CHAPTER THREE

 

 

“I wish it, Hero. I wish it with every part of me.”

Harry turned her in his arms and kissed her. Her mouth opened to take him, and he was lost. She tasted of sin and purity, love and light. Her lips were sweet and his head was filled with only her as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her hard against his chest. He wasn’t sure where one kiss finished, or another started, only that he had spent his life starving for this woman, and it would take a lifetime to sate the thirst.

They both inhaled deep breaths when he finally released her mouth.

“I want you, sweet Hero.”

She hesitated.

But I don’t want to frighten you.” Harry cupped her cheek.

“I am not frightened. It is just that this, what is between us, is not something I have felt before.”

“You are not alone in that.”

Her smile was sad, and Harry wanted to kiss it from her lovely mouth.

“Men tend to say what they believe a woman wants to hear, and then do the opposite.”

“However, not me.” Harry nipped her bottom lip. “Seeing you was like being struck by lightning, Hero.”

“Surely it is madness?”

“But a wonderful madness,” Harry said.

“I want to feel passion. I want to understand what can be between a man and woman just once.”

“Has there been a man in your life?”

She nodded.

“But no longer?”

This time she shook her head.

“Your husband did not make you feel passion?”

“No.”

“Then he was a fool.” He kissed her again.

She was so young to be a widow, Harry thought, and yet he knew of others who were younger. Had her husband mistreated her? The thought turned the blood in his veins to ice.

“Please, do not speak of pasts or futures again,” she pressed her fingers to his lips. “I wish to speak of only now.”

“Very well, and now I want to kiss all of you,” he rasped. “Every lush slope and glorious inch of skin. Tell me you want that.”

Her eyes searched his face for long seconds, and there he read his answer.

“Yes I want that. Make me feel alive, Leander.”

Thank God she was no innocent. This relieved Harry, as he had no wish to stop now, was not sure he could, but neither would he hurt a woman. He felt his control slip further as she ran a hand up his chest. Blood pumped through his veins as he savored the feel of her body pressed to his.

Taking her mouth again, he devoured her this time. No quarter given, he took, and she gave.

“Christ, you inflame me, sweet Hero.” Harry kissed a line down her neck.

“I-I don’t feel myself,” she whispered, and he barked out a rough laugh.

“I have not felt myself since first laying eyes on you. But I will not hurt you; if you wish it we will simply talk, and kiss,” he added, knowing he would not pressure her if she felt uneasy, no matter that his body was on fire.

Her answer was to step out of his arms, her eyes holding his. She fumbled with the braid of gold around her waist and released it. The white material of her dress floated around her body. Reaching for the shoulder, she then released the ties, and it slid down her to pool at her feet, leaving her in a short white chemise that reached midthigh.

“Such beauty,” his voice was hoarse.

He saw the blush that heated her cheeks. Experienced she may be, but whatever fools shared her life had not complimented her overmuch if that reaction was any indication.

He closed the distance between them again, and touched the line of her neck. Trailing a finger down to her chest, then lower to the tops of her breasts above her short chemise. He could see the outline of her body through the thin fabric. The dark peak of her nipples pressed against the material, and he wanted more, needed more.

“Oh, she sighed as he slipped a finger beneath the bodice to caress her.

“Oh yes,” Harry rasped, bending to kiss the soft skin.

He felt her hands on his shoulders, pushing his cape aside, she then reached for his buttons, forcing them through the holes until she had his shirt open. It was his turn to moan, low and deep when her fingers traced the planes of his chest.

“Your touch ignites me, Hero.”

“No touch has ever made me feel as your does, Leander.”

“Then the man in your life was a fool then.”

“He was.” She looked sad again and Harry wanted to hunt down whoever had made her feel this way, and teach him a lesson on how to treat a beautiful woman.

“Will you take off your chemise and let me see all of you?”

She stepped out of his arms once again, and then taking a deep breath, she lifted the chemise over her head and let it fall to the floor.

“I had believed perfection a myth,” Harry’s eyes took in every inch of her exquisite form. Her skin glowed in the firelight as he traced each line and curve with his eyes. Long limbs, small waist, round high breasts, his eyes devoured her. Each curve and swell, every expanse of creamy flesh. The thatch of curls between her thighs had him aching to kiss her there, burning to explore the taste and feel of her. “I see now I was mistaken.”

 

Jemma sighed into his mouth as his hands mapped her body slowly, his palm leaving a trail of fire wherever it traveled. The friction of his chest against her breasts was magical, the rasp of hair teasing the sensitive tips of her nipples.

She was no longer the Jemma she knew, no longer the innocent woman; here, in this room, she was everything this man expected her to be. He led and she followed willingly. This was what she’d wanted when that thought had entered her head. A memory of what could be, something to hold close in the lonely years to come.

He deepened the kiss, his hand now wrapped around her braid, urging her closer. Dear God, she was burning but wanted, no needed more. Climbing to her toes she sank her fingers into his hair.

“More, Leander.”

“Easy, sweetheart, we have all night.”

No, they didn’t, she realized, because somewhere Thomas would be looking for her. Slipping her hands down his body, she dared to touch the band of his trousers. Sliding a finger inside as he had her bodice, she touched his skin. He was hot, much more so than her.

He lifted her finger free, then kissed it. He stepped back and pulled off his shirt in two quick movements, then boots and the rest of his clothing followed. Jemma inhaled as she looked up the long muscled thighs to his arousal. How beautiful he was. Yes, she was nervous, as she had never seen a naked male before, but excited also. She didn’t know how or why, but instinctually she knew this man would never hurt her.

Closing the distance between them, she explored his body. Touched him, letting her fingers run down his chest. The line of muscle at his neck, the curve of his shoulder, and down to the soft hair on his arm. Squeezing his fingers, Jemma then moved to the hair below his waist.

“Your touch is sin, Hero.”

“Your body was made to touch, Leander.”

“Only your touch.”

Jemma tried to ignore the thud of her heart at his words. She had no rights to this man after tonight. Therefore, she must push everything but here and now aside.

Daring to move lower, the breath hissed from his throat, so she touched the heated flesh of his arousal. Be bold, Jemma. She had misled him into believing she’d been married, and a married woman would know about a man’s body.

Leander moaned deep in his throat as she tentatively trailed her fingers down the hard length.

“Ahhh, sweet Hero, your touch is exquisite torture.”

If this was to be her only night of true passion, then she would experience everything it had to offer and partake fully in the pleasure.

“Enough now, my sweet.” His fingers closed over hers and lifted them from his body. He picked her up and lowered her to kneel on the sofa.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, stroking her cheek. “I’m sure we have never met, for I would know you anywhere.”

Shaking her head, Jemma placed her fingers over his mouth.

“No talk of the world out there, please, Leander,” she begged. “We have tonight, only tonight.”

He cupped her face and looked down at her for, and Jemma feared he could read every secret in her head.

“If that is your wish, then so be it.”

His fingers moved down her cheek to trace the edge of her jaw then lower, to caress her breasts, where Jemma ached to have him touch her. He teased the aching peak of a nipple and this time it was she who moaned. The feather-soft contact was exquisite, each brush igniting her body.

“In that mask, you look like a pagan sacrifice placed before me for my pleasure alone, Hero. A feast to devour.”

She closed her eyes as he lowered his head and the first lick of his tongue on her breast made her shudder.

The tug of his teeth on her flesh made her tremble, and when he drew her nipple deep into his mouth she gasped.

“Just feel, Hero,” Leander whispered when he’d released her. “Let me pleasure you.” He licked long heated strokes over the swollen flesh. She writhed against him, pushing herself into his mouth, urging him on. Jemma felt the desperation in both their bodies, the urgency and need as the tension built. Her fingers raked against his scalp, and he shuddered; she traced the flesh of his shoulders, and down his back, touching him anywhere she could reach.

“Leander, I feel…” Jemma could not put it in words; never had she felt this way in her life before.

He kept up the torment for several minutes, easing from one nipple to the other and back again until Jemma was sobbing, her fingers pulling at his hair. He held her still while he nipped and suckled the taut peaks, and then he moved lower, kissing each rib, and then the soft planes of her stomach.

Easing her backward, he exposed her most secret places, but Jemma was beyond caring; she wanted only what this man could make her feel. He found the small tight bud between her thighs and ran his tongue over the tiny bead in slow torturous sweeps, giving her the most intimate kiss of all.

Jemma had never experienced such torment, each stroke of Leander’s tongue wound her tighter until she feared she would shatter. It was wicked, and delicious. The silken glide of his hair against her thighs, each touch, each sensation had her crying his name. She was totally focused on the man and the feelings he was creating within her. And then he slowly eased his fingers inside her, pushing them high as his tongue licked harder, and Jemma screamed as the tension broke and wave after wave of ecstasy swept over her.

He regained his feet. Cupping her neck, he tilted her head back and drank from her mouth in a deep searing kiss that she was sure touched every corner of her soul. Her body hummed with awareness once more as he stroked a hand down her spine.

“I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I do you, Hero.”

“And I never knew this was possible… to feel what I have.”

“Then you have been with a fool,” he said before kissing her softly once more. “Your body was created for this, for my touch. You are a passionate woman, Hero.”

She did not deny his words; it was best for both of them that he believed he was not her first and that she was experienced.

Changing positions, he sat on the sofa and urged her to straddle his thighs. He opened his legs further, forcing her legs wide, exposing the damp folds between her thighs once more.

Jemma felt the heat from his eyes run over her body.

“How is it possible you look even more beautiful now? Your eyes are lit with the heat of passion, skin flushed with dew, and I doubt this one time together will be enough, Hero. Will you take off your mask and let me see you? Let me know the identity of the woman who has me under her spell?”

“Please, don’t talk that way.” Jemma wanted to do as he asked, but there was no future for them so she could not.

“This is not the end, my sweet, but only the beginning.”

She didn’t fight the kiss that followed those words. It was slow and sensual, gently re-awakening her passions. He stroked her breasts and stomach, eased her closer then rubbed the tight bead between her thighs again, re-stoking her still simmering passions.

“Oh Lord, I feel it again.” Jemma’s body was humming.

“As do I, sweetheart.”

His hands gripped her hips and eased her closer until she could feel his arousal at her entrance.

“Are you sure you want this, Hero?”

His jaw was clenched, and his eyes glittered passion. That he would ask such a question when clearly he was fiercely aroused made her realize that she was right. He would never hurt her.

“I want it.”

She tried not to stiffen, tried not to let him know she was innocent.

“Hero, are you all right?”

“Yes. Please do not stop,” she whispered against his mouth.

“Impossible,” he rasped, pushing slowly inside her.

She felt stretched as her body tried to accommodate him. Fear that he would stop had Jemma arching toward him, and then with a thrust, he was through her the barrier of her innocence, and buried deep inside her tight sheath.

“My God, you’re a virgin!”

“No, it has merely been a long while since I laid with another.”

He started to shake his head, but Jemma gripped it, kissing him as she rose, and lowered herself onto his arousal. Swallowing his groan she did so again, ignoring the bite of pain as it mixed with pleasure.

“Hero,” his whisper was a plea, and then he was driving up as she came down, again and again, until she felt the delicious heat build inside her once more. Soon the sound of their harsh breathing filled the small room.

Jemma was lifted, and then she was lying on the sofa with Leander’s heavy weight on top of her. Her hands went to his shoulders, holding him close as he continued to thrust into her. Jemma writhed, wrapping her legs around him, urging him on until she could take no more. Her cry was loud, and his deep and guttural as they scaled the summit together to float slowly down the other side. He fell on top of her, rolling to the side as the strength left his body, and Jemma held him tight, never wanting to let him go.

She stirred as the heat from Leander’s hand swept down her side. He lay facing her, eyes closed, breathing softening. She now knew what people spoke of when they referred to passion and knew her life would never be the same again. It had taken her twenty-four years to realize that passion did exist, and now she had found it she must walk away from the man who had given it to her.

She would marry Lord Crickley, and every time he lay with her, she would think of her Leander. Jemma felt the sting of tears as she realized that never again would she experience the wealth of emotion that this man had stirred in her this night. Never again would she cry out as he touched her breast with his lips, or stroked the secret places that had made her writhe in ecstasy. Dear God, she was going to disgrace herself by weeping pitifully if she didn’t leave soon.

“Hero,” he whispered, brushing his lips on her shoulder. “My sweet Hero. You are mine now.”

Pain lanced through her, but she kept her eyes closed and lay still, just enjoying the last few minutes before she must leave this man’s side forever, enjoying the feel of his large naked body pressed to hers.

His breathing grew slower and the hand on her hip still, and slowly he slid into sleep. As she felt exhausted herself, Jemma thought it best to move quickly before she followed him. Daring a last touch, she ran her fingers over his lips before she bent to kiss them one last time. Waiting a few more minutes until she was sure he was slumbering deeply, she then moved to the edge of the sofa and then to the floor. Once she was on her feet she looked down at the man who had changed her life, memorizing every detail from his tousled black hair to the soles of his large feet. Her fingers itched to remove the mask, but she did not. It would do her no good if she recognized him, and only make matters harder should they meet again.

Blowing him a kiss, she quickly dressed. Hurrying to the door, she took the key and opened it, then closing it she locked it once more and slid the key back under. Jemma had no wish for anyone to enter the room with him sleeping and naked. Placing her palm on the door for several seconds, she blew him another kiss and then walked away.

“Where the bloody hell have you been!”

Thomas found her the minute she re-entered the ballroom.

“Have you been searching for me, Thomas?” Jemma made herself look surprised.

“Yes,” he gritted out. “And you have been missing for a long time, so tell me where you have been and with whom.”

“It was naughty of me—” She giggled. “—but I was exploring Lord Cavanagh’s home. Did you know that they have twenty rooms just on the bottom floor, if you take in all the hallways? And I glimpsed an orangery, but it was too cold to enter.”

Jemma held her breath as Thomas’s eyes narrowed.

“You are lying to me.”

“No indeed,” she rattled on. “It is a vast building. I have also encountered many interesting guests and yes,” she dropped her eyes, “I did accept a kiss.” Jemma did not betray the despair she felt.

“You are lying to me, cousin, and I want the name of the man who has upset you, and I want it now.”

She managed a credible sigh. “Really, Thomas, I am quite all right. The kiss was not as I’d expected, but that is hardly the gentleman’s fault. After all, I am not one who experiences passion, as I believe I have already told you. My disposition does not allow it,” Jemma lied.

After tonight, she would have to revise many things about her nature.

Jemma withstood her cousin’s inspection. His eyes narrowed as he ran them over her from top to toe.

“Who kissed you?” Thomas said, outraged as he focused on her mouth. “I’ll bloody kill them.”

“Are you telling me you have not kissed a few fair maidens this night?”

He looked uncomfortable for about five seconds. “We are not discussing me.”

Jemma managed a carefree laugh. “I have no wish to discuss this further, only to leave. Now take me home, please, Thomas, my feet hurt.”

“Very well, but this discussion is not finished.”

“You’ve said that twice this evening.”

“Because you do not usually hide things from me, Jemma. But I have a feeling you are, and it worries me.”

She patted his arm and faked a yawn. “I am weary, Thomas. Please take me home.”

He had her in her cloak and into his carriage soon after. Thankfully he was silent on the journey, but she felt his eyes on her. Jemma closed hers and pretended to sleep, opening them when he touched her shoulder.

“Come, sleepyhead, we are home.”

He escorted her inside and placed a soft kiss on her forehead before releasing her.

“Sleep well, my sweet.”

Jemma couldn’t speak, merely squeezed his hand before heading up the stairs to her room. As she closed the door, the first of her tears fell. Her tears were of joy and sadness, and for the memory her Leander had given her. From this day forth she would always know that tonight, in the library at Lord Cavanagh’s, a man had worshiped her.