Run Wild (30 page)

This was what it meant to feel desire.
This raw ache, this longing to touch and be touched. This
wildness
. The power of it overwhelmed her. She ran her fingertips along the hard angle of his jaw, the corded muscles of his neck, the breadth of his chest and shoulders. He was made all of iron and steel, so strong and fierce and male... and yet she did not fear him.

It left her awestruck—the way he trembled at her touch, the knowledge that she affected him just as much as he affected her. He was so commanding, could face any danger with cool courage and boldness... yet she made him tremble. Every touch of her lips, every light brush of her fingertips sent a shudder through his hard body.

This gift he had given her, this new awareness of her own feminine power, took her breath away. It made her feel strong in a way she never had before—as strong and fierce and bold as he was.

She kissed his throat, feeling the throb of his pulse beneath her lips. And then she kissed the brand on his chest, so softly, his heart pounding against her mouth. She enfolded him in her arms, aware of his scars beneath her hands. So many marks of suffering... so much pain. She caressed them gently, wishing she could erase his hurt with only a touch, take away all the anguish that he had endured.

“
Samantha.
” His voice unsteady, he pressed his cheek against hers, his beard like rough silk against her skin.

Her heart was beating as hard as his when he claimed her mouth again. Her lips were swollen and sensitive from his kisses yet she was eager for more, could not get enough of the taste of him, so spicy and masculine. She felt tingling, alive, burning all over. She twined her arms behind his neck, drawing his closer, unable to get close enough.

Suddenly his hands were everywhere, his caresses rough and gentle, quick and unbearably slow. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs and fingers working magic that sent sparks flaring through her. Then he shifted position, bending his head to stroke one hard nipple with his tongue, taking the peak into his mouth, suckling. She cried out, a jagged edge of need slicing through her, pleasure whirling tight. It seemed impossible, but she felt every touch of his lips not only at her breast but
everywhere
—deep inside, low in her belly, in the sensitive flesh between her thighs.

Not even the word
desire
was enough to describe all that he made her feel, the newness of these sensations, the intensity of her emotions.

He shifted his attention to her other breast, moving his hand down over her waist, the curve of her hip... lower. He brushed a fingertip along her thigh and every muscle of her body went taut, anticipation whirling through her. She knew what to expect this time, opened to his caress with a soft moan.

And then he pleasured her as he had before, that first magical night they had shared. She could feel the liquid warmth flowing from her like melting honey, heard his low sound of approval as he felt it too. He stroked her softness, his fingers sliding over her... and then into her.

She gasped at the shocking intimacy of it, her voice a sharp cry. Wordless. Yearning. He explored and teased her, his thumb seeking the small bud hidden within her curls, urging it to fullness. Pressing against it in light circles that became faster, then slower. Gentle. Maddening.

He swept her upward to the heights she had experienced before in his arms—but tonight she wanted to share it with him, in a way she didn’t fully understand. All she knew was that she wanted, needed...
more
. To feel surrounded by his strength, his fierce masculine heat, his astonishing tenderness. Tonight she didn’t want him to hold back—not when she needed him, cared for him.

Loved him.

The thought flitted into her mind and out again before she had a chance to react, for he was gathering her beneath him, his body covering hers.

“
Yes.
” She felt startled by the husky sound of her own voice, even as she instinctively tilted her hips upward. “
Oh, yes
.”

“
Angel
, slow down.” His words were a strained rasp. “Wait—”

“No more waiting, Nick. No more holding back.”

“There might be pain for you.”

“I don’t care.” She moved her hips against him and he lost the rest of his warning in a groan.

The intensity in his eyes was so vivid she could see the color even in the darkness, the burning emerald green. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She could tell that he meant it in ways that went beyond physical pain.

“Nick...” She put all she felt in her heart into her voice, her eyes. “I trust you.”

He buried his head against her shoulder, muttering indecipherable words, curses, something that almost might have been a prayer. She slid her hand down his back in a slow caress, feeling how he was rigidly controlling himself. How he was shaking with the force of his need for her. The same need she felt for him.

“No more holding back,” she whispered again.

He went still.

Then with one last oath, he reached down and unfastened his breeches, shoved them down past his hips.

She inhaled a startled breath as she felt the size of him, that male part of him hard as steel, pressing against her thigh.
God’s mercy
.

“Hold on to me, angel,” he commanded roughly. “Hold on and don’t let go
.
”

His lips covered hers again, his tongue dueling with hers, distracting her for a moment. His fingers parted her soft folds, guiding the smooth head of his rigid arousal against her.

All at once she felt the pain he had warned her of—but it was only a momentary twinge as he pressed into her... deeply. Groaning, he thrust forward in one slow stroke. And then the pain was gone, lost in a sensation of pressure and fullness, hot and shockingly sweet.

It was beyond anything she could have imagined, the feel of him becoming part of her, his hard length filling her so completely, his body joined to hers.

Her mind spun out into bliss as the two of them became one.

~ ~ ~

Nicholas struggled for sanity and could not find it. For the first time in his life, he was on the brink of losing control. Close to shattering after only a single thrust. He held himself completely still, oaths tumbling through his brain. She felt so good, too good—her slender arms holding him close... her silky wetness so tight around him... her scent on his skin, that blend of sweetness and lush earth now mixed with the muskiness of her arousal. She uttered a soft sound of bliss, of discovery, and it almost undid him.

He wanted to go slowly, to draw out her pleasure, to make it last. But gazing down into her face, he couldn’t think, couldn’t even take a breath. He could feel her heart pounding against his, knew he would never forget the way she looked in that moment—her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, her gold-flecked eyes locked on his, filled with wonder and desire and something more... some emotion that was at once soft and strong.

He shut his eyes, dusted kisses over her chin, her jaw, brushed his cheek against hers.

“
Samantha
.” He wasn’t capable of any other word but her name.

He whispered it again as he withdrew slowly, then surged forward, sinking into her, stunned by the mind-numbing pleasure he felt. Better than any of the fantasies that had rioted through his head from the moment they met. Her slender body shivered and arched beneath his, melting in the same fire that seared him. Her sleek depths were like hot silk, yielding to him, clasping him tight. With every long, slow thrust, she uttered a husky moan, the sound more arousing than any he had ever heard. He nipped his way down her throat, his teeth marking her skin. She began to raise her hips, already finding and matching his rhythm.

No more holding back.
Too many sensations, too many feelings collided in him all at once. A primitive need to ravish and claim. An unexpected warmth and protectiveness. He felt as if he were splintering into pieces, knew that only she could hold him together.

God help him, he hadn’t expected it to be like this. Nothing had ever been like this. She was so much more than desirable or beautiful. She was exquisite. Elegant and brave, graceful and giving. A lady who deserved silk sheets and candlelight in an expensive suite in Grosvenor Square. Yet she was here, with him, giving herself to him on a bed of leaves in the darkness of Cannock Chase. Giving herself completely, joyously.

He began to move faster, losing control, losing himself to her, to the heat, the sweet friction. Balancing his weight on one forearm, he reached down with his other hand to caress the lush curve of her bottom, kneading, lifting her against him as he penetrated her deeply. She gasped, her nails marking his arms, and rained kisses against his mouth, his jaw, the straining muscles of his neck. He wound his hand in her hair, tangling his fingers through the golden mass. She wrapped one long, silky leg around his hip. The sound of their breathing became harsh and hot. The shackles that bound them together seemed to burn his skin. Their mouths came together again, fierce, hungry.

Her feverish response sharpened his need to an unbearable edge. He thrust harder and faster, arching his hips to rub the base of his shaft against the sensitive bud that brought her the deepest pleasure. Her head tipped back and she uttered a low cry that became his name, a tremor rippling through her, so strong he could feel it, her inner muscles suddenly tightening around him.

And all at once a shattering explosion of ecstasy shook them both. He was falling, drowning in a sea of heat and light and her with him. Their voices blended in the darkness, her husky cries a soft contrast to his low groans as wave after wave drenched them. Together, they surrendered to the rush, to the night, to each other.

And long after it had ebbed, he could not bring himself to let her go.

~ ~ ~

The distant sky had turned to gray, the stars fading with the moon, and still they did not stir. Nicholas reclined against a tree, one knee raised, Samantha dozing in his arms. Neither of them spoke, both reluctant to break the peace. The two of them had spent so long in battle—with each other, with the world—that peace felt rare and special.

She lay naked against him, her arm draped across his midsection, holding him as tightly as he held her. He had fastened his breeches again but her fingers lazily traced along the waistband, her passion-bruised lips curved upward in a smile that it seemed nothing could erase.

She managed to look thoroughly wanton and utterly angelic at the same time. So sweet in his embrace, so trusting. His heart couldn’t seem to slow down.

You matter to me.

The words she has spoken earlier kept running through his mind. It had been a very long time since he had mattered to a woman. To anyone.

Longer still since anyone had mattered to him.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been this... important to him. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep denying it.

You matter to me, too, angel.

He shut his eyes, unable to say it, the confusing feelings knotted together in his chest, the words choked up in his throat.

Then he became aware of moisture sliding down his ribs... from tears on her cheeks.

“Samantha?” he asked softly, hearing the concern in his own voice as he reached down and tilted her head up. “Oh, hell, I—”

“No. No, it’s not that. You didn’t hurt me,” she assured him. “I’m not crying because of that. It’s because I...” She hid her face against his chest. “You’ve given me such... you make me feel...” Her voice became a whisper. “Nick, I can’t even put it into words.”

Her gentle admission made an ache unfurl through him. She filled a place inside him that had been dark and empty for a very long time. Filled it with warmth and light and...
life
.

“Even with a shackle around my ankle and lawmen on our trail,” she said with a little laugh, tracing lazy patterns along his chest with one finger. “I’m happy. For the first time in years... I’m happy.”

He tightened his arms around her. He could almost feel her happiness seeping into him. It was a completely new experience. One of many he’d had in the last few days.

Never, in all his innumerable liaisons, had he ever made a woman happy. He’d made love to them, made light of them, even made room for them on his ship now and then... but mostly he had made them miserable.

But Samantha was different. Unlike any woman he’d ever met. Her courage, her cleverness, and her impetuous enthusiasm for life all captivated him as much as her beauty. And her innocence and gentle heart affected him in ways he had never imagined possible.

Made him yearn for all the things he had denied himself these past six years, he thought with a painful tightness in his throat. Warmth, kindness. Caring. Things he had thought he didn’t need to survive.

Samantha made him see—as if a blindfold had been ripped from his eyes—that he’d been living only half a life. That in every way that mattered, he
had
died in that fiery wreck six years ago.

And he realized as he held her that he didn’t want to let her go, not tonight... and not tomorrow.

He didn’t want to send her off to Venice, where she would no doubt attract suitors by the gondola load. She might think she’d enjoy an independent life there, but with her beauty and charm, she wouldn’t be alone for long. Some rich baron or count would snap her up.

Just like he had snapped up the gypsies’ ruby.

He frowned as he imagined the Italian
signori
prowling around her villa, each man intent on making her his own, maybe making her his wife—

He cut that thought short as a surge of possessiveness shot through him. The image of Samantha with another man, lying in the brocade-draped bed of some Italian count...

“Nick?”

“Sorry.” He had to consciously relax his hold on her, realizing he was squeezing too tight.

Possessiveness was yet another new experience. He had never been possessive with a woman before. He cherished his own freedom too much to interfere with anyone else’s. He had never expected or demanded exclusive relationships with his mistresses.