Devil's Bargain (24 page)

“I have always desired you, Lynette. You know that.”

She raised an eyebrow, shocked pleasure on her face. “Truly? I had
not
realized that.” She took a step toward him. “I am glad you said so.”

“Lynette…” he began, his voice strangled.

She cut him off with the smallest of gestures. She twisted her wrist, and with that simple movement pulled the library door shut behind her.

The sound exploded in his mind. “You are supposed to be upstairs,” he said. “Preparing.” It was an inane statement, indicative of a flustered mind. But it was the best he could think of, especially as he scrambled to keep some distance between them, both physically and emotionally. Talking to her, distracting her in some way, was one of the few, meager weapons in his arsenal.

Again she smiled. “I was prepared. I was waiting.” Then she sighed, the gesture pulling her gown tight across her breasts, making them almost shimmer beneath the rose gauze. “And I began to think.” She turned slightly, her eyes twinkling with merriment as she displayed herself in profile.

God, her nipples were erect. Adrian’s organ swelled to stiff attention.

“I began to think about you, Adrian.”

She walked around him. Thankfully, she did not come near enough to touch. Indeed, she cut a wide path around him to lean slowly, carefully, against his desk.

He glanced behind him. He could leave now. She was not blocking his path. But where would he go? How would he run from the image imprinted upon his brain? The picture of Lynette, draped in rose netting, leaning against his desk while her eyes danced a challenge. He could not run from that. Indeed, he
very much suspected it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Would you like to know what I realized, Adrian? About you?”

He nodded. Indeed, if she had asked him to appear before Parliament stark naked, he would have nodded without hesitation.

“I realized that everyone leaves you.”

He reared back as if slapped, but she was relentless. She continued speaking, her words gentle, but like tiny needles slipping deeper and deeper under his skin.

“It began, I suppose, with your parents’ deaths. Then the baroness. I suppose she did not truly leave you; she was merely unable to bring you to her home. And then, of course, there was Jenny.” Her voice grew a little harsher. It was a bit more clipped, though the compassion remained. “She showed you physical love, but only for a fee, then promptly left you when a better offer came along.”

“Jenny cares for me.” He didn’t realize he had spoken until he felt the pain of the words pushing past the constriction of his throat.

“Well, of course she does,” Lynette chided. “Good God, Adrian, we all care for you. But I am speaking of your life.”

She leaned forward a bit, her breasts becoming more pronounced with the movement, even as she extended her legs forward, too, showing him the exquisite lines of her calves.

“In the end, Jenny went on to become a famous madame and you cannot afford her anymore.”

He could not deny it. Jenny had done excellently for herself.

“And now we come to your hand in all this. Up until this point, everything was done
to
you. But here”—she gestured to the house around him as she continued to slice him with her words—“you became a man. You created the very situation that has pained you so deeply.”

At this point, Lynette pushed away from his desk, pacing slowly about him again, forcing him to watch the shift of her body and the slow caress of the fabric against her legs, buttocks, and long, elegant back. He tried not to look. He tried to close his eyes, but still he heard the rustle of clothing against bare skin, smelled the honeysuckle of her hair and the scent that was uniquely her.

“Lynette…” he tried again, his voice strangled.

If she heard his plea, she gave no indication of it. Instead, he heard her step behind him, and to his torment, felt her touch him. She began on his shoulders, but quickly pulled close to him, pressing her body against his back, running her hands down his chest, slipping her hand beneath his coat.

“You found women, Adrian. Beautiful women whom you brought into your home. And then slowly, carefully, you taught them.”

Her finger flicked his nipple through his shirt, and his legs nearly buckled at the flash of sensation that shot through his body.

“You brought them from innocence to awareness. You taught them all about intimacy—didn’t you, Adrian?”

She slid around, gliding sensuously as she rubbed intimately against him, all the while moving until they came face to face, her eyes intense. She studied him.

“You taught them how it feels to be touched.” With
that, she took hold of his hands, pressing them to her breasts.

Without willing it, his hands reacted. They cupped her breasts, stroking them, tweaking her nipples while she groaned and arched. Her head dropped back, revealing the curve of her neck to his hungry lips. And before he understood what he was doing, he was leaning forward, kissing that glorious expanse of flesh.

All too soon she pulled away, and his hands fell useless and empty to his sides.

“You taught us all how it feels to be stroked, Adrian,” she said as she moved away. “But not a one of us learned how to love.” She paused, and her hands dropped away from him as well, falling to her sides. “Because
you
don’t know how.”

He swallowed, staring at her, feeling a pain he hadn’t expected, an emptiness he’d never acknowledged.

“Then each of us,” she continued as she walked away from him, “each of those beautiful women you trained, you touched, you became intimate with, each of us left you because that was the way you designed it.”

He looked away, unable to bear the sight of her, unable to withstand the hunger her words sparked within him. “It was necessary,” he rasped.

“Perhaps. But part of you kept hoping we would love you.” She hesitated, as if searching for words. “Or rather, I suppose part of you wanted us to teach you. You wanted us to show you how to love, and then maybe we wouldn’t leave you. Maybe one of us would stay.” She suddenly leaned forward. “Or maybe you would finally learn how to make it less painful, less hard to say good-bye.”

He shifted abruptly, moving away from her, hurrying behind his desk as if the mere placement of furniture between them could stop his thoughts. More importantly, stop the feelings her words conjured within him.

“That doesn’t make sense, Lynette. This has always been a business arrangement. From the very beginning—”

“From the very beginning,” she interrupted, “you have been hoping someone would love you.” She came closer, stepping right up to the desk, leaning over it. “Your parents, perhaps? Jenny? Any one of the Marlock girls?”

Then he said it. He said the words he had never voiced before, never expected to voice, never even believed in before. Or rather, he very much feared he did believe in.

“There is no love, Lynette! There is only lust and hunger.” Abruptly, he surged forward, across his desk, grabbing her crotch with one hand, grasping it hard and brutally, with a crude intensity that made her cry out.

She did not jerk away. She did not even flinch. Instead, she reached for him, caressing his arm, his shoulder, until she touched his face.

“
I
know how to love, Adrian. I know what it is.”

She took a deep breath, and gradually his grip eased. She reached down with her other hand, gently opening his hand until he released her. Then she pressed their palms together and their fingers intertwined.

“I can show you.”

He felt tears blur his vision. Was this true? Was this
what he had been aching for, yearning for all these years? Was this the nameless something she had mentioned on her first night here? That thing she longed for—that
they
longed for—but hadn’t found?

“You are meant for someone else.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He swallowed, but it did nothing to ease the constriction in his throat. “I cannot change that, much as I might want to.”

He saw her nod, resignation in her eyes. “I know that, too.”

“Then why?” He spun away from her. “Why not spread your legs and have done with it?” He kept his words deliberately crude, cheapening the experience as much as he could. He did not know why he did so, except that he could not let her continue. He could not allow himself to believe this could mean more.

That anything could mean more.

“Because you need to feel it,” she answered calmly. “Because you need to know that whatever happens, tomorrow makes no difference. Whether or not I spend the next twenty years pleasuring an old man, it does not affect you or me.”

“Of course it does!” he snapped. “It is everything. Your proclaimed
love
,” he practically spat, “will go to him. Your legs will open for him.”

“Yes, my body will be his. But you are the man I love.”

She could not have hurt him more if she had taken a knife and carved open his chest. She could not love him. She could not feel such a way for him.

“No!” he exploded. He rushed around her, heading for the door. “I will not!” he screamed.

But she was there before him, grabbing his arms, pulling him away from the door. He wouldn’t have made it out anyway. He was pushing at the latch, ready to throw the door open as he ran through. But it was blocked, barricaded shut from the outside.

Dunwort must have done it. Dunwort in collaboration with Lynette.

Then, before he could accuse her, before he could bellow threats through the doorway at his servant, she was behind him, pushing between him and the door, her body both a physical and emotional barrier.

“Why not?” she challenged. “Why do you run from it?” When he ceased his struggle she straightened, standing before him without a hint of sexuality, without the tiniest sliver of seduction. Yet he had never found her more tempting.

“Once,” she said, “one time, Adrian, let me show you what love is.” She reached out, laying her slim hand upon his chest, right above his heart. “Let me show you how I feel.” She leaned forward, her whisper skating like fire across his cheek. “Let me be the instructor.”

He looked at her then. He saw the tears shimmering in her eyes, but more than that he saw the yearning within her, the need to tell him how she felt. To show him. To teach him.

How could he deny her? How could he refuse the one thing for which he had searched? The one thing she understood he could not even see.

He swallowed, finding his voice thick with confusion and pain. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. He lifted his hands in a gesture of futility, trembling from a hurt so much a part of him that he hadn’t even realized it was there.

Not until she’d arrived. Not until she stepped into his arms.

“I do,” she whispered, and then she leaned forward and kissed his mouth.

He did not come easily into her arms. Indeed, thought Lynette, nothing about this was easy. But she wanted to do it. More than that, she needed to do it. As much as her body needed breath, she needed to show Adrian how much she loved him.

Unfortunately, he did not understand. Touch, for him, had always been a matter of stimulation, of arousal and release. He had even said as much to her in that room. In Jenny’s place.

“This is what a man wants. This is what you want.”

She
had
wanted it, enjoyed it, even craved it. But when it was done, all she remembered were the instructions, the technique of how to feel this sensation, how to produce that reaction.

And when the morning came, she’d been left feeling empty, and he had seemed bereft. It wasn’t until now that she understood why. It was because there
had been no emotion nested in the movements, no love shared in the touch. And while she had reveled in the explosion, he had remained separate.

Alone.

But not tonight. Not now. This time he would know how a woman kissed the man she loved. This was the nameless something she had ached for, had desired all her life. This love. And if she had to give it up on the morrow, at least tonight she would show him. She would share it with him. And together they would hold it in their hands.

Love.

She began differently than ever before: with a kiss. On his lips. She did not bother with technique. Indeed, since she had never kissed like this before, there was no wisdom in her movements. She merely slanted her mouth across his and brushed her head back and forth.

Their lips rubbed one against the other. Softly. Gently.

Then she licked him.

It was a tentative touch, a gentle stroke, but she felt him stiffen in surprise. He might have even meant to pull away from her, but she clutched him tight, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her hands holding his head steady.

“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth. Then, when he opened his mouth on a gasp, she deepened their contact. She pressed her lips to his open mouth and felt a shudder that went through his entire body. But she did not know what to do next.

He showed her. Tentatively at first, then more boldly, she felt his tongue caress hers. They met
halfway, stroking, teasing one another. It was a sweet dance, playful and filled with wonder. She smiled and was pleased when his mouth smiled against hers.

“I love you, Adrian,” she whispered again.

She felt his hands clench on her hips. She felt his erection press into her belly, but still his kiss was tentative, his movements uncertain. So she said it a third time.

“I love you.” She kissed him again.

This time their mouths met on a frenzy, probing deeper, harder, dueling rather than dancing, taking rather than giving. It was a delightful match, filled with hunger and power, and all too soon Lynette surrendered, opening herself wide, allowing the stroke of his tongue to fill her mouth. She let him feast there, taking what he wanted while she arched in submission, open to his desire.

Then suddenly he ripped away, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He buried his face in her shoulder. Fear made his entire body taut, corded, and immobile.

“I want you,” he rasped. Then he took another gasping breath. “I want you too much.”

She lifted his face, pulling him upward so she could see his eyes, so he might believe what she said. “There is no too much from the man I love. You have been alone too long, Adrian. Let me love you.”

She felt his body jerk in reaction, but he forced himself still. “I will hurt you,” he said. “The first time always hurts.”

She shook her head. “Not with the man I love. And I love you. Let me give you what you need.”

And with that she kissed him again. This time her touch was possessive. She seized his lips, kissing
him with demand, letting him feel her hunger and her need.

For
him
.

He shook his head, drawing away as he stumbled backward. “I do not understand,” he said.

She followed, pursued him, and finally caught him by his desk. But she did not touch him. He was there, leaning back against the surface, his hands clenching the edge, his head bowed in defeat. She looked at him, her heart breaking.

“Love is not something to understand, Adrian. It is something to be shared. To be felt.” Again she stepped forward, pressing her hand to his heart. “Can you not feel it?”

He looked up at her, his eyes haunted. His hand trembled against hers. “I feel you. Only you.”

Her sight blurred, washed with tears. “It is a good beginning,” she said as she pressed forward, closer to him.

She felt him laugh, a short burst of sound filled with self-mockery. “You are more than I can handle, Lynette. You always have been.”

“Never.” Then she leaned in toward his heart, using her fingers to unbutton and separate his shirt. “Let me show you, Adrian. Let me tell you what I wish.”

She pushed him back as she moved, and he relaxed enough to give her access. She pulled the shirt from his shoulders, and the movement exposed his broad chest to her gaze. To her kiss.

“I wish to spend my life with you, Adrian,” she said, and she pushed him down to lie on the hard surface. “I would help you build your home brick by brick, day after day,” she said as she kissed his chest.

The soft prickle of his chest hair tickled her cheek, and she smiled at the feel of it. Then she brushed her hands across the glorious expanse of skin, kissing where she willed, kneading the muscles that rippled beneath her fingertips and finally nibbling at the flat disk of his nipples.

“I would bear your children, Adrian. I would raise them and teach them and laugh while you played with them.”

Her tongue explored his chest, nibbling where she willed, glorying in every hitch of his breath, every shift of his body. Meanwhile, her hands found his trousers. She was awkward in her efforts, but successful nonetheless as she released the fastenings.

“I wish to wake with you every morning and go to sleep beside you every night,” she said. Her tongue teased the whorls of hair around his belly. “And during the day I would listen while you griped about the price of mutton or cursed the weather that was stunting your crops.”

She found him, hard and eager as he pulsed beneath her fingertips. But she pulled away, choosing instead to draw off the remainder of his clothing. He tried to help her, his hands clumsy and urgent, but she stopped him, pressing his hands down to the desk, pulling the last of the fabric away by herself.

When she returned to his side, he was not lying down. Instead, he was half upright, his eyes glittering with hunger. “I want to touch you,” he said. “I want to touch all of you.”

Nodding, she stepped backward. Then she slowly twisted her hands behind her, working the hooks that held her dress from behind. She knew the movement
thrust her breasts forward, and she smiled as Adrian’s gaze locked on them.

“Your babes would suckle at my breasts,” she whispered, and was startled by the sudden rush of hunger that burned in his gaze.

Her dress slithered to the floor. Then, naked to his gaze, she stepped into his arms.

“I would stay with you every day of our lives, helping you, loving you, never abandoning you.” She leaned forward, once again finding his mouth with hers. As she dropped soft kisses across his lips, she whispered her last wish. “You would never be alone because I would be with you. Always.”

She felt him shudder at her last word, like the forewarning of a dam breaking. And since he needed to be released, needed to let his pain burst free to drain away, she repeated her vow.

“With you.
Always.”

It was too much for him. Too much for his restraint. There was no bed, but he grabbed her nonetheless. First he clutched her to him, burying his face in her breasts. He suckled there, stroking, kneading, but it was not enough.

Within moments he had reversed their positions. He stood, hauling her into his arms. Still he kissed her, licking, stroking, caressing whatever he could touch, whatever he could find.

And she allowed him. More, she opened herself up to him, arching her back as he took her breasts in his mouth. Laying herself backward as he found her belly. Widening her legs as he pulled open her thighs.

His hands were all over her. His mouth was everywhere. It was frenzied and glorious where he touched
her, and she writhed against him when he put his hands inside her.

“Lynette,” he cried out, and she smiled, knowing what he wanted, knowing what they both needed.

She was at the edge of the desk, her legs spread wide as he stood between them, stroking her insides, opening her up to his caresses. But that was not what she wanted. So she leaned forward, grasping him with her hands, stroking him just as he caressed her.

“Please, Adrian,” she begged.

“It will hurt,” he responded, his face twisted in agony. He held himself away.

But she would not let him. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she drew him forward. Suddenly she clenched her legs, impaling herself upon him.

She cried out, the pain as shattering as it was incredible. It flashed through her body like a fire; burning her, releasing her, changing her.

“Lynette?” he asked, and she could hear the restraint in his voice. And the fear.

But she was too breathless to answer. Too focused on the glorious expansion he gave her. The wondrous feel of him inside her, filling her, one with her. It took a while to absorb. But soon she grew accustomed to it.

And she wanted more.

“Lynette,” he gasped. “I cannot hold on much longer.”

Opening her eyes, she saw it was true. He was sweating with the effort to stay still, his muscles clenched as he stood, frozen in place.

“I want to feel you,” she whispered.

With a groan, he began to move. Grasping her hips, he lifted her slightly off the desk, shifting her to a better angle as he pulled himself in and out of her.

She, too, began to move, arching backward, throwing her pelvis forward as she reveled in his every push.

She felt the tension begin. Indeed, it had been coiling tighter and tighter within her since the moment she had donned her dress. But now it was more. This time the tension curled around them both. The tightening felt better, thicker.

She heard his gasping breaths. Knew he was coming close. “Oh, God,” she cried out, amazed that it could be this incredible. Awed by the heat and the rhythm and the beat as he thrust against her and in her again and again.

“I love you,” she whispered, and then the rush exploded through her. Her body clenched. Her mind spun. And Adrian came with her.

She heard him cry out, felt his body convulse.

He, too, exploded.

She saw it in his eyes. Their gazes were locked together, fused as tightly as their bodies, and when his body released, she saw his eyes fill with wonder. Their muscles trembled, quivering with reaction.

Then he spoke, his word a plea as much as a promise.

“Always?”

She nodded. “Always.”