart."

The same passion flared hotly in his eyes. "And you want me as well," he said softly, his thumbs brushing her delicate cheekbones. "Say it, Lauren. You want me, too."