Scandalous (21 page)

“All right.” Priscilla could see the force of his argument. She felt as if she could not take another step. Even the invigorating little discourse with John had not revived her enough to set out walking again. She slid down until she was lying on the ground and turned onto her side. Then she closed her eyes and fell immediately asleep.

John sat gazing down at her. He brushed his hand across her cheek, easing a strand of hair away from her face. She stirred in her sleep and squirmed backward, until her back was flush against his legs. She snuggled into him. Heat flooded him at the feel of her, warm and pliant, against him.

He told himself that he was a cad for thinking the things he was thinking, especially after the ordeal Priscilla had been through. But then he remembered the way she had kissed him in the shed, when their passion had overflowed its bounds and swept them away. He found that once he started thinking about that moment, it was difficult to think about anything else.

John stirred restlessly, shifting his position. He wondered what it would be like to have Priscilla lying beside him every night, to wake up to her each morning. It sounded like heaven to him. He wanted her, and he was beginning to realize that he wanted her always and forever, not just for the moment, not just to satisfy the lust that gnawed at him whenever he was around her. The more he thought about it, the less sure he was that his lust for her could be satisfied so quickly and easily. He suspected that it might plague him for the rest of
his life, that as soon as his thirst for her was slaked, it would spring up again.

It struck him that what he was thinking about was marriage. What else lasted for a lifetime? The thought was amazing. He had known Priscilla for such a short time. Yet he could not deny that the thought of being married to her was quite pleasant. They must give it a little time, he supposed, must make sure of their feelings. He might know what he wanted, but he knew he could not assume that Priscilla felt the same way about him. After all, she was a gently reared girl, not used to… He frowned. Not used to
what?

He did not even know what sort of life he could offer her. He did not know whether he was a pauper or a robber baron. He did not know if he had a home or, if he did, where it was. He had no family, no ties, no past. Hell! He did not even have a name to give her! John was damned if he would marry her as Mrs. John Wolfe. Worse than that, for all he knew, he already had a wife or fiancée waiting for him somewhere, worrying about him and wondering where he was.

No. He could do nothing. He should not even think of Priscilla or a future together until he had solved the mystery of who he was. He had to have a life to give her. Until he did, no gentleman would even speak to her about the possibility.

He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the log, thinking about Priscilla. Thinking about the future—or his lack of it. Probing the black recesses of his memory, hoping for something that would make sense, that would spark some
bit of understanding in him. Slowly his eyes drifted closed. His breath shifted into a deep, slow rhythm. He was asleep.

P
RISCILLA OPENED HER EYES AND BLINKED.
It was dark all around, with only a faint light far above her. She was on her side, something heavy lying over her arm and chest, and there was a soft warmth all up and down her back. She felt deliciously enveloped by heat. A long, mournful noise sounded, and she knew that it was what had awakened her. Just an owl, she thought, and closed her eyes, snuggling back into the warmth behind her.

An owl?
Her eyes opened again, her foggy mind stirring.
Where was she?
She was lying on something very hard. Hazily she tried to turn over, but she could not; the weight was heavy.

As she moved, a voice mumbled in her ear, and the warmth behind her shifted. She remembered then that she was lying out in the woods with John. She turned her head, and as she did, her hair brushed against his face. She found herself looking straight into his eyes as they opened. His gaze was as vague as hers had been, but he smiled at her, and his arm moved, his hand sliding possessively over her breasts and down to her waist. Priscilla could feel the sudden heat that emanated from his flesh. The combination of heat and the touch of his fingers made her own body come immediately alive, aching with desire. Sensations and emotions overwhelmed her mind, which was not yet functioning fully.

“Beautiful,” he murmured huskily, continuing to explore her body, and he began to nuzzle the side of her neck, his lips gently nibbling and kissing the sensitive flesh into arousal. “Priscilla…”

His fingers fumbled at the buttons of her dress. Priscilla hastened to help him, unbuttoning from the bottom until their hands met in the middle. Then he slid his hand beneath the cloth, onto the soft cotton chemise, caressing her stomach and breasts. One tug at the ribbon across the top of the undergarment and it came undone, loosening the chemise all the way down. His sensitive fingertips slipped beneath the loose cloth and onto the orb of her breast, stroking the supremely soft skin. Priscilla moaned, thinking vaguely that she should not be doing this, but she found it far too difficult to think
why
she should not.

Had it been another time, had John not awakened to find Priscilla warm and willing in his arms, he would have tried to stop the course they were taking. He had decided, just hours ago, before he slid into sleep, that he should not even think about making love to Priscilla, knowing that he could offer her nothing until he regained his memory. But hazy with sleep, coming awake with her mouth only inches from his, his hand on her body, John did not even think. He only acted on the hot, hard desire that was coursing through him.

He dragged down the top of her chemise, revealing her soft white breasts. The globes quivered faintly, the pink-brown nipples tightening in the cool air. Passion slammed like a fist down through him at the sight of them, budding eagerly. He let out a groan as he cupped one breast in his hand. It filled his palm, heavy and soft. He stroked his thumb across her nipple, as he had done
last night through her dress, and watched the swift response. His hand roamed her breasts, taking each nipple and rolling it gently, caressing and teasing them so that they pebbled, loving the feel of them growing harder in his hands.

He glanced up at Priscilla's face. She was flushed, even in the dim light, and her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in heavily. She was the very picture of a woman in the grip of desire, and the sight stirred John even more. He bent and kissed her nipple. She jerked, moaning, in response. Smiling faintly, he kissed the other one and looked back up at her. Her tongue crept out, wetting her lips, and her breath came faster.

Cupping her breast, he took the nipple between his lips, rubbing and pressing it with velvet pressure, then lazily wetting it with his tongue. He heard Priscilla's quickly indrawn breath and felt her arch beneath him, startled and aroused. He traced the nipple with his tongue, licked and circled it.

Priscilla was flooded with wild, delightful sensations as his mouth worked its magic on her breasts. Her hands clenched into fists, and her heels dug into the ground, tension building in her with each movement of his hot, wet tongue. She let out a choked moan as he pulled the nipple into the damp heat of his mouth and began to suckle it. It seemed as if a cord ran directly from her nipple, so amazingly alive and sensitive, straight down through her into the core of her being. With every pull of his mouth, every stroke of his tongue, the cord tugged and pulled, sending bursts of flame into her loins.

She reached out, her hands digging into his hair and clenching frantically with each new wave of delight. By
the time he moved to her other breast, she was almost sobbing with passion. Her legs moved restlessly, the ache between them growing and throbbing. She squeezed her legs together, moaning, and her hands moved down his neck and onto his shoulders, caressing and exploring, seeking something she was not even aware of. Her hand slipped inside the collar of his shirt, touching his hot, damp skin, and she knew that that was what she wanted. She yearned to have his firm flesh beneath her fingers, to explore and arouse.

She made a wordless noise of frustration, and he sat up. His face was stark with desire, and his eyes were dark, molten pools. He ripped off his shirt, heedless of the buttons, and threw it aside. He sat like that for a moment, looking down at Priscilla, eating her up with his eyes, studying the soft curve of her breasts, the nipples proudly pointing and damp from the ministrations of his tongue, darkened with desire.

Priscilla felt the stir of the cool night air on her damp nipples, felt them tightening even more. She was also aware of the damp heat pooling between her legs, of the empty ache there that desperately sought fulfillment. She wanted to wantonly spread her legs, wanted to pull up her skirts and feel his hands, his eyes, on her there. She blushed even at the thought. But even her embarrassment and her unsureness could not keep her from reaching out and putting her hands upon John's chest. His skin seared her hands. She moved them over his chest, exploring the layering of bone and muscle, the hard, masculine nipples, the crisp, curling hairs that grew there. His flesh grew even hotter, and sweat popped out on his upper lip. He closed his eyes, a groan escaping his lips.

Panting, John reached down and took her by the shoulders, lifting her up and pushing the sleeves of her dress down her arms with fingers made clumsy by desire. When Priscilla realized what he was doing, she moved quickly to help him, twisting out of the bodice of her dress and leaving it on the ground behind her. Her fingers trembled as she reached around to her side and began to undo the hooks of her skirt. She glanced up at John once and saw him watching her, his glazed eyes fixed on the movements of her breasts as she twisted and pulled. Then she lay back down atop the bodice and began to push the skirt and petticoats down onto her hips.

John was quick to help her, hooking his hands in the waistbands and drawing everything, petticoats, skirt and underpants, down to her knees in one swift movement. Priscilla kicked them off as he knelt there, drinking in the sight of her completely naked before him. His eyes roamed over her breasts and down to the plain of her stomach and abdomen, taking in the sharp thrust of her pelvic bones and coming to rest on her legs and the soft thatch of hair that lay between them.

“You are so beautiful,” he said huskily. “I could look at you forever.”

Priscilla lay quietly beneath his gaze, stirred by the heat in his eyes. He reached out and laid his hand upon her chest, skimming it down over her breast and stomach in the same way that his eyes had touched her. Her flesh quivered under his touch, exquisitely sensitized, so that she felt the texture of his skin as it moved along hers. Priscilla jumped a little when his hand touched the thatch of hair, and he paused. He traced his forefinger over and down onto her leg, then back up and across to
the other leg. Gently he moved up the inside of her legs, teasing them apart.

Priscilla stirred under the sweet torture of his fingers. She wanted him to do more; she wanted him to touch her at the center of her heat. Yet the thought of it frightened her, too. Tension built in her as his fingers teased her, advancing and retreating, until before long she was so aching for release that she arched her pelvis upward, silently seeking him.

At that moment, he slid his fingers down into the crevice between her legs, threading through the soft, curling hair and onto the slick, hot flesh. Priscilla shuddered at the touch and bit back a groan, aroused past anything she had ever known could exist. Gently his fingers worked between the folds of flesh, down and up, grazing over a little nubbin and making Priscilla twist and moan in response. She clenched her fists on the ground beneath her, digging into the soft moss. Unconsciously she opened her legs wider, giving him greater access to the deep recesses of her femininity.

John sucked in his breath at the silent invitation. Passion pounded in him until he was almost dizzy with it, hard and aching for a release that he knew must be delayed for Priscilla's sake. He forced himself to continue to probe softly, instead of plunging himself deep into her, as he wished. Stripping off the remainder of his clothes, he lay down on his side, letting his fingers roam and explore while he took her mouth in a kiss. Priscilla quivered at the double delight. As his tongue came into her mouth, he slid a finger gently into her. Startled, she stiffened, but he slowly stroked his finger in and out, matching the movement with that of his tongue. She felt
filled by him everywhere, and the feeling was almost unbearably arousing.

He kissed her again and again while he opened her wider, filling her now with two fingers, stretching her pleasurably. His mouth left hers, trailing down her neck and to her breasts. He sucked at her nipple, flicking it to life, and as he did so he moved his fingers rhythmically in and out, and his thumb located and caressed the hot button of flesh. Priscilla whimpered at the wild sensations. She felt filled and possessed, as if he had taken control of her senses, and yet the sensation was not frightening, but delightful. There was such passion building in her that she thought she might explode at any moment.

Then he moved between her legs and, raising her hips, he began to probe at the gates of her femininity. Priscilla gasped at the unfamiliar touch, strange, yet curiously exciting. He moved slowly into her, stretching and filling her, and she wrapped her arms around him, urging him closer. He panted, sweating with the effort of restraining his passion so that he did not frighten or hurt her.

Priscilla was aware of a startling flash of pain, and then he was deep inside her, filling and fulfilling her in a way that she had never imagined. She wrapped her legs around him convulsively and held on, trying to absorb all the sensations bombarding her. He began to move within her, stroking forward and backward in a primal rhythm that left her trembling and breathless. She moved with him, taking in the slow, deep thrusts, her fingers digging into his shoulders. A moan escaped her as the tension built in her again, screaming along her nerves and tightening the knot in her abdomen.

Soon it seemed as if there were nothing to her but the yearning ache deep in her loins, the hunger that grew and expanded, sweeping her along toward some future she could not envision, yet wanted desperately. Then the knot within her exploded, hurling her into a velvet oblivion. She let out a soft cry of delight and surprise, and her body shuddered. John answered with a hoarse groan, pumping wildly into her. Priscilla clung to him, lost in a swirl of pleasure.

He collapsed upon her, sweating and spent. Slowly, blissfully, she floated back from the far reaches of pleasure. John kissed her neck and rolled off her onto his side, still cradling her in his arms. Priscilla snuggled into him, too filled with joy to speak or even think coherently. And soon they slid back into sleep.

 

T
HIS TIME, WHEN THEY AWOKE,
the pale light of dawn was filtering down through the filigree of the tree branches above their heads. John opened his eyes, aware of nothing for a moment but a deep sense of contentment. Then the full understanding of what he had done the night before jolted him. He jerked upright, startling Priscilla.

“What?” She blinked up at him. Her mind was still fogged by sleep, though she was aware of a deep sense of happiness inside her. The world looked brighter this morning, more beautiful.

“My God.” He gazed down at her blankly.

“What?” Priscilla struggled to sit up on her elbow, alarmed at his expression, and as she did so, she became aware of the fact that she was lying there naked. She woke up completely then, memories of the night
before flooding in on her. Oh, dear heaven! Had she been mad?

John's eyes went to her bare breasts, which were swaying with her movement, and desire snaked through him, despite his horror. He groaned, reaching out and grabbing one of her petticoats and wrapping it around her, hiding her from his eyes. Priscilla took it gratefully. It felt so strange to be sitting there unclothed with a man. And yet… She could not help but remember how wonderful last night had been, how beautiful. She had felt something she had never even dreamed of, and though she knew that others would probably condemn her, Priscilla found herself unable to regret it. Whatever might happen, last night would always remain in her heart.

“I am so sorry. I never meant—” John began, then stopped. “I mean, I thought I had better control of myself. If I had not been half-asleep— But when I woke up, there you were, and so desirable. I didn't think.”

“You regret what happened?” Priscilla tightened, her voice cool.

He stared at her. “No. I don't regret what we did. It was the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced.”

“Really?” Priscilla's expressive face lit up. “It was for me, too, but I didn't think it would be like that for you.”

He pulled her to him impulsively, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. “It was beautiful,” he assured her. “And you were wonderful…indescribably wonderful.”