Seven Nights to Forever (12 page)

“Did you spend your morning at the park today?”

“No. A couple errands took up most of my day.”
Dash
, she thought with a frown, recalling her visit. But she refused to allow the worries to spoil her evening with James. “How about yourself? I assume you spent your day at your desk and not with a load of timber.”

“And why is that?”

“You aren’t stiff like you were last night.”

“I split my day between my desk and the docks, checking on a ship. I also took care of the sale of the timber. And thank you, by the way, for last night. My apologies for not giving it at the time, but in my defense I was rendered quite senseless by the experience. I’ve never before been the recipient of such attentions. You are truly a woman of exceptional talents.”

She hadn’t done much of anything except give him a massage, blatantly using the opportunity to run her hands over every inch of his body. “You’re welcome, but I believe I am the one who should be thanking you.” A flush heated her cheeks, a tingle sweeping through her body at the memory of his mouth on her most intimate flesh.

His grip briefly tightened. She swore she heard his breath catch.

“Your thanks, while appreciated, are unnecessary.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble that brushed her ear. “I enjoyed myself far too much.”

The once easy, companionable air between them was engulfed by a sharp spark of attraction. She was suddenly intensely aware of him. Of the way his coat brushed her arm. The way the clean, masculine scent of him filled her every breath. Of the strength and the power of the man beside her. She wanted to touch him, run her hands over those strong muscles she had lavished with attention last night. Press her lips to his and experience his kiss once again.

Her pulse quickened, liquid warmth pooling between her thighs. In a daze of desire, she led him off the path and toward her favorite spot along the Serpentine. He pulled his hand free from hers and removed his coat. Ignoring the nearby bench, he laid his coat out on the grassy, downward-sloping bank.

“For you,” he said with a little bow, his cream waistcoat and white shirtsleeves so very bright against the darkness of the trees behind him.

With a murmur of thanks, she sat down on his coat, adjusting her skirt about her legs folded neatly beside her. He settled next to her, one leg stretched out before him, the other casually pulled up, his elbow resting on his knee and his other hand braced behind him. It seemed so natural for him to be there, as if he belonged at her side. The night was quiet around them, the reflection of the stars above glittering like diamonds in the water. But the sight did not hold her attention for long. She looked to him, soaking up the way the moonlight caressed his profile, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones, and the fan of his lashes.

As if he had felt her regard, he turned his shoulders to her, catching her gaze. It was too dark for her to make out the color of his eyes, but she swore they had turned darker, to the deep passion-soaked green she had glimpsed last night when he had been crouched above her, his hot mouth on her breast.

Her nipples hardened, the sensitive tips pressing against her chemise, eager to be tormented anew. Her lashes fluttering, it was all she could do to keep the moan of longing inside.

He slowly reached out to cup her cheek, his long fingers curving around the side of her neck, and ever so slowly leaned closer. She felt herself swaying toward him, her lips parting, wanting his kiss more than anything. But when his mouth met hers, it wasn’t with the harsh bite of tightly leashed lust that crackled between them. Rather his lips glided over hers in a sweetly passionate kiss that went on and on.

His kisses made her feel so young, as though each one were her first, wiping away every other that had come before him. How she wished this man could have been her first. Her only.

They had snuck out into the night, escaping like young lovers. It made this night so very different. There were no obligations. No press of responsibility to see to his desires. Only a shared wish for pleasure. She did not
have
to be here with him. Yet she wanted more than anything to be right here, where she was. Next to him.

It seemed like forever and yet no time at all when the kiss shifted, the innocence falling away. With a groan that rumbled in his chest, he slanted his lips over hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth to stroke hers, fueling the flames of desire.

Then he leaned into her until she was on her back, he half on his side, his weight braced on an elbow, their kiss still unbroken. As their tongues tangled together, warm fingers drifted from her neck to brush her collarbone. She felt the clasp release, and the soft wool of her cloak was pushed aside.

She arched into him as he palmed one breast, thumb teasing the tip, sending a jolt of need straight to her core. Unwilling to lose his kiss, she blindly reached out until her fingertips located the small fabric-covered buttons on his waistcoat. A moment later she had the buttons undone and was tugging on the placket of his trousers. A quick tug and his shirt was pulled from his trousers. She delved eagerly beneath the hem, encountering bare skin so hot it almost scorched her palm. Her hands glided over the hard ridges of his abdomen, his muscles jumping beneath her touch.

So absorbed by his kiss, by the harsh breaths puffing against her cheek, by the masculine scent of him mixed with the spicy hint of sweat, and by the luxury of being able to finally touch his bare skin, she wasn’t aware he had inched up her skirt until a work-roughened hand began coasting up from her knee, leaving a path of tingling skin in its wake. At the whisper-light touch on her inner thigh, she couldn’t stifle the moan. She pressed against him, needing more, her legs falling open. One fingertip slipped over her most delicate flesh, slicked from her arousal. Gasping into his mouth, she slid a hand down to reach into the open placket of his trousers.

He dropped his head to her neck, breaking the kiss. “Oh God, Rose.
Yes.
Touch me.”

Raw and stripped bare, the heavy need in his plea turned into a ragged groan as she curled her hand around hot silken skin, carefully pulling him free of the confines of his trousers. A shudder racked his body. His mouth on her pulse, his day’s beard tickling her neck, he thrust his hips into her touch as she learned every inch of his impressive length. Her insides fluttered at the thought of his thick cock sliding into her. Taking her. Possessing her. Making her his own.

The passion built between them to almost unbearable levels; his hand between her thighs, adept fingers sweeping over her clit, coaxing the orgasm ever nearer. Then with a low growl, he shifted, moving until he was crouched above her, his white-shirted arms on either side of her shoulders. With her skirt bunched up to her waist, her legs came up to bracket his hips, welcoming his weight. Relinquishing her hold on his erection, she curved around to the sleek sweep of his lower back, sliding down beyond his loosened waistband to grip the firm globes of his arse.

He captured her mouth again, the kiss pulling her even further under his spell. The only thought in her head was giving herself over to him completely, becoming his, until the blunt head of his cock pressed against her core, jolting her harshly to her senses.

Twisting her head, she broke the kiss and pushed abruptly on his shoulders. Crouched above her, he immediately stopped.

She panted, struggling to catch her breath. The harsh bite of need rode over every inch of her skin. A part of her wanted him so desperately . . . regardless. Wanted to be with him here and now, with the moon high in the velvet sky and soft sounds of the Serpentine surrounding them. But practicality reared its ugly head. The risk was much too great.

“I’m sorry, James, but we can’t.”

“Pardon?”

Even in the darkness, she could make out the confusion on his face. “Not here, at least. I want you.” She cupped his jaw, willed him to believe her. “I do. Desperately. But before we left the house, I neglected to . . .” Her cheeks heated with more than desire. With the stinging flush of embarrassment. Why was it so hard to explain it to him? “I’m sorry. I should have known you would want . . .”

Why hadn’t it occurred to her? It certainly should have. He clearly did not want to be in her bedchamber, and after last night, this was the next logical step. She should have known he would find some way to be with her, on his own terms. But she had been too preoccupied with his request to leave the brothel to discreetly excuse herself for a moment and slip behind the silk screen to see to a sponge before walking out the door. And she highly doubted he had a sheath in one of his pockets. If he had, then he would have put it to use and she would not be in this horribly uncomfortable position right now.

“We can return to the house, if you’d like. Or I could . . .” She drifted her hand down from his shoulder.

He gave his head a sharp shake, halting her hand before she reached the open placket of his trousers. “You speak of protection against conception?”

“Yes,” she admitted, mortified it was even a requirement. A man like James should be with a woman who loved him, who welcomed the opportunity to bear his sons. Not someone like her.

“I don’t want to return to that house. I want to be with you here, far away from there.” He paused. “Do you trust me?”

She opened her mouth, but could not get the word out. It should not be so difficult to say yes. But she held back. The years had taught her that trust was not something to be given lightly.

“I will not spill myself inside of you. You have my word.” His still-labored breaths fanned her cheek. “You trusted me enough to come here with me. Trust me in this. Please.”

It was a risk she had never been willing to take. Never even been given a reason to contemplate. But . . . it wasn’t a risk with him. Her gaze swept over his face. Stark, raw need coupled with conviction. He did not demand. He asked. She knew in her gut that he would not take anything she did not want to give. If she refused him, he would not vent his frustrations on her, but simply abide by her wishes. A gentleman to his core. And her trust in him was all-complete.

Her lashes swept down and she nodded.

“Thank you.” The words rumbled around her, more breath than sound. The relief clear as the night’s sky.

His mouth found hers and passion ignited, seizing hold of her once again. She arched into him, needing him, wishing she could bare every inch of her body to him. To press skin against skin.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pushed inside, stretching her to her limits in the most delicious, scandalous way. Buried to the hilt, he paused. A tremor shook his powerful body.

“Rose, you’re so . . .
perfect
.” The reverent awe in his voice stole the breath from her chest. Then he eased back and glided in deep.

His mouth was on hers, on her cheek, on her neck, the most beautiful words whispered against her skin, as he plied her with slow, purposeful strokes, lavishing her body with the utmost attention. Never in her life had she felt more cherished. Yet she could sense the effort he expended to hold back. It was in the rock-hard biceps beneath her hands, in the hoarse grunts echoing from his broad chest.

She clung to him, lost in the lush tide of sensations, never wanting it to end. The waistband of his trousers rubbed against her inner thighs, the linen shirt grew damp beneath her touch, his pace quickening, matching the need building sharply within her. Shifting up a bit, he changed the angle of his thrusts. Each downward stroke grazing her clit before hitting the most sublime spot inside of her. Again and again. Until the orgasm overtook her, bringing waves of mind-numbing pleasure chasing down on her, her high cry of completion lost in the hot recesses of his mouth.

The climax still rocking her senses, he abruptly pulled back, pulling free of her body, and reached down. An unprecedented urge to hold him close, to keep him with her, seized hold. But she fought it down and instead drank in his groan of completion as a shudder racked his body.

He flopped down on his back on the grass next to her. His panting breaths were sharp and hard in the night air. His hand found hers and he tugged. “Come here.”

She eagerly rolled over and moved to lie on top of him. Her legs on either side of his, her cheek pressed to his chest. Strong arms wrapped around her, held her close. A languid, lazy haze fell over her.

The rhythm of his chest gradually slowed until it approached normal levels. She felt his lips brush the top of her head.

“I should see you back home. Can’t very well keep you here.”

“All right,” she said, not wanting to move from the warmth of his body, but knowing he was right. She couldn’t remain with him forever. Only for the night.

She reluctantly moved off to kneel beside him and smoothed her fingers through her hair, doing her best to tame the tousled mess. He stood and quickly righted his clothes, tucking in his shirt, doing up his trousers, and buttoning his waistcoat. She handed him his coat and he slipped it on. He helped her to her feet and then reached down for her cloak, gave it a snap, shaking the grass free, and settled it about her shoulders. She smiled as his large hands fumbled a bit with the clasp before it snapped together.

“Turn around.” At his furrowed brow, she clarified, “Your coat. I doubt you want to bring blades of grass home with you.”

She took her time smoothing her hands down his back, whisking the proof of their night from the navy wool, pausing to briefly knead his shoulders and receiving a soft rumble, almost a purr, in response. Then hand in hand, they went up the bank and followed the path to the entrance of the park in companionable silence.

They reached the back courtyard far quicker than she would have liked. She stopped outside one of the pools of golden light streaming from the kitchen windows.

“Will I see you again?” She wished she could take the words back as soon as they left her lips. Why had she opened herself up to a “no”? Bracing for the inevitable rejection or vague, noncommittal response, her gaze flittered to the door.