Tempting a Devil (25 page)

“Ready?” he asked in mock seriousness. “I don’t want to frighten you with my manliness.”

She laughed as she knew he wanted her to, and truthfully, she felt a little lighthearted. Perhaps tomorrow she would face her doom, but tonight she would have Roger all to herself as she’d dreamed of since she was a girl. Well, perhaps not since she was a girl, since she hadn’t really known about this particular aspect of what they could enjoy together, but still. “I am ready. Do your worst.”

“My worst?” Roger said incredulously. “I’ll have you know that these particular assets are considered my best, by many.”

“I am duly warned,” she said. “I will endeavor not to be overwhelmed by your greatness.”

He kicked off his shoes, which were really quite ruined. Harry supposed she’d have to buy him a new pair, considering he’d ruined them in her service. Although he probably wouldn’t accept them. Perhaps she wouldn’t tell him about Faircloth until she’d bought him new shoes. She inwardly chided herself. She was searching for excuses not to tell him.

As soon as he began to unbutton his falls, she stopped thinking of excuses or anything other than Roger and how much she desired him. When more skin was revealed, Harry’s stomach lurched with excitement and anticipation. She could see where the dark strip of hair running down his torso led. It was like a path to his manhood, one she very much wanted to travel with her fingers and lips.

When he pushed his pantaloons down over his hips and buttocks, he didn’t turn away as she’d half expected. He kept no secrets, as he’d promised. She sucked in a deep breath as his erection was revealed. He was long, longer than either Mercer or Faircloth, but not as thick as Faircloth, who had hurt her. Mercer had been much, much smaller in every respect. She’d expected some of her desire to abate when she finally saw all of Roger, based on her past experiences. But just the opposite happened. Suddenly she wanted more than anything to touch him and feel him and bring him pleasure. She wanted the memory of Roger’s pleasure.

“Come to me,” she said, her voice low, raspy with desire and confusion and such
a terrible need that it made her tremble.

* * *

Roger went to her. It was far too late to say no, and no was the last thing he wanted to say. He was a selfish bastard to do it, he knew he was. He’d lied to himself and everyone else that this affair was for Harry, to show her how pleasure could be between a man and a woman, and to protect her. But the truth was it was for Roger. Because he wanted her and could think of nothing else but her anymore. Would this night cure his obsession with her? He hoped so, but feared not. Harry was more potent than spirits to him. Since agreeing to this affair he’d not had a drop to drink, and yet he felt drunk on just the sight of her awaiting his pleasure in the bed.
Bastard, bastard, bastard
.

He eagerly went to her.

At least he’d had the presence of mind to make her keep on her chemise. The material separating them would be a constant reminder not to take her. They would both find pleasure tonight, but not from his cock inside her. It would be the hardest damn thing he’d ever done, but he’d do it. He had to, or he’d lose what little self-respect he had. And since self-respect was about the only thing he did have, he couldn’t afford its loss.

He climbed up on the end of the bed and crawled toward her on all fours until he straddled her. He growled at her and she giggled. For some insane reason he adored it. He’d never actually been one for bed games. In the past he’d just shagged and then moved on to lick his wounds from his usual rough sport. But he didn’t want that with Harry tonight. Oh, a few bites and some scratches might be nice at a later date—he felt a tremor cross his shoulders at the thought—but right now he wanted to play nice.

“What will you give me for a kiss?” he asked her, nuzzling her cheek. She reached for him, but he caught her hands and held them down on the bed. She struggled lightly against him, sliding a little farther down on her pillows.

“A kiss back?” she offered.

He shook his head. “I shall take the kiss. You must give me something else.”

She looked consternated for a moment but then her eyes widened and she licked her lips nervously. He wondered what she was thinking. She nibbled her lip indecisively and then said, “I shall give you a better kiss than the one you take. A kiss … not on your mouth.”

Roger’s heart stopped and he forgot to breathe for a moment. Surely she didn’t mean …? Anticipation warred with disbelief that she knew of such things, considering Mercer’s prudish bedroom antics.

He shook his head again. “No, not if you don’t want to. I’m sorry I forced the issue.” He began to pull back, but she leaned up and bit his chin and stopped his retreat.

“I want to,” she told him. “Because I really, really want that kiss from you.” She smiled at him, and it reached her eyes and he believed her.

“All right.” He released her hands and rolled over onto his back, tugging her over so she lay half sprawled against him. He tucked her close against him, cupped her cheek, and whispered against her lips, “We’ll get there. But let’s start here.”

He kissed her then and all thought ceased except the wonder of her taste and how sweet she felt pressed against him. He turned on his side and hauled her in until there wasn’t a space between them from lips to toes. He worked his leg between hers and she moaned into his mouth and he felt the pressure building inside him and thought,
I am undone
.

He forced himself to break the kiss and began nibbling on her jaw and neck. She had the most delightful skin, so soft and fragrant and healthy. He chuckled at the thought, but there was no other word for it. Her skin was plump and resilient and it was clear she didn’t starve herself or overeat, or use noxious perfumes or maquillage to cover her flaws. She had flaws. He kissed a little scar through her eyebrow. Then he nipped the end of her nose, which, if truth be told, was not perfect. It was a little long, almost witchy. He liked that about her.

“Why are you biting my nose and laughing?” she asked, sounding a little disgruntled.

“I like your nose.”

“I like your nose, too. I like everything about you.” She shoved him back an inch or two and gave him a good looking over. “You are perfection.”

“I certainly hope not,” he told her seriously. “How utterly boring that would be. Tell me my faults.”

“You are temperamental,” she immediately replied, which was a little disconcerting. He thought she’d have to think about it for a bit. “And slightly vain.”

“I meant physical faults,” he said wryly. “But thank you for the information.”

She laughed and kissed him lightly on the lips before trailing kisses over his chin to his neck, lightly sucking. “Hmm,” she hummed against his throat, and he swallowed convulsively at how good that felt. “You don’t have any physical imperfections,” she told him, running her hands over his chest and shoulders. “At least, not to me. Every part of you is perfect because it pleases me. I shan’t compare you to anyone else, or say this
could be bigger or this smaller or that smoother.”

“What could be bigger, smaller, or smoother?” he asked in alarm.

“Nothing,” she said in exasperation. “That’s what I’m telling you. I like you just the way you are. You are perfect to
me
.”

“Well,” he said, mollified, “I like the sound of that.” He rolled her over onto her back and, leaning on one elbow, looked down at her with a mischievous grin. “My turn.” He kissed her nose. “I like that your nose is a little witchy.”

“Witchy?” she said incredulously. “My nose is not witchy.”

“Yes it is,” he told her. “And I like it much better than a boring sweet nose.”

“In that case, go on,” she said.

He skimmed his fingers down her neck and across her shoulder, bared by the wide neckline of her chemise, and she shivered, which he enjoyed immensely. “I love your skin,” he whispered. “I love the taste of it and the way it feels against my fingers and lips.” He kissed the curve of her shoulder and then lightly bit it, and her breath stuttered a bit.

“Go on,” she sighed.

He worked his way down her body then, telling her all the things he adored about her. But he was always mindful of that chemise and the fact that this was all he could give her, and no more.

When he finally tasted the very essence of her, she was writhing beneath him, the now hated chemise twisted around her waist. He found that here she tasted sweetest, and yet it was the wickedest part of her, the most irresistible. She cast a spell upon him with her desire and the moist temptation she presented. And so he kissed her and kissed her,
tried to tell her through his rough caresses and murmured words that this was perfection. And when she finally broke beneath his lips and tongue, when her climax burst upon them both and she cried out his name, he may have whispered things that were best left unsaid.

* * *

She knew she ought to be embarrassed by what Roger had just done, but she wasn’t. It had been the most glorious, intimate thing she’d ever experienced. And it was all for her. It was clear he’d enjoyed doing it, but he hadn’t even tried to attend to his own needs. He had been completely focused on her in a way that went beyond flattering to pure amazement. She’d never, ever been the sole focus of someone’s attention like that in her whole life.

How could she not reciprocate?

She’d barely gotten her breath back and was snuggled in Roger’s embrace, his hands soothing her with long, slow strokes against her back. “I want to do that to you,” she whispered self-consciously, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. But the truth was she did. She wanted to give that pleasure to him, to give it to someone she cared for and trusted, someone who had earned it, not just through what they’d done tonight, but by everything he’d done, and sacrificed, for her over the last few weeks.

He shook his head. “No, you don’t have to. I loved giving you that. Your pleasure was my reward. I don’t need more.”

She pinched his arm and he jerked with a “What the devil!”

“I said I want to do that to you,” she told him smartly. “I didn’t ask if you wanted
me to. If you truly don’t wish it, then I won’t. But don’t say no because you think I don’t want to. You couldn’t be more wrong.” She looked at him then, so he could see the truth of it on her face. He did that. She’d seen him watching her lately, judging the truth of her words by what he saw on her face. She knew she didn’t lie well. Which made his failure to demand the truth about this whole affair not just puzzling but inexplicable. And for that she wanted to do this, too. Because it meant that he hadn’t asked because he was waiting for her to tell him.

“All right,” he said, his voice strained. “I won’t say no. But I also won’t demand it. Everything we do here is for you.”

“I don’t want it all to be for me.” She sat up on her knees beside him, her hand resting on his flat stomach. “I want it to be for you, too. Or else why are you here? If I could be anyone, if you get nothing from this affair, then you shouldn’t be here. I want all of you in this bed, Roger. Not just your body, but your heart and your mind and your soul as well.” It was an impassioned speech and she surprised herself with it. It was too close to a declaration, one she wasn’t sure she wanted to give and she knew he didn’t want to receive.

He looked shocked and then a little angry. “Is that what you think? That you could be anyone? That I don’t care who I bed? Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said the last two weeks?” He started to sit up, but she quickly threw her leg over his stomach and sat on him, holding him down. He looked surprised and then wary. “I’ve told you why I won’t bed you, Harry, and I’ve made it pretty clear that it’s killing me not to do so. But I’m not, because I care for you, because I want only the best for you and I want you to have what you want, your independence. Do you think I’ve cared that way
about all the women I’ve bedded? I’m ashamed to say now that I didn’t, I should have, but I didn’t.” He sighed, a great heaving, tortured sigh. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Harry. You’ve done that to me.”

He broke her heart a little when he said that. A man still searching for himself had little to give a woman. But she’d known that from the start, had declared that she didn’t want it, and knew that she wouldn’t get it once he knew the truth. “I know who you are,” she whispered, leaning down and kissing the corner of his mouth. “You are an angel disguised as a devil. You are Roger, and I want all of you.” She kissed him then with all the passion she’d felt for him over the twenty years they’d known each other. Kissed him for drying her tears when she was young, for rescuing her from adventures, for protecting her and Mercy, and for showing her pleasures that she never knew existed.

He kissed her back. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed her desperately, and she knew it wasn’t the sort of kiss he’d shared with other women. This kiss was all for Harry.

She could feel his hard length between her legs, and so she broke the kiss and slid down, wasting no time in preliminaries. She’d done this before and she’d hated it, hated every moment of it. But tonight she was eager for it, to taste Roger as he’d tasted her.

When she took him in her mouth, he made a sound so desperate and needy that she knew she’d never have forgiven herself if she had denied him. He was heat and silk and iron in her mouth and she loved him as he’d loved her, without an ounce of shame or hesitation. She gave him all her attention and devotion, and when his hands slid into her hair and tried to push her away she resisted. She knew it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her to stay. She looked up at him then and met his heated gaze and he exploded
on her tongue, his back arching and his eyes closing as he cried out, and he was the most perfect thing she’d ever seen.

Chapter Twenty-two

“Where did you learn to do that?” Roger asked sometime later, when she lay in his arms, sleepy and sated and defenseless. His question was quiet, more than curious, even concerned. She broke his embrace and rolled away. He reached for her, but she avoided his hands and rose from the bed. It was time.