A Night to Surrender (23 page)

And then she kissed him—square on the forehead. Her lips pressed to his brow and lingered, blessing him with warmth and sweetness.

“There,” she whispered, pulling away.

He stared at her, his throat working. He didn’t know whether to rage or laugh or weep. No, that kiss hadn’t been the openmouthed, passionate tangle of tongues his body craved. It had been exactly what his soul needed. He wouldn’t have known to ask for a kiss like that. The warmth of it sank straight through him, coming to rest in his heart.

She still held his face in her hands. Her thumb dabbed a salty drop from his cheek. “I know what you need, Bram.”

Sweet heaven. Perhaps she did. And what else did he need, that he couldn’t have known to put into words? He was desperate to find out. Wordlessly, he slipped away from her. Covered the distance to the boulder in strong, purposeful strides. Returned to her, splashing his way through wave and foam, to stand breathless with need and longing.

“Again.”

This time she reached for his hand. She lifted it to her face, curling his wet fingers over the curve of her cheek. Then she turned her face, nuzzling into his caress. Her breath rushed over his chilled flesh, rousing his every nerve to attention. And then she pressed a kiss to the exact center of his palm.

A bolt of bliss streaked from the spot, rushing straight for his core. Bloody hell. A tiny kiss on his palm. He felt it everywhere. His knees went weak. He wanted to fall at her feet, lay his head in her lap for hours.
I am your slave.

He withdrew his hand, flexing it to disperse the sensation and get a grip on himself. Who could have guessed a fully grown man could be utterly felled by such a tiny, precise assault? Did the army know this? Maybe they ought to issue plate armor to protect soldiers’ vulnerable palms.

“Susanna.” He reached for her.

Quick as a fish, she wriggled away. “If you want more, you must work for them.”

He retreated again, making his way to the boulder more slowly this time. Partly out of fatigue, but mostly because he needed time to calm himself. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, battering his ribs. He couldn’t let her see, didn’t dare let her know that with those two tiny kisses, she’d shaken him to his soul.

On his way back to her, he tried to shrug off the sensation and find a way to regain control. He was a soldier, he told himself. Not a supplicant. As he slashed his way through the water, his blood rushed through his limbs, hot and powerful.

But just as he neared her, he misjudged his step. The chain caught on a rock, and his ankle turned. He lunged forward, loosing an involuntary growl of pain.

She dashed to him, fighting her way through the water. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he said, denying the fresh stab of agony. It wasn’t his knee that hurt so fiercely, but his pride. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’ve done enough for tonight.” She unlooped the ribbon and key from his neck and disappeared beneath the water. After a bit of tugging, he felt the cuff release.

“Put it back,” he said, once she’d surfaced. “I can do more. I’m not even fatigued.”

“Be patient with yourself.” She pushed the water from her face. “You’ve made a remarkable recovery, and you’ll get stronger still. But you were shot, Bram. You have to accept that your leg will never be quite the same.”

“It will be the same. It has to be. I can’t accept anything less than a complete recovery.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to lead.”

She choked on a laugh. “You don’t need a perfect knee for that. You have more leadership in your great toe than most men have in their whole bodies.”

He made a pained face that was meant to indicate modesty.

She took it as
Do go on, please.
“Truly. People just naturally want to please you. Take Rufus and Finn. You don’t know them well enough to see it yet. But I do, and those boys worship the ground you limp on.”

“Those boys just need a man to look up to.”

“Well, they couldn’t have chosen a better one.” She wreathed her arms around his neck.

Cool water swirled around them, emphasizing the heat where their bodies met. Right now, he felt closer to her than ever, and still he wanted more. Every cell in his body craved that perfect union of bodies they’d achieved under the willow tree. But if he ignored the frantic clamor in his loins and took time to hear the insistent, steady message of his heart . . . simply holding her was lovely. Peaceful. Right.

“If I’m such a remarkable leader,” he said, “why is it I can’t bring you in line?”

“Because you don’t want to. You like me this way.” She smiled the smug little smile of a woman who was utterly convinced she was right.

But she was wrong. He didn’t like her this way.

He thought he might
love
her this way.

Damn.
Love.
It wasn’t something Bram had much experience handling. The very idea of it seemed dangerous, unsafe. So he dealt with it the same way he treated other hazardous, explosive things. He tucked it away in a cool, dark place inside him—to be examined and measured at some later time. When his hands weren’t trembling, and his loins weren’t aching with unspent lust. And his heart wasn’t pounding so damned loud.

“I’m going to marry you,” he said.

“Oh, Bram.” Her features screwed into an expression of dismay.

“No, no. Don’t make that face. Every time I propose to you, you make that twisty, unhappy face. It wears on a man’s confidence.”

“I might be making a different, much more pleasant face—if only you were planning to stay. Not just marry me before you leave and get on with the rest of your life.” She glanced out toward the open sea. “There’s a peculiar curse to residing in a holiday locale. Friendships are abundant, but brief. Ladies stay for a month or two, then they go home. Just when I’ve grown close to people, they leave. It’s bearable, for a friendship.” She eyed him. “Perhaps even for a scandalous, clandestine affair. But a marriage?”

“I can’t offer to bring you with me. The way you describe your life here sounds rather like life on campaign. With one notable difference. Just when I’ve grown close to people, they die.” His own mother had been the first in that succession, but far from the last. He could never put Susanna at risk.

“Perhaps,” she said slowly, teasing her fingers through the hair at his nape, “you and I could grow very, very close. You could promise not to leave. And I could promise not to die. Wouldn’t that be a welcome change for us both?”

He sighed. “I can promise to come back. Eventually.”

“From war? Bram, no one can make such a promise. I wish I understood why returning to field command is so important to you. Is it just a matter of proving you can?”

“Partly.”

“But not entirely.”

She looked up at him, those patient blue eyes sparkling in the night. If he couldn’t talk to her, he couldn’t talk to anyone.

“I just don’t have anything else. I’m an infantry officer, Susanna. It’s all I’ve ever been, all I’ve ever wanted since I was a boy. I wanted it so badly, I left Cambridge the month I turned twenty-one. That was when I could finally access the small legacy my grandfather left me, and I used it to purchase my first commission. My father made a show of being angry, but I know he was secretly pleased that I’d done it on my own. I never relied on his influence. I paid my dues, rose up through the ranks. I made him proud. When news reached me of his death—” He broke off, unsure how to continue.

Beneath the water’s surface, her hand found his. “I’m so sorry, Bram. I can’t even imagine how devastating it must have been.”

She couldn’t imagine, and he didn’t know how to explain. Bram thought of his father’s last letter. He’d received it through the usual mail, a full week after the express informing him of the major general’s death. The letter’s contents were nothing out of the ordinary. But Bram would never forget the closing.
Don’t feel rushed in writing back,
his father had written.
I know you’ve been writing too many letters, of late.

His father had obviously learned of Badajoz, where the allied forces had taken the garrison at human costs so great, Wellington himself wept over the carnage. And therefore he’d known Bram was writing condolence letters by the dozen, to the surviving families of his fallen men—to the point where his hand cramped up and his vocabulary went dry as the inkwell. There were only so many words for “regret.”

His father hadn’t offered any hollow words of comfort or tried to impose meaning on senseless death. He’d simply let Bram know he understood.

Bram couldn’t voice what it meant, to know they’d reached a place where they understood each other as men, as fellow officers. As equals. If he retired from command and became just another privileged lord loafing around England . . . He wasn’t sure his father would still understand that man. Bram wasn’t sure he would understand
himself
.

“Losing my father was hard,” he said. “Damned hard. But what it made it a little easier was telling myself I’d continue making him proud. Carry the family banner forward. Keep his legacy alive.” He released a breath. “That lasted all of a few months, and then I was shot. Couldn’t be so lucky as to have a glorious, noble death on the battlefield. Now I’m just another lamed soldier with no prospects of returning to command.”

“Oh, Bram.” She brushed his face with her free hand, pushing aside drops of salt water on either cheek. He feared they weren’t all from the sea.

“Sir Lewis was my very last chance. I’ve written to every retired general I could imagine, asking for a good word. I’ve felt out every colonel who might be in need of a lieutenant, hoping one of them would put in a request. Nothing. No one wants me like this.”

The night’s silence was profound.

“Well, I do.”

At her words, his heart seized. He clutched her tight with both arms, as if this tiny cove were a bottomless ocean, and she a life preserver.

“
I
want you like this,” she said again. Bending her head, she kissed the underside of his jaw. Her lips lingered there for a hot, sensuous moment. Then she ran her tongue down his neck and brought her body flush with his. “Just as you are. Right here, right now.”

Twenty-one

“R
ight
here
?” he echoed, his voice breaking with surprise. “Right
now
?”

Susanna couldn’t help but laugh a little. It felt good to catch him off guard, lighten the sadness in his voice. “It can be accomplished in the water, can’t it?”

He nodded numbly. “It can.”

“Unless you have some objection.”

He shook his head, just as numbly. “I don’t.”

“Good.”

Her hands went to the buttons down the front of her bathing costume. His throat worked as she loosened them one by one. She wriggled her arms free and pushed the garment down into the water so she could step out. Then she tossed the whole sodden heap over a nearby rock.

“Wait, Susanna—” He took her by the waist. “You don’t have to do this just because . . .”

“I’m not.” She put her fingers to his lips. “I’m not.”

When she dropped her hand, placing it flat against his chest, his heartbeat
whomp
ed beneath her touch. His palpably anxious response made her own heart flutter.

He needed her right now. He needed to know that someone could see all his weaknesses, all his flaws—and still find him not only desirable, but worthy and strong. Vulnerable as she felt, she couldn’t bring herself to deny him that reassurance. Not when it was the simple truth.

What was more, she needed him, too.

“Don’t look so stunned,” she teased. “I want you, Bram. So much. All the time. When it comes to you, this buttoned-up spinster is just seething with wild, insatiable passion.” She kissed him, teasing her tongue over his lips. “It should hardly come as any surprise. You’ve been telling me so since the very beginning.”

“I know,” he said wonderingly. “I know. The surprise is that you listened.” He cradled her neck in one hand and claimed her mouth in a deep, masterful kiss.

She reveled in the sensual surrender for a few moments. Then she gently pushed away. “Wait,” she said, panting. “This is my turn tonight. I want to touch you, everywhere.”

He spread his arms in invitation. “I won’t stop you.”

She began by running her hands over those massive, muscled arms, tracing every cord and sinew. Then skimming up to his shoulders and down his chest—rock-hard and lightly covered with damp, dark whorls of hair. She trailed her fingers down his tensed, ridged abdomen and through a rougher thicket of hair before finally claiming her prize.

With a single fingertip, she traced the smooth, flared crown of his erection. When she slid her palm along the underside, skimming down the thick, ridged column, he jerked and bobbed away from her touch.

Come back here, you.
She wrapped both hands around him, stacking her grips in an attempt to envelop his full length. She couldn’t, not quite—so she treated them both to a long, luxuriant stroke, dragging her touch from his base to his tip.

“God.” He gave a strangled groan. “Couldn’t you kiss me when you do that?”

Her mouth watered at the mere suggestion. She moved forward, angling to kiss his jaw, his throat. With her tongue, she traced the ridge of his collarbone before dipping just beneath the water’s surface to graze his nipple. The salty tang of the seawater mingled with the earthy musk of his skin.

Arousal built within her, and she could feel his erection swelling even larger in her hands. But they made the unspoken decision not to rush. To continue exploring each other as long as they could resist the temptation for more.

As she caressed him below the water, he fondled her breasts. First kneading them separately, then pushing them together so he could bend his head and nuzzle both tips. He mouthed each peak thoroughly, teasing her with the alternating hot and cold sensations.

Then he pulled back, studying her in the dark. “Have you noticed,” he said conversationally, “that your right breast is a bit larger than the left?”

Susanna was sure her cheeks must be glowing in the dark, her blush came so fast and fierce. “They’re
my
breasts. Of course I’ve noticed.”
And I’ve only been self-conscious about it all my adult life, thank you very much.

“It’s like they have two different personalities. One’s generous and nurturing.” He lifted the other. “And the other . . . it’s saucy, isn’t it? It wants a tweak.” He gave her left nipple a pinch.

“
Bram
.” What a conversation. Hoping to distract him, she slid her hand down his shaft and teased her fingers lower, until she cupped the soft, vulnerable sac beneath. He groaned and shivered, encouraging her as she explored, rolling the two pendulous weights in her palm.

Interesting. He wasn’t symmetrical everywhere, either.

“Don’t be vexed,” he said, still fondling her breasts. “I meant it as a compliment. I quite adore them both.”

That was some comfort, she supposed. “I didn’t know there were men with penchants for mismatched breasts.”

“I adore them because they’re yours, Susanna. I adore every bit of you.” His hands roamed lower. “These hips make me wild. This round, cuppable arse was made for my hands. And your long, shapely legs . . .” He kissed her deeply, skimming a hand down her leg and lifting it to drape over his hip, pulling their bodies into intimate contact. “God, I love that you’re tall.”

“Truly?” She’d been in the habit of thinking it her greatest detraction where suitors were concerned. Well, aside from the freckles. And the hair. And her habit of voicing contrary opinions when she ought to dispense demure nods. “Why would you say that?”

“Because
I’m
tall,” he said, nuzzling her throat. “With a short woman, it’s always deuced awkward. Bits don’t align the way they should.”

Lord. That would teach her to ask. How she hated the idea of him “aligning bits” with petite, delicate beauties. The very thought made her ill.

“And I love this.” His fingers found her cleft, parting her to slip deep inside. “I love feeling how tight you are. Knowing that there haven’t been others.”

She laughed a little, still feeling the stab of jealousy. “Of course there haven’t been others. Could you tell me the same?”

Pulling back, he stared deep into her eyes with a bone-melting, erotic sincerity. “I can tell you this. There’s never been anyone like you.”

“Oh,” she sighed, as his fingers plunged deep.

“Say it.” His teasing tone took on a rougher undercurrent. “Say the words. Say you’re mine.”

Alarms clanged in her heart. She knew he needed to feel strong and powerful right now, but truly. There was possessive, and then there was . . . medieval. “It’s so belittling, Bram. I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“You just wish you didn’t like it so much.” He added a second finger to the first. “Mine. Mine. Mine.” He thrust his fingers deeper with each repetition. Her intimate muscles clenched around them, and she gasped with pleasant shock.

“See?” he gloated.

Drat it. For a man, he was right entirely too often. It did feel so good. But ever since her illness and those horrid treatments, she’d set a great of deal of comfort in the idea that her body was
hers
. No one else’s.

“Say it,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. His thumb circled her pearl. “Susanna fair. I want to hear you say you’re mine.”

She framed his face in her hands and looked him in the eye. “I’ll say this. I claim sole possession of my body, my heart, and my soul. And tonight, I choose to share them all with you.”

His fingers slid from her body, leaving her feeling hollow inside. “God. That’s  . . .”

“Disappointing? Intimidating? Too much, too soon?”

He shook his head, moving in for a kiss. “I was going to say, it’s even better.” His tongue traced her bottom lip. “So much better.”

Her heart ballooned in her chest. She’d never dreamed it could hold so much joy.

As they kissed, he grasped her hips, lifting her in the water.

“It’s time, love.” His breath was labored. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

She did as he asked, locking her ankles at the small of his back. As he supported her weight, she reached between them to guide his erection. They came together in a slow, sensuous joining.

She gasped as he filled her, stretching her wide. It didn’t hurt anymore, but just like the first time, she doubted she could take him all. He was patient, however, working into her by delicious degrees until they were one.

As isolated and alone as they were in this cove, they could have been loud, loosing wild cries and urgent groans into the dark of night. Instead, they moved in swift, rhythmic silence. The only sounds were the soft splashes of the water and their increasingly ragged breath.

She clung to his neck. The rest of her went boneless in the buoyant water. For the moment, she was only too happy to give him complete control. With strong, purposeful motions, he lifted her hips again and again, sliding her up and down his hard length. With every stroke, pushing her closer and closer to bliss. The tendons of his neck and shoulders stood out like ropes, and his jaw was tensed with effort.

She’d never felt so powerful, so desirable. So safe to release all her inhibitions and cares. To surrender to the strong, guiding force of his thrusts as he prodded her higher. And higher still. So close to that teasing, elusive peak.

“Here,” he panted, taking one of her hands and wedging it between them, right where their bodies joined. “Touch yourself here.”

His hands took her hips again, and he thrust even deeper. As he moved within her, her trapped fingertips rubbed back and forth over the swollen nub at the crest of her sex, giving her just the friction she needed. Her climax built in the distance, gathering strength. In her mind’s eye, she saw it coming, as if she were viewing a wave from the shore. An imminent, devastating swell of pleasure. It awed her—frightened her, even—as it loomed near, inescapable and intense. Then the wave broke, crashing over and through her body as he kept up his steady, powerful rhythm.

She cried his name. She might have cried a few joyous tears, as well.

He cursed.

With an urgent gasp, he pulled free of her body. She reached for him, tangling her grip with his as he stroked himself the remaining distance to release. His seed jetted against her belly, a burst of welcome heat in the cooling cove.

His temple pressed against hers as he brought her close. His labored breath crashed hot against her ear. “Hold me.”

Oh, Bram.

She lashed her bare arms and legs around his body, clutching him as close as she could. Kissing his shoulders, his throat, his jaw, his ear. Running her fingers through his damp, clipped hair. Rocking him, just a little. Back and forth, in time with the waves.

A flood of tenderness rushed from her heart and spread through her entire body, suffusing even her fingers and toes with warmth. She brought him closer still, wanting him to feel it. As if she could wrap him in a blanket of affection and hold him there forever. He had so much pride, and so much family honor, wrapped up in returning to war. How could she possibly entice him to stay? She was going to try her damnedest, but the day might come quite soon when she would have to let him go.

But for tonight, he’d asked her to hold him, and Susanna was going to do just that. Hold on to this passionate connection they shared. Hold on to this transcendent, if all too fleeting, joy.

Hold on to
him
. Just as long as she possibly could.