Resolve, p.12
Resolve, page 12
“Are you certain that is what you want?”
Catherine raised her head from his breastbone and gazed at him. Her expression was a mix of unfulfilled lust and naive wantonness. Saying nothing, she carefully took the same finger she had poked him with, and placed it over his mouth, tracing the curve of his lips with her finger. She narrowed her eyes in concentration.
He opened his mouth slightly and she pulled gently on his lower lip, letting her wayward finger trace the soft warmth inside. He couldn’t stop the groan that escaped him as she then put the same finger on her own bottom lip, sliding it back and forth. She had no idea what she was doing to him, but the sudden swelling in his breeches threatened to show her if he didn’t regain some measure of restraint. Taking her finger from her mouth, Catherine looked up at Rian and smiled. It was a sultry smile filled with the promise of sex, yet still managing to stay deceptively innocent.
“You haven’t kissed me.” Now she sounded more petulant than drunk.
“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”
“You said I would know…that I would ask you.”
He nodded “I remember.”
“Well, I’m asking.”
She tipped her head back and he could see the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. Dear God, did she have any idea what she was doing? The brandy had done its job well, perhaps a little too well, and Catherine’s inhibitions had gone far beyond relaxed. They had been totally stripped away, giving Rian a glimpse of the woman that lay beneath. Someone he had seen once before when she had been delirious. All she needed was his touch to awaken her.
Rian could feel his own blood racing, pounding in his temples as he repositioned his hold around her waist while his other hand moved from her back to stroke the smooth column of her neck. He was rewarded with a throaty sound that reminded him of a purr, but not the kind the barn cats made. This belonged to a much larger cousin.
Catherine suddenly snapped her head up, loosening some curls from what had started out as a most becoming coiffure. The escaping ringlets danced enticingly across her cheek and forehead, teasing him. Rian found her disheveled appearance utterly alluring. She placed her hands on his upper arms to steady herself.
“You came to me…to my bedroom,” she whispered, huskily.
“Catherine, I—”
His explanation was lost as without warning she threw herself at him. Standing on tiptoe she flung her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his as she sought to fulfill her own desire. It was a repeat of the shared moment in the snow, only this time Rian was not so certain he was going to let her go without educating her a little.
Although he was sure she must have received her fair share of kisses in her past, it was obvious she had never been kissed by anyone possessing a modicum of skill. And certainly never by a grown man. Gently he unlocked her hands from around his neck and moved her away from him. Disappointment covered her face like a veil.
“Oh.” She paused, swaying gently from side to side. “I knew you didn’t want to kiss me.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Rian said. “I’m going to kiss you, but I’m going to do it properly.”
She looked up at him with fire dancing in her eyes as he sat down in the chair she had recently vacated and pulled her onto his lap.
Her nervousness broke through the alcohol-tinged euphoria as she asked, “What should I do?”
“Enjoy it.”
Any conscious thought Catherine may have had was lost as Rian covered her mouth with his. She had forgotten how soft his lips were, and she gave an involuntary gasp as she felt his tongue trace the corners of her mouth. It was all the invitation he needed, and he seized the opportunity to explore her mouth. Catherine moved her hands so she could grip the front of his jacket and Rian held her fast, cupping the back of her head so she could not pull away. His tongue began a slow slide in and out of her mouth, tasting and teasing and, like a man dying of thirst, he drank his fill of her.
With his need temporarily satisfied, Rian lifted his mouth from hers. He kept his face only inches away as he watched for her reaction. Catherine kept her eyes closed. Her breath had an uneven hitch to it as she tried to absorb the sensations released in her. The flame that had been ignited exploded and it ran, course unchecked, through her body. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked at him. Lust had darkened the normal cornflower blue to a rich shade of indigo, and the glazed look Catherine now wore owed nothing to the housekeeper’s excellent wine.
“You were right,” she told him, her voice quavering with need. “It does get better.”
Rian groaned. Leaning forward he tipped his head and traced the hollow at the base of her throat with his tongue. She threw her head back as he continued to burn her skin with his mouth, while his fingers stroked the flesh above her bodice. Feeling his hair sweep silkily over her cleavage, Catherine took his face in her hands.
“Do you want me?” she asked, staring at him with wide eyes.
He stared back, wondering how much of her question was her own desire, and how much was the brandy. “What do you mean?”
She made a tutting sound. “I am not so naïve that I don’t know what happens between a man and a woman when they are lovers.”
“And this is what you want? To have me as your lover?” It was a dangerous question to ask in the dark, and Rian knew it. But it did not stop him from delivering it in a seductive whisper.
Catherine said nothing, but her eyes were large and luminous as she offered herself to him. His fingers continued to stroke her flesh, dipping far enough inside her bodice to make her shudder as a thrill of sexual anticipation ran through her.
“Do you want me?” she repeated, her voice trembling as her hunger began to rise. Dear God in heaven, he wanted nothing more! But… “Not like this,” Rian said, firmly.
It was not the answer she had been expecting. “I don’t understand.”
Taking her hands in his, Rian spoke. “Well, for one thing I would prefer you to be sober. That way I will know that it is truly me you want in your bed.”
“Why would you think I want anyone else?”
The question, Rian thought, was more for Catherine to answer than himself. Uncertainty made her catch her lower lip between her teeth, and he felt the heat in his groin flare.
“I’m trusting that you will,” he said, speaking slowly, “but I need to be sure your decision will bring no regrets.”
She turned her head away and he sensed the change in her immediately. This was more than disappointment. Rian had failed in some way, and now he could sense the wall Catherine was erecting with frightening speed. It was a wall that threatened to keep him out. And then it hit him, and he silently cursed himself for the fool he was. He had been thinking of her as any other young woman on the verge of realizing her own sexuality. But Catherine wasn’t just another virgin waiting to cross the threshold into womanhood. The violence and brutality forced upon her had tainted the pleasure she ought to have derived from such an act, and he had been so consumed with his own need to possess her, he had forgotten that fact. She had not. She could not.
She had offered herself to him out of need, but the wrong kind of need. Catherine was misguidedly trying to prove something to herself. Hoping that Rian would take what she was so willing to give in the mistaken belief it would make her whole again. Help her feel no different from any other beautiful woman. But his rejection told her she was tainted and undesirable, and before he could say anything she scrambled awkwardly off his lap.
“I’m sorry.” In her haste to put distance between them, she stumbled. “Too much wine has made me forward. I beg of you to forgive my vulgar behavior.”
“What are you sorry for?” Rian demanded in a low voice as he jumped up from the chair and caught hold of her arm. “Kissing me or wanting to give yourself to me?” He took her nod as an affirmative to both parts of his question. “Well, I’m not,” he growled more at himself than her, pulling her into his arms.
This time the kiss was not soft or gentle, but filled with the raw hunger she had awakened in him. As he plundered her mouth, Rian pulled her against him so she could feel his hardness. He was rewarded when she snaked her arms about his neck, burying her fingers in his hair, and answering him with her own fierce yearning.
When they finally broke apart Catherine pushed herself out of his arms, keeping her hands stretched out before her as if warding him off. He smiled. He would yield to her request for now, but they both knew it would take more than that to keep him from her. She struggled to catch her breath, and the scent of restless longing filled the empty space between them. Rian took a step forward but the look on her face stopped him.
“No…don’t…” Her breaths were nothing but ragged gasps, and he worried she might faint from the effort it was taking to draw in air. He should have thought to loosen the laces on her gown.
“Catherine.” For the first time in his life he was unsure of what to say. He raked his fingers through his hair, already missing the feel of her hands.
God, you have no idea what you are doing to me, how much I want you, how much I need you!
Her expression told him the words had not remained in his head, but had been spoken aloud. She stared at him, and any doubt she had vanished. An innate awareness stole over her, one that all women possess the moment they realize they hold the heart of a man in the palm of their hand. The dark tint of her eyes mesmerized him, and Rian wondered how long it would be before she invited him to drown in their depths.
She came toward him and put her hand against his face. The new growth of beard scraped her palm, making her smile as she stroked his jaw. Reaching up she pressed her lips against his rough cheek. “Then make it soon,” she told him thickly, and with a soft whisper of her skirts, she was gone before he could stop her.
Chapter 16
Rian had already removed his boots, waistcoat, and shirt before a polite cough warned him he was not alone. Warily he turned around, not needing to be told who was reclining on his couch. In an eerie repeat of Liam and Felicity’s wedding night, he once again found Isabel in his room. Sitting up she yawned, rubbing her eyes as if she had fallen asleep waiting for him to return.
“Now is not the time, Isabel, and I’m in no mood for your games.” He surprised even himself with the roughness of his voice.
Undeterred by his brusqueness, she asked, “Is that any way to greet a friend who has been waiting patiently for a private moment alone with you?”
Rian stared at her. Coming to his room was a mistake, her first of the evening, but he reminded himself that her behavior up until this point had been exemplary. That she wanted something from him went without saying. The sensible part of him said he should ask her to leave without hearing another word, but the euphoria still rolling through him made him generous enough to give her the benefit of the doubt. Besides, being agreeable was surely the quickest way to hasten her from his room.
“What can I do for you, Isabel?” he asked.
“I want to ask your forgiveness for my past behavior. Assure me we can remain friends or, failing that, at least be civil to each other when we meet.”
“Hasn’t my behavior tonight been demonstration enough regarding my civility?” His eyes narrowed slightly as doubt marred her features. It made him sigh. “I have no wish to be your enemy, Isabel. I see no reason why we cannot remain friends.”
The look of uncertainty was replaced with one of relief. “Then will you share a toast with me?” She gestured to the bottle and two glasses on a small table in front of the couch.
More alcohol was the last thing Rian wanted at this moment. He had done more than his own fair share of imbibing throughout the evening, but this was Isabel, and refusing would be churlish. “Of course,” he said, watching as she filled the two glasses. “French brandy?”
She laughed softly. “I recall you having quite a fondness for it when we first met.” She gently clinked the rim of her glass to his. “I trust it still remains a favorite.”
“What would you like to toast to?”
Tipping her head to one side, she seemed momentarily lost in thought. “To not standing in the way of fate,” she murmured quietly.
Rian looked at her quizzically. She didn’t sound smug, and yet there was something in her voice that made him wary. But the arch of her brow as he hesitated made him think perhaps he was being overly suspicious. He was tired and possibly seeing things that were not there.
“To fate,” he said, raising his glass and swallowing the liquid. It slid down the back of his throat smoothly but came with an unexpected bite he didn’t recall any brandy, French or otherwise, having. Heat flared down his sternum before exploding in a ball of fire in his belly. He staggered back a step.
“Oh dear, Rian, I should have warned you. This has a particular potency with a kick like a horse.” Setting down her glass, Isabel quickly took his arm, managing to get him to the bed just as his legs gave out.
“Isabel…what…the…hell…” It was all he could manage as the room started to spin and he spiraled down into unconsciousness.
Picking up her own glass, Isabel sipped the contents delicately before addressing the now insensible figure sprawled face down across the bed. “I suppose I should have mentioned the ‘kick’ was a little something I made sure was in your glass alone.”
With a practiced hand she began to undress him. She savored each piece of clothing she removed as if she was unwrapping a treasured gift, though moving an inert body, especially one as large as Rian’s, was no easy task for a small woman. It took more than a little effort on Isabel’s part, but determination provided the strength she needed.
“Don’t worry, darling, the apothecary assured me when you wake in the morning you’ll have a hazy recollection at best, if you remember anything at all,” Isabel gasped as she rolled Rian onto his back.
Now she stripped off her own clothes, making sure each article was deliberately placed in such a way the ‘spontaneous’ abandonment would be seen at once by anyone entering the room. To a particular set of eyes the effect would be devastating, although how she would lure Catherine to Rian’s room was a problem Isabel hadn’t quite solved. Yet. But that was something to deal with later. Right now she had another, more pressing matter to attend to.
Unpinning her hair from its elaborate coiffure, Isabel carefully ran her fingers through the thick locks until she was satisfied with the tousled appearance. She climbed on the bed, and smoothed her hands over Rian’s torso, feeling the firm muscles in his chest and arms before letting her fingers drift across his taut belly. With a sigh she followed the line of dark hair that ran from his navel down to the thick nest below, and then she reached down and stroked the heavy length of him. Feeling the flesh begin to stiffen beneath her practiced hand, Isabel smiled wickedly.
The apothecary had been worth every coin he demanded, but it was unfortunate this particular potion would work one time only. Rian had never left her bed after satisfying her only once. Still, when he awoke in the morning and saw her lying beside him, she was certain she could convince him to provide a repeat performance.
* * * *
Rian knew he was dreaming.
A part of his brain simply shut down and told him to stop trying to fight what was happening because it was only a dream. It was a highly erotic and very arousing dream, but that’s all it was.
All it could be.
He couldn’t have protested even if he wanted to. His limbs felt heavy, unable to move. Even his eyelids refused to obey his command to open.
Why do you want to open your eyes? You’re sleeping.
Without hesitation he surrendered to the physical demands of his body and let the sensations he was feeling guide him. Heat sparked in his groin, and he felt himself getting harder as the blaze fanned out across his belly and down his thighs. He moaned softly and ran his tongue over parched lips.
It’s only a dream.
The cool sheet slid over his skin, caressing his legs, his buttocks, his shoulders, only—when had he taken off his clothes? He didn’t remember removing them, but there was no mistake about it. He was naked.
The hand around his cock applied a firm pressure, slow and rhythmic, moving up and down the length. A tunnel of fingers progressing with a surety that came from experience, before giving way to the smooth heat of a palm.
Ah, but whose palm? Whose hand?
He tried to reach out and offer encouragement, but his arms were leaden, and lay unresponsive by his side.
It’s only a dream.
The phantom hand became insistent, and more demanding. Other fingers stroked the inside of his thigh before moving to the outside of his leg. A nail raked across his hip bone, continuing to score a path along his lower belly. His muscles began to quiver and jump with each sensation as the fingers gently teased the thick curly hair. He moaned again and tried to move his legs, but like his arms, they would not obey his command. Don’t fight it, his brain told him. Enjoy, it’s only a dream…
He suddenly jolted as warm wetness enclosed his throbbing organ and he felt the delicate scrape of teeth over engorged flesh. A tongue licked lazily up and down the length of him, and a hand cupped his balls, squeezing gently to heighten his desire.
Whose hand? Whose mouth?
The tempo of his breathing changed, coming more rapidly with each new sensation as his seducer brought him closer to his release. Lips sucked along his shaft and the tip of a tongue toyed with the dimple in the head of his cock. And then he felt the warmth of a mouth again. The delicate scrape of teeth, not to hurt but to arouse, as the sucking pull threatened to wring him dry.
It’s only a dream.
