Heloise couldn’t believe she’d just said that out loud. But she didn’t want to take it back. She tensed, waiting for his reaction.
Raven paused, one hand on the doorknob.
“I need you. Stay with me tonight.”
“You don’t have the first clue what you’re saying.”
Heloise swallowed. This wasn’t her real life. This was just a temporary interlude. No one would know what happened here. She could take what she wanted and damn the consequences. She wanted him. His body, if not his heart. “I know this isn’t forever. I don’t care. I want you to be my first lover.”
His lip curled in a snarl. “You don’t need anyone. Least of all me.”
“I do.” Her heart was hammering in her throat but she attempted an insouciant shrug. “If anyone finds out I’ve been with you this past week, I’ll be ruined.”
“No one’s going to find out,” he growled. “Your family will tell everyone you’ve been ill.”
She ignored that piece of logic. “Someone might. And if I’m going to be labeled a fallen woman, I might as well find out what all the fuss is about.”
He ran his left hand through his hair in a distracted motion. The movement flexed his biceps, bunched it up tight beneath his shirt. “No. Someone has to have a care for your reputation.”
Anger warmed her chest. “Why? It’s not as if I’m ever going to marry. And I’ll be damned if I go to my grave without knowing what it’s like to be with a man.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, his knuckles white as he clutched the doorknob. “I’m not going to overpower you so you can tell yourself afterward that I forced you into it.”
“I know that.”
His eyes burned into hers. “You’d better be sure, Hellcat. Because if we start this, I won’t stop. Not this time.”
The rain beat down on the roof and the caravan suddenly seemed far too small. She could barely breathe. “I won’t want you to stop.”
His hand dropped from the door. Raven tilted his chin at her chemise, a faint, challenging lilt in his tone. “Then take that off.”
Her heart almost stopped. Oh, good God in heaven. He’d agreed!
She came up onto her knees on the bed. Her hands shook as she grasped the hem of her shift and drew it upward, slowly. The cool silk flowed over her thighs like water, and her stomach fluttered as the cold air hit it. It slid over her breasts as she lifted her arms. Her hair caught up and then dropped down her back as she drew the scandalous garment over her head.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She wanted to hide behind the fall of silk forever, but she forced herself to bring her arms down and look him in the eye.
Raven was staring at her naked body. Heloise couldn’t move. His gaze was like a physical touch as it swept her shoulders, her neck, her breasts. To her horror she felt her nipples rise, as if begging for his hands. Her stomach muscles tightened when he looked lower, down to the pale curls at the juncture of her thighs. She squeezed her knees together. A wicked pulse throbbed as she thought of his hands there, as they had been before. Heat scalded her skin.
Her initial bravery faded as the silence stretched. She felt drawn tight as a bowstring. Was this just another of his cruel jokes? Was he going to take one look at her and dismiss her again as unworthy?
Why didn’t he say something?
Raven was dying.
He needed to do what he always did, make some cruel, flippant taunt that would have her diving under the covers and safely hating his guts.
He couldn’t do it. He was tired of fighting. Tired of playing it safe. Either one of them could have been killed by that sniper today. Anything could happen at the prisoner exchange. If he was going to die, which was a distinct possibility, did he really want to go without a single taste of the thing he craved most in this life?
God, no.
Why the hell should he save her virginity for some undeserving bastard like Wilton?
Life was sex and death and pain and pleasure. You had to grab it all while you could. His pulse hammered in his throat. Of all the places he’d imagined making love to Heloise Hampden—and they’d been legion—he’d never once imagined a gypsy caravan in the rain. It was oddly fitting, though, a place out of time, something magical, a fantasy.
He let out a breath, half sigh, half groan. “A million times I’ve dreamed of you like this.”
He stepped forward until he stood directly in front of her. The height of the bed and her kneeling position meant the top of her head was level with his chin. He extended his hand.
She jumped when he shaped the curve of her waist, then inhaled sharply as his forefinger traced the underside of her breast.
“That’s because you’re depraved,” she managed shakily.
“Yes,” he breathed, half to himself. He flattened his hand over her stomach then made his way up the valley of her breasts to describe a lazy crescent over the top swell. A tremor passed through her. God, she was perfect. Small and sweet and soft. His skin was dark upon hers and he watched with something akin to amazement as he let his finger spiral down, around and around, in ever-decreasing circles until his thumb brushed her nipple and she gasped.
He replaced his thumb with his whole palm, cupping her, squeezing gently, and she gave a wordless moan and leaned into the sensation. So responsive. So trusting.
He looked down at her, a bitter twist to his lips. “You want to know the truth? I’m glad you’re scarred. Glad you’ve fallen from your pedestal into the realm of mere mortals like myself.” He flicked his thumb again and watched her lips part in wonder. “It makes you real. Makes you touchable.”
He matched the words, trailing his hand up the side of her neck until he cupped her jaw. He stroked her lip with his thumb and felt his body tighten in response as she closed her eyes. The blood was rushing in his ears and he couldn’t recall a single time when he’d desired a woman more.
He stroked her scar. “Everyone who looks at your face sees this scar. I want to know the marks no one else knows about. The secret ones only a lover would know.”
She opened her eyes, raised her hand to the center of his chest, and he was caught in the swirling lavender-gray of her stare.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He kissed her then, hungrily, deeply. Oh Christ, he should be going slowly. But he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, couldn’t stop his hands. He was feverish, shaking, so utterly lacking in his usual finesse. The scent of her filled his senses, a warm perfume of arousal that rolled off her skin and sent him higher.
He forced himself to pull back. He nibbled on her mouth until she began to mimic the movement, her lips reaching for his, clinging. And then her tongue stroked his, a warm slick slide. The taste of her was delicious, addictive, and he wanted more, this glorious rush of pleasure through his veins.
He pressed her with his body, allowed her to feel the full strength of him, both a warning and a promise. The disparity between them amazed him, made him want to weep. She was small and fragile and yet at the same time so brave and strong.
He dipped his head and buried his face between her breasts, cupped them with his hands, and heard her moan. He turned his head, cheek grazing her soft skin, and tugged a nipple into his mouth. It beaded against his tongue like a tiny, perfect pearl and she arched her back with a gasp of delight and fisted his hair, holding his head in place.
“Oh!”
This was undoubtedly stupid, but it was too late to stop now. He’d rather cut off his own arm. Heloise was the only important thing in his universe. He wanted to raze cities to the ground for her, to burn her up with the heat of his passion. He couldn’t tell her that he loved her, but he could show her in a thousand different ways. He could worship her with his body, love her with his lips, his tongue.
She didn’t protest when he lowered her to the mattress and stretched out on top of her. No, she tugged at his shirt, yanked it over his head, and threw it away. His heart sang at her impatience. This was the real Heloise Hampden, this fearsome, intoxicating, untamed creature. And just for tonight, she was his.