One Wicked Christmas (3 page)

Cassandra took a deep swallow of her glass of brandy and stared at herself in the dressing table mirror. It was like looking at a stranger, not the woman she had been all her life. Her dark hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders, clad in a filmy new blue silk dressing gown, and her eyes were feverishly bright. Whether with excitement or fear she wasn’t quite sure.

She took another gulp of the brandy, grateful for its warm bite at the back of her throat. She almost never drank, but she needed its courage tonight. “You can do this,” she said aloud. “You
can
.” People had romances every day. Why shouldn’t she?

Lord Phillips had certainly seemed to like her very much when they talked at dinner, and then after when they sang carols with the others. He had paid her compliments, smiled—touched her hand under the table. He was handsome and seemed kind. Patient. Just what she needed.

But she hadn’t been able to stop stealing glances along the table to where Ian sat. He had seemed so serious tonight amid the holiday merriment, his eyes full of shadows. It made her long to go and sit with him, to touch his arm and beg him to tell her what was wrong. To just be with him, far away from this party, to be Ian and Cassandra again. To kiss him and feel him kiss her back.

Then he had glanced up and caught her staring at him, a frown flickering over his brow. He smiled back at her when she made herself smile at him, but there was no teasing glint there to make her laugh as there usually was. And then he turned away from her.

Cassandra’s fingers tightened on her glass, and for an instant she had the mad urge to go to Ian instead of Lord Phillips, to
make
him talk to her again. But it was obvious he didn’t want her after that kiss. She had to forget about him.

She quickly swallowed the last of her brandy. Along with the wine from dinner and the claret punch of the carol-singing, it gave her a dizzy sort of courage. She could do this. She tightened the sash of her dressing gown and marched to the door.

She peeked out carefully before she stepped into the corridor. Earlier she had heard many stealthy footsteps creeping past, the clicks of doors opening and hastily muffled giggles, but the hour was quite late now and everything was quiet. The candles in the wall sconces sputtered low, casting flickering shadows on the silk wallpaper and the flowered carpet runner. A low moan sounded from behind one of the doors.

Cassandra almost turned and ran back into her room.
Don’t be a coward
, she told herself sternly. She was lonely, she wanted romance in her life. She just had to go and find it.

Even if it was not with the man she really wanted.

She tiptoed over to the door of the Blue Room, where Melisande said Lord Phillips was lodged and where he was expecting her. Carefully, she tested the brass handle, which turned easily in her hand. Everything was dark over the threshold, except for one bar of snow-silvery moonlight that fell from the window across the foot of the bed.

“Be brave,” she whispered. She slid into the room and softly closed the door behind her. She leaned back against it for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the shadows. She could see the looming shapes of a wardrobe and dressing table, the flicker of a dying fire in the grate, the large, satin-draped bed.

The figure lying under the rumpled blankets, turned away from her on his side.

At first all she could hear was the thunderous pounding of her own heart, but then she made out the soft sound of light, steady breathing from the bed.

It was now or never. Seize the moment—or die a lonely widow. Cassandra sucked in a deep breath and let the dressing gown slide from her shoulders to leave her clad only in her silk chemise. The chilly air rushed over her bare skin, making her shiver.

Before she could flee, she rushed to the waiting bed and climbed up onto the high mattress. The warmth of a man’s sleep-hot skin crept out to wrap around her, and her heart ached to be so near another person like this again. Her bed had been so cold for so long.

Her husband had been quick in his lovemaking, kissing her, lifting her gown and finishing. But she remembered the things she had wanted to do with him, dreamed of doing. Things her married friends whispered about. Things that lately she had dreamed of doing with Ian. She gathered all her scattered courage and reached out to lightly slide her hands over his shoulders.

His bare shoulders. By Jove, he slept
naked
? She hadn’t even thought men did such a thing. His skin was warm and slightly damp, like smooth satin over hard iron muscles. Lord Phillips was stronger and larger than she had imagined. Fascinating. She traced the tip of her finger along the groove of his spine to where the sheet draped over his lean hips, hiding the rest of him from her.

Was he taller, as well? How could that be?

A rough groan broke the silence of the room. “Cassandra,” he muttered, and suddenly he rolled over and caught her around the waist, carrying her down to the bed. His body was hard and heavy over hers as his mouth closed over hers in the darkness.

Cassandra couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She gasped, and his tongue took advantage of the small sound to slide deep against hers, greedy, hungry. It was overwhelming, overpowering….

Wonderful
. She couldn’t believe anyone could kiss like this. Why, oh, why hadn’t she tried kissing strange men sooner? His teeth nipped lightly at her lower lip then his tongue soothed the tiny sting and all she knew was the delicious fire that swept over her skin at that touch.

He tasted of wine and mint, of something dark and rich, and he smelled of sandalwood soap….

Sandalwood?
For one flashing instant she remembered the way Ian always smelled, so clean and exotic at the same time. The way his hair felt under her fingertips. Soft, like raw silk. Just like the hair that slid over her skin now as his open mouth traced a hot ribbon of kisses down her neck, over her bare shoulder.

But Lord Phillips’s hair was close-cropped.

Her eyes flew open and she stared down at the head against her shoulder. The dark head. She froze in panic.

“Cassie,” he muttered. “What’s wrong?”

What was wrong? She was in bed with Ian, that was what was wrong!

And yet it felt so horribly, wonderfully right.

Cassandra pushed him away with a shriek. Startled by her sudden move, he fell off her body back to the bed and she sat up straight. She jerked up the sheet to cover herself in her thin chemise, but that unfortunately left Ian quite naked. The beam of moonlight turned his lean, glistening body to pure, molten silver.

And, damn him, he didn’t seem in the least bit concerned that he was naked. He sat up beside her and knelt back on his heels, staring down at her in concern. His hair was tousled from the touch of her fingers.

“Cassie?” he said hoarsely.

“You— What are you doing here?” she stammered.

Much to her horror, a grin touched his lips. “I think that was obvious. I was kissing you, until I was rudely interrupted.”

“But you—you…” Cassandra had no idea what to say, what to do. Nothing in her oh-so-proper upbringing, or her equally proper marriage, had ever prepared her for a situation like this. Finding herself in bed with the wrong man.

The man she had secretly wanted to be in bed with more than anything.

Ian slowly stretched out on the mattress again, his head propped on his folded arms as his beautiful body was spread before her. His broad, smooth chest, tapering to a lean waist and narrow hips, his long, hair-dusted legs, the hard evidence of his arousal…

No!
Cassandra snapped her eyes closed. But she could still see him there.

“Expecting someone else, were you?” he said, and he sounded so infuriatingly satisfied with himself.

“This isn’t your room,” she said.

“It is now. And I was just wondering if I should go knock on your door when I fell so inconveniently asleep.” She felt his hand brush lightly over hers where she clutched at the sheet. “I confess, I don’t think I’ve ever been awakened in such a delightful manner before.”

Cassandra shook her head. He sounded like the old Ian again at last, teasing, flirtatious, comfortable. But there was something else there, as well, a dark tension she had never heard from him before. It made her tremble.

“But you don’t want this,” she whispered.

In answer he gently took her hand in his and pulled it away from the linen. He pressed her fingers over his erection, and it felt so hot and velvet-smooth under her touch.

“Does it feel like I don’t want this?” he said hoarsely. “Damn it, Cassie, but when you touch me…”

She could scarcely believe this was happening, that she was with Ian, touching him so intimately. And he was so hard for her. If this was a dream, she didn’t want it to end. Not yet.

She slowly slid her fingers down over him, tracing the length of his manhood before she moved back up again, a bit harder. He groaned, and she felt him jerk against her hand.

“Oh!” she gasped.

“Yes—oh,” he answered, his voice harsh. He twined his fingers in her hair and drew her closer to him, his open mouth pressing to the sensitive curve of her neck just below her ear. “Damn it, Cassie, but you taste delicious. Like vanilla custard.”

“Va-vanilla custard?” she said. Her head feel back, her eyes sliding closed at the feeling of his mouth on her skin. It was so wonderful, it made her feel hot and shivering all at the same time. Her hand fell away from his erection and she braced it on his hair-roughened thigh to keep from falling.

“Mmm-hmm. I always did have a terrible craving for sweets.” Ian trailed a hot ribbon of kisses along her collarbone to the curve of her shoulder as his hand slid over the strap of her chemise. He eased it away from her body, baring her skin inch by inch.

Something deep inside of her screamed at Cassandra that this was
Ian
touching her naked body, kissing her. Hard for her. That something seemed to watch from a distance as their bodies slid together on the bed, completely aghast at what she was doing. But Cassandra could only hear those protests as a vague murmur. She could only feel Ian’s long, strong fingers on her skin, his mouth on her. Could only want more.

Ian eased her back down to the pillows and drew her chemise over her head, leaving her lying naked beneath him. She had never been completely naked in front of any man before, not even Charles. Her husband had usually lifted her nightdress just enough to bare what he needed, being far too polite to really look at her. For a moment, shyness washed over her and she tried to cover her bare breasts with her hands. Ian had surely seen many beautiful women. What if she disappointed him? She was too thin, her breasts too small.

But he caught her hands in his and held them to the bed. His eyes grew hooded, dark, as he looked down at her. It felt as if he touched her physically with his gaze and she trembled.

“You are so beautiful, Cassie,” he said, in a voice she had never heard from him before. A rough, harsh voice, as if he held himself on a tight tether. His arms tensed on either side of her as he held her hands down, the lean muscles rippling under his smooth, damp skin.

And then he touched her in truth, gently caressing her naked breasts. His fingertips trailed over their curves, slightly callused on her soft skin. His touch swept closer and closer to her aching nipples, teasing and retreating. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, begging him to touch her.

She let her breath out on a sigh when he finally caught one of the pink, hard nipples between his thumb and forefinger, lightly pinching, rolling. Waves of pure, hot pleasure swept through her and her back arched off the bed.

“So beautiful,” he said. “I’ve waited so long….”

He bent his head and caught the nipple he caressed deep in his mouth, sucking, licking. He cupped her other breast on his palm, his fingers teasing its crest. Cassandra cried out, her head tossing on the pillows.

She twisted her fingers in his thick, rough-silk hair and pulled him up to her, sighing as his mouth claimed hers in a fierce, hard kiss. His tongue slid past her lips to taste her and she met him eagerly. He tasted delicious, just as she remembered and had dreamed of ever since that kiss in the rain. She felt a rush of pure, raw joy that he was in her arms again when she had been sure it would never happen.

How could she keep him from escaping again?

But any thoughts fled before the feeling of his mouth on hers, his tongue twining with hers. He made her feel dizzy, giddy.

She twisted her fingers even deeper into his hair as his hands slipped down to grasp her hips and tilt her body tighter against his, until she spread her legs and wrapped them around his waist. Kissing him like this, as if they were starved for each other, her body so close to him, she knew she had never felt so very intimate with anyone before in her life.

Desperate to hold on to that connection, she kissed him back even harder and slid her hips over his, making him groan when his erection brushed her trembling inner thigh.

“Cassie,” he whispered. He kissed the soft curve of her shoulder, licked lightly at the hollow of her throat. His lips traced the soft valley between her breasts, the curve of her waist and the flare of her hip. “Cassie.”

She closed her eyes tightly as he kissed the top of her thigh, the crease below her hip. Cassandra gasped, and she felt his smile against her skin before his lips trailed over the back of her leg and he kissed the vulnerable spot at the underside of her knee. She hooked her other knee over his shoulder and when he groaned with the harshness of tightly leashed need, she felt truly beautiful for the first time in her life.

It was Ian who knelt so intimately between her legs. Ian who wanted her.

And then she felt his tongue touch her
there
, teasing that tiny, sensitive spot. Then his tongue plunged deep, rough and delicate at the same time. It was the most intimate thing she had ever dared to imagine. She cried out incoherently at the rush of pleasure. She couldn’t make any words, think any thoughts but of him.