Heaven Sent the Wrong One (10 page)

And he was relieved to know his Anna possessed the avidity to satisfy his desires.

He dropped the last of his clothing on the floor and climbed next to her on the bed. "Feeling better?" He raised her chin and kissed her softly on the mouth.

"Yes." She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"But I'm not done with you yet," he trailed kisses along her jaw line to her throat.

"Neither am I." Her breath hitched as he took her nipple in his mouth and suckle
d.

"Good." He slid a finger in her slit as he suckled on her other breast, toying with her clitoris again, until her juices flowed, and she was begging him to make love to her.

"Now, please," she pleaded, licking her lips as she stared at his erection.

Her
unrestrained sensuality excited him. He stood by the side of the elevated bed and pulled her towards him until her bottom peeked over the edge. "I want you to watch me enter you," he propped her back at an angle with some pillows, lifting her legs by the underside of her knees and spreading them far apart.

Her eyes widened as he nudged his cock into her opening.

"This is going to hurt," he paused, sweat beading on his brow. "Are you sure you want—"

"Yes." She raised her hips against him, pushing the swolle
n head of his shaft inside her.

"Christ, Anna," he exclaimed, holding her still. "Let me do this. I don't want to hurt you."

"Then hurry up," she replied impatiently, "you talk too much."

Allayne couldn't help but laugh at her retort. "Well then," he press
ed his rod further into her, "let me expedite the situation." With one forceful thrust, he drove all the way into her tight sheath, pinning her with his torso as she cried in pain and tried to dislodge him.

"I'm sorry, love," he rained kisses on her face a
minute later.

"That hurt, you oaf!" She punched him wearily on the arm.

"It will go away soon, I promise," he held her in place, letting her body get used to his size. When she nodded begrudgingly, he lifted his weight off her, careful not to withdraw from her as he resumed his stance by the edge of the bed.

He looked down to where their bodies joined and found himself extremely pleased to be her first. A renewed jolt of desire lanced through him and he rubbed his thumb against the sensitive nub of her sex
. She began to squirm and moan, coating his cock with a fresh layer of warm, slick moisture.

"You're ready for me to make love to you," he parted her legs wider and held her firmly against him on the edge of the mattress.

She watched wide eyed as he withdrew and penetrated her repeatedly, rocking his hips back and forth slowly at first, then pumping faster and faster, until both of them cried out in release.

Allayne collapsed on top of her, panting, covered in sweat.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, keeping him inside her until his breathing returned to normal and he had regained his strength.

"That was wonderful," she brushed the damp hair off his brow and kissed the slight cleft on his chin. "You
—are wonderful."

"Come away with me," he said huskil
y, twining his fingers with hers. "Let me take care of you."

Alexandra gaped at him in consternation. What exactly did he mean by that? Was he asking her to be his
mistress
? Was that what this was all about? So, he could have a resident trollop that he could fornicate with, whenever he wished?

She abruptly pushed him off her and sat up.

"What's the matter?" He bolted upwards and grabbed her wrist, as she eased herself off the bed on her feet.

"How dare you!" She jerked her hand away from his grip, mortified
to feel the sting of tears in her eyes.

"Anna?" He caught her by the shoulders as she angrily marched off to retrieve her clothes and swiveled her to face him. "Why are you angry? What did I do?"

"You despicable ass! You honestly don't know?" She slapped his hands off her shoulders. "How dare you insult me by asking me to be your mistress! I'm not your whore!" She parried his attempts to take her back into his arms. "Don't touch me!"

"Anna, stop this!" He seized her by the waist and pulled her roughly to h
im, ignoring the pummeling she dealt on his hard chest. She was so furious, she wanted to break his perfect nose, and land a good-sized shiner on one of his pretty eyes.

"That's enough," he growled, wrapping his massive arms tightly about her, trapping her
against him, and rendering her immobile.

She struggled to free herself, but he was too strong, holding her in a vise-like grip, crushing her against his muscular chest. Her frustration mounted at his dominance. "Let me go, you bastard!" She raged, her che
st heaving with labored breath.

"Never," he said, softly.

His gentle, single-worded response touched her like a tender caress. Damn him—just like that, he sent her anger out the door. She stilled and stared at the faint bruise forming at the base of his collarbone. She had done that to him, she realized. He was so beautiful and she had hit him.
Good God.
A sudden stab of remorse sliced through her chest.

She skimmed her fingers over the darkening contusion and lifted her eyes to his face.

He met her gaze and held it—with not a word of reprisal, nor a look of reproach.

Her heart skittered at the tenderness in his pretty eyes. Within that short precious moment, deep in her soul, she knew
—no matter what he'd said to her, nothing had changed. She was still utterly, devastatingly, undeniably—very much in love with him.

Even if he didn't reciprocate her feelings.

She choked at the realization.

Her brave faç
ade crumbled into dust and she burst into tears.

~

Allayne had no inkling at what had just happened. One minu
te they were making love and the next minute, she was calling him names, accusing him of coercing her to be his mistress and beating his chest into pulp.
What was it about women?
he wondered, perplexed beyond words as he cradled her head on his shoulder, and stroked her hair, allowing her to vent her frustration. Whatever it was, he needed to fix this misunderstanding. He did not plan their last day in Bath to end like this.

"I'm sorry I upset you, my love," he said, as Anna finally collected her composure.
"I should have made myself clear." He framed her face with his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs.

"I'm not daft," she sniffled, "I know what you
—"

"No
—you don't understand," he swiftly cut in, gazing intently into her eyes. "I don't want you to be my mistress—I want you to be my wife."

What Truly Matters

A
llayne watched Anna's face change from anger, to shock, to consternation, and then to utter disbelief. Of course, she would react in such a manner, he rationalized. He himself could hardly believe what had just spouted from his mouth—but there it was.

"Y-you want me to be your wife?" Her eyes grew wide
—wider than he thought anyone's eyes could go without falling out of their sockets.

"As I recall say
ing—yes," he replied with a twinge of unease, thinking, hell—her reaction was the opposite of what he had expected. He had anticipated her to be surprised, and then, become elated with tears of happiness at his declaration, but judging from her facial expression, his cause seemed not to bode well at all.

"That was the most awful proposal I've ever heard." Her fine dark brows puckered with such a look of disappointment that he began to wonder
—how the devil does one propose to a woman anyway? He'd never done it before in his thirty-three years of blissful bachelorhood—so how in God's teeth was he supposed to know what to do? Didn't a man simply state what he wanted? What could possibly be wrong with that?

"That's it, then? You have nothing else to say
—or ask?" she prompted in annoyance with a tilt of her head.

"Er
—yes. That's about it," he replied, wondering what he had done wrong now, that had gotten her into a bigger snit. What else did she want him to say? He had informed her in the most elucidated fashion he could think of—he wanted her to be his wife. What could be the argument in that—when ladies all across England were practically tripping over each other to wrangle the deed out of him?

She stared at him in disgust as if he had suddenly turned into an ins
ect. "Well, then—I have nothing else to say to you either," she fairly spat the words out and bent to pick up her clothes, which gave him a somewhat delectable view of her bare behind.

A sudden vision of how nice it would be to take her in that position m
aterialized in his concupiscent brain—but first, he must make her see his point—not the one jutting between his legs—but the part where he wanted her to be his wife.

"Anna
—"

"Don't talk to me." She proceeded to hastily snatch her clothes from where he had
flung them on the carpeted floor earlier, without turning to look at him.

Ah, she was mad. Very mad. Though for the life of him, he had no clue why she had gotten offended by what he'd said. He was giving her the honor of becoming his wife
—and she was a lady's maid, for goodness sake—hardly suitable for a viscount's heir! Which reminded him—he ought to mention that particular detail—later.

"Come now," he cajoled, tucking her hair behind her ear as she piled her clothes on top of the bed.

She flinched and slapped his hand away, averting her face from him. "Leave me alone." She busied herself rummaging through her clothes, yanking her undergarments from the heap.

"Is that what you want?" he asked softly, not wanting to provoke her ire any further by picking a
fight. In his experience, women responded better to gentle urging and sweet caresses, than to yelling and bullying.

She furiously ransacked through the remaining mound of clothing, completely ignoring him.

Aha.
Now this—he could figure out. The same was true for all females. If a woman avoided a man's gaze and gave him the silent treatment—it simply meant the odds were in his favor.

He decided to step up his wheedling
—he may not be any good at proposing, but hell—he certainly was an expert when it came to charming the opposite sex. He moved behind her, circling an arm about her shoulders and wrapping his other arm around her waist, snuggling her backwards against his torso.

She stiffened and tried to twist away, but with him behind her and the tall bed in fr
ont of her, her ability to move was conveniently limited.

"Why are you angry, love?" He whispered in her ear and kissed her temple. "Don't you want to be my wife?"

She turned her head the other way and did not answer.

Allayne hid a smile. She did not yell
at him to go to the devil and that was a good sign. Now, for the next step—the question that would tip the scale to his advantage.

He nuzzled the side of her neck. "Don't you love me?"

She swiveled her head over her shoulder and looked up at him with a stunned expression in her eyes.

He waited for her to reply. But, when the moment stretched longer than he'd predicted and still, no response was forthcoming, he began to worry. Damnation. He'd been so confident that she would say yes, that he'd omitted to pon
der on what he would do if she said
no
.

Suddenly, he was desperate to hear it
—those three little words he'd always thought too shallow and ridiculous. He had never once considered love as a necessary ingredient in a relationship. Love was a fool's sentiment—nothing more. Sex and compatibility in bed had always been at the top of his list. And for years, that worked for him. No romantic entanglements, no long-term commitments—only pure, mind-numbing sex was all he needed to give him a sense of fulfillment.

However, looking into the eyes of the woman in his arms right now
—his beautiful Anna—mere sex felt sadly inadequate. He wanted more from her—silly things like waking up in the mornings with her in his bed, cuddling and kissing by the fireplace and spending time together—forever.

Forever
—which was why, he'd given in to the impulse of apprising her that he wanted her to be his wife. And now, he had inadvertently discovered that he also wanted her love.

Jesus Christ
.

Since when did it become so important for him to know how a woman felt about him? And what if she said no
—what then, was he supposed to do?

Allayne never thought he'd see the day when rejection from a particular woman would overt
ake him—and yet—here he was, trying his damned best not to let the fear show in his face.

He waited for her some more, but still
—she withheld from satisfying him with an answer.

His confidence wavered. Perhaps his theory was wrong after all. Her silence ce
rtainly made him feel a good deal less optimistic than before. She might possibly be just sparing his feelings by not acknowledging his question with a reply to keep from embarrassing him.

All at once, the unspoken message became clear. She had no desire t
o be his wife and most assuredly did not reciprocate his affection.

Yes. That must be it.

Damn it to hell—but that hurt.

Allayne drew a deep sigh and loosened his hold on her. "Never mind," he said in a tone that hardly concealed his wounded feelings. "For
get I asked." His chest seemed to have constricted during the last minute and was now strangling his heart.

Alexandra swiveled around and searched his face just as he slipped his arms away from her. High color stained his cheeks and a shattered look reflec
ted in his beautiful eyes. He clenched his jaw so tightly; she could see the band of muscle twitching on the side of his face.

Dear God
. He was
serious
.

True, she'd been infuriated by his arrogance and high-handedness; for a mere valet, he certainly has an
aristocrat's share of insolence and presumptuousness—which annoyed her to the last droplet of her tolerance. But, the sight of his stricken countenance had afforded her a glimpse of his true feelings underneath. In spite of his arrogance and enormous pride, he had taken the risk and exposed his vulnerability—by telling her, he wanted her to be his wife.

Did it really matter how he had proposed to her? Would it be more significant if he had brought her a dozen red roses, a box of chocolates, and a diamond r
ing? Would it make any difference if he did it on one knee and embellished his words with poetry and flattery?

Yes
! She was a woman after all, who, like any other, basked in the idea of being romanced by her man. But in the end, she also knew what truly mattered. Whether he declared himself with gifts and flowery words, or dictated his proposal like a decree from the King after having wild sex—she knew without a doubt—nothing would make her love him any less.

Not even the fact that he was a mere valet and s
he was an earl's daughter. Which reminded her—she ought to mention that particular detail—later.

She caught his wrists before he could turn away and kissed his palms, delighting at the astonished expression on his face.

"I love you," she whispered against his lips as she stood on her tiptoes and erased his confusion with tiny kisses.

"Anna
—" Deep dimples appeared on his cheeks.

"Sshh. Just love me." She twined her arms around his neck and silenced him with a searing kiss.

He lifted her off the floor without breaking their kiss and laid her back on the bed.

Then, the next thing she knew, they were making love again, even more passionately this time around
—until the hour came to leave.