Linda Barlow (23 page)

His brief smile vanished. His face became as hard and hooded as it had appeared on the cliff when she'd thought he meant to throw her over. His fingers slid up through her hair and tightened convulsively while his other arm came around her and drew her closer. As he slowly bent his head to kiss her, she thought she would faint with desire.

His mouth this time was gentle. She thought of him as a man of fire, not of tenderness, yet he kissed her in a careful, loving fashion, as if nothing were sweeter than their joining. His tongue ran wetly over the surface of her lips, then probed between them in a manner she was beginning to recognize. She knew how to meet the subtle invasion with her own tongue now.

Her arms rose to encircle his shoulders. Her tired limbs melted against his hard frame. He felt wonderful, all muscle and warm flesh and taut sinews beneath supple, fragrant skin. His dark hair curled around her fingers as she fondled the nape of his neck. At her touch, he groaned and deepened the kiss, giving her a startling new awareness of her feminine power.

"Sweet mother of heaven," he breathed against her lips. "If you knew how much I've wanted this, dreamed of it, yearned for it..." His hand dropped to her breasts and hovered. Her breathing grew frantic as she waited for his touch. When it came—a gentle, rhythmic kneading—she threw her head back and moaned her approval. "You arouse me in a way I can't explain, Alix. There's neither rhyme nor reason to it." He dabbed her throat with a series of short nipping kisses, each one seeming to increase in intensity. Then he pushed her down beneath him on the mattress.

Dimly Alexandra thought she should stop this, but the idea dissolved like a specter as Roger lowered his body, supporting part of his weight on his elbows and leaning over her for another sweet, slow kiss. Their tongues swirled together, hers as hungry as his, their heads moving from side to side. He broke the kiss as suddenly as he'd started it, burying his face against her dark red curtain of hair while they both gasped for breath.

"You, my friend, are showing much more promise than you demonstrated that night in front of the hearth when I first made improper advances to you."

She laughed. "I learn quickly. You've always known that."

He lifted his head to meet her eyes in the darkness. His were dilated, hard and bright and predatory. But the corners of his mouth were turned up in a smile. "Even as a child you came to me for knowledge. I taught you your first Latin words, do you remember?"

"Yes, you devil. They were obscenities from some scurrilous piece of Roman trash. There I was, six years old, declaiming classical erotica! My tutor was appalled."

His fingers were exploring the neckline of her tunic. There were no fastenings; she had simply pulled it on over her head. "Why, in more than ten years, haven't you learned to put the action to the Latin words? You're a woman grown. Did Will never—"

"No, never." Her voice was fierce. "As soon as you came back I realized I'd been waiting for you."

"Oh, love." His hands trembled as they moved down to her hips and lower. He found the bottom of the tunic and rolled it up, baring her body. She lifted her head and shoulders so he could slide the garment off. He made a low sound in his throat as he looked at her. "You’re perfect, just as I knew you would be. But, Christ, Alix, this is the one thing I ought not to be teaching you." His fingers touched her breasts tenderly, circling the taut brown nipples until they glistened ruby-hard. His voice was unconvincing as he added, "Help me to stop."

But she was skimming over the earth on a wave of deep, gut-wrenching pleasure. He thought she was perfect! As never before, her body was aglow with the fires of life. "Don't stop. If you stop I'll die."

"Beloved," he murmured. He shifted his knee so it pressed between her thighs. He brought it up, hard, to the place where she could feel herself damply burning. She gasped with combined desire and shyness, twisting beneath him. No man had ever touched her there.

"Ssh, let me. I want to pleasure you. Relax, love, relax."

His liquid words had instant effect. One moment she relaxed, the next she was arching to get closer to him as his hand continued to fondle one breast while his mouth moved down to take the other. He drew on her gently; she moaned and writhed as the tender torment escalated. Her body felt soft and loose, hot and tight all at the same time. Every kiss, every caress gave her pleasure, but left her yearning for more. Her hunger for him seemed to expand in all directions, and she couldn't imagine how it could ever be satisfied. So this is what it's like, she thought. No wonder people kill and die for love.

She felt him slide a hand down to her waist, her thighs. He caressed the sensitive skin behind her knees. His mouth was still sucking her nipple, teasing it with his tongue, biting it just enough to add a hint of pleasurable pain. Once again she remembered their struggle in the cave—the feel of him taking her down and lying hard between her thighs. It astonished her that an event that had filled her with panic only a little while before could be the source of heightened excitement for her now.

His hand crept around to stroke the dewy skin on her inner thighs. She moaned with anticipation as he feathered closer and closer to her most vulnerable spot. He was kneeling over her now, watching her intently while his hand mercilessly closed in. His eyes were hot, his mouth a sensual slash in his dark face. He seemed to enjoy teasing her—it was his revenge, perhaps, for the way she had treated him. God! She was about to scream at him to touch her
there
when he finally did.

Her body convulsed and his mouth captured her cry as his fingertips strummed her. She felt him shudder. She knew a brief moment of anxiety wondering if she was supposed to be as slick down there as she was, but it passed when he whispered, "Look at you, so warm, so ready for me. Sweet Jesu, Alix, 'twould be so easy to take you."

"Take me, then." She tore at his damp clothing, which he had not yet shed. "I want you to."

He groaned, but did not undress. Instead the hand between her legs moved with increasing pressure, seeking out and finding tiny pleasure points and arousing them to a pitch of sensation she had never known before. Once his finger probed her internally, but retreated when she stiffened in sudden, unexpected pain.

"Virgins are a pack of trouble," he whispered in her ear.

"I'll grit my teeth. I'm not afraid."

"You may not be, my Amazon, but I am." His voice sounded strained and breathless. "Afraid of hurting you, afraid of ruining your chances for decent wedlock, afraid of getting a child upon you. None of these things need happen, though, if we're careful. I haven't spent years in the erotic East for nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll show you. Relax against my hand. That's it, love. Now move against me, your hips, your thighs. Yes." He kissed her hard, his tongue driving into her mouth. His breathing was labored; she could feel his heart pounding against her own. "Feel good? Just let your body do the work; your body knows what it wants."

Alexandra clutched at him, feeling the world tilt crazily as she responded to his lovemaking. She had no fears or inhibitions, she was lost, a stranger to herself. When he slid down to flick his tongue along her thigh, she was surprised, but she made no protest, not even when he nudged his head closer to the thick auburn curls between her legs. He parted her with his fingers and touched her delicately with his tongue. "Roger?" She made a halfhearted effort to squirm away. His strong arms held her; his knees pressed hers wide apart and held them that way.

"Let me." He began to nibble deliciously at her.

Everything turned hazy then as she melted into a panting, moaning creature who possessed neither reason nor shame. She moved to the rough rhythm he created, arching to meet his infinitely clever, darting tongue, helping him find the most exquisite spot and pressing it harder against him. Her body flushed and felt hot, steaming a soft film of perspiration; her heart galloped, her breathing grew fevered. Still he continued, murmuring dark words against her, words that fanned her pleasure and sent her higher until at last she lingered on the edge of a peak so soaring that even she, with all her courage, was briefly appalled. She was about to tumble into a realm she'd never entered.

"No," she gasped, making one last desperate bid for control.

"Yes." It was no more than a whisper against her, but his will was stronger than hers. He nipped her gently until her body stiffened and exploded in an incredible series of tension-releasing spasms. It was like nothing she had ever known or even imagined. Melting in his arms, she keened with joy as he slid up and covered her mouth with his own. "Hush, my love, hush. Under different circumstances I'd love to hear your pleasure sounds, but if Alan wakes, he'll have my head for this."

She couldn't stop the sounds, but his mouth captured them. She clung to him, awed by the intensity of her climax, reveling in it until the contractions gradually lessened, leaving her limp and blissfully relaxed.

When she could lift her head, she cast a glance at Alan, who was breathing deeply and not stirring. She looked back at Roger and burst out laughing, transported for a moment into the past, when as the two most mischievous children on the combined Trevor-Douglas estates, she and Roger had done something for which they feared punishment.

But he didn't join in her laughter. Rolling to her side, she hugged him. Between her legs the tiny muscles were still dancing, although the frequency had diminished greatly. "Oh, Roger, that was wonderful! What was it?"

"La petite mort.
The little death. It's what people steal and kill and barter kingdoms for." His voice was tight, his body stiff, and his dark eyes a little forbidding. He still caressed her, but his fingers were no longer so gentle. "A great deal of folderol for a few moments of ecstasy, don't you agree?"

"Roger?" Instinct combined with her new knowledge to help her understand what was wrong. "What about you?" She wanted to see him, touch him, explore his firmly muscled flesh, and transport him to the same place he just had taken her. Shyly she allowed one of her hands to slide down his body. He was still wearing most of his clothes.

"Leave it," he said, twisting sharply away. "If I don't stop now, there will be no stopping me 'til your virgin blood flows thick beneath my thrusts." He threw one arm over his forehead, fist clenched, knuckles white. "Move away from me."

"My virginity is nothing to me, nothing but a barrier that keeps you from me."

"And your honor, Alix? What of that?"

"'Tis an empty word, a man's word."

"And if your belly blossomed with my bastard? Then you'd care, I assure you."

Across the tiny room Alexandra saw the shelves with Merwynna's medicines. Potions to make you beautiful, perfumes to attract your lover, drugs to help you bear his child without great pain. And other drugs—potions about which she knew little, save that there were ways to ensure there was no child. These were things Merwynna had not taught her. Deep secrets. If men knew women could control their procreation, with whatever small success, they would call it the work of the devil, Merwynna said. But surely Roger was not so closed-minded; he had lived in the East, where the physician's arts were advanced. Lived there, and loved many women.

"There are ways to prevent that from happening. I wouldn't be surprised if you knew some of them."

He laughed without mirth. "Dear Alix. Passionate, but practical. Aye, I know a way or two, but experience has taught me that such precautions don't always work. Oh Christ!" His face darkened; he blew out a harsh breath, then closed his eyes as if in agony. "We must be mad, both of us."

"We're not mad." She reached for him again.

He jerked away as if she'd scorched him. Jumping up, he stalked the width of the cottage twice, then squatted down before the fire, running his fingers through his disordered hair. "Don't come near me again, do you understand? Ever."

She sat up. "I love you."

"And don't talk like a half-wit. 'Twas lust, pure and simple; on your part and on mine." He stared at her body in the firelight for a moment, then averted his eyes. "Dress yourself."

It was as if he'd slapped her. Lust, pure and simple? He'd called her "beloved." He’d said she was perfect. He’d given her the most intensely moving experience she'd ever known, and now he dismissed it as simple lust?

"Why are you so all-fired intent on giving yourself to me? Do you think 'twill gain you your precious marriage? The alliance between us that everybody except me seems so bloody eager for?"

"No!"

"I'll never wed you. Not if you successfully seduce me, not even if you grow heavy with my child."

"You think I'm trying to seduce you into marrying me?" she demanded, stung. "Well, you're wrong. I love you."

He came back to her, seizing her arm in a harsh grip and pulling her around to face him when she would have turned away. "You think so now, in the first flush of passion. 'Twill pass, I promise you. Be grateful when it does, for I'm not your faithful, chivalrous Alan. I take my pleasures where I find them, and then I walk away. I care for nothing and nobody, and I'm not going to change."

She looked into his eyes and saw nothing tender there, nothing that might indicate that he spoke aught but the truth. To her dismay, tears began coursing down her cheeks. Look at me, weeping because the man who frightened me out of my wits this afternoon is not in love with me tonight. He
is
the only person in the world who can make me cry. She pulled away, sinking down on the nearby straw pallet and snatching up a blanket to wrap around herself.