Starlight & Promises (28 page)

His words shook her from her dreamlike state. She leaned back into the circle of his arms. “Is that why you married me?” she asked with an arch look.

His mouth quirked in a rueful grin. “Not at all, tigrina, though the notion deserves merit and should have occurred to me earlier. One might speculate that the only way to ensure your safety and obedience is to keep you beneath me in bed, so I’ll always know where to find you.” Then he lowered his voice so only she could hear him. “In truth, I want to be inside you so desperately I can taste it.”

Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She wanted him, too, felt as if she had wanted him forever, though she would never be so bold as to tell him inside a church, no less!

He pressed his fingertips to her cheek, and his breath warmed her ear. “Did I ever tell you how much I adore the way you blush?”

Samantha blushed even more furiously, and Christian laughed.

Married!

Shock still rippled through her veins, though the full weight of the vows only now impacted her brain. Was it all a dream?
Perhaps I’m still locked away in Christian’s cabin, delirious from hunger
. She pinched herself and winced with very real pain.

Married!
The word descended like a crushing weight.
Love … Honor … Obey … Obey?
What had she done?

Husband and wife. Till death do you part
. It seemed so … so frightfully final. What would happen to Samantha Colchester, modern woman? Was she now but an appendage, an extension of Christian Badia?

She whispered, “Mistress Christian Badia.” The words were strange, impersonal. The name took away her individuality and reduced her to a subordinate role in one fell swoop, one moment in time.

She brought to mind an image of Christian. Tall, dark, utterly masculine, and desirable. Tender and intelligent, gentle and sensual. Short-tempered and overbearing, arrogant, infuriating, maddeningly passionate. She sighed, aware it was a tad late to cry off. They were well and truly wedded.

Samantha sat on the padded stool before the dressing table mirror to remove her hat and studied her reflection while pulling the ribbon from her hair and releasing it from its confinement. The heavy butterscotch mass slipped from its bond and rippled around her shoulders, falling to her waist in glowing waves.

Why did she waver now? She had wanted this, asked for it, pined for it. Perhaps not the wedding but certainly the bedding. She flushed at her thoughts, at the times in the past when she all but begged Christian to bed her. He would now answer her pleas and satisfy her curiosity.

For better or worse
.

At times she suspected she had experienced the worst and seen only occasional glimpses of the better. Perhaps now the state of affairs between them would change. He would treat her more as an equal, cease ordering her around, allow her more freedom.

Don’t count on it!

The girl in the mirror looked so young and frightened. Her color was a trifle too pale, amber eyes a bit too wide, lips slightly parted and trembling.

She examined the ring on her finger. Topaz and emerald stars. For the first time since entering their suite at the inn, a smile eased the tight line of her mouth. ‘Twas not some cheap bauble bought without a moment’s thought. Notwithstanding his panicky state and hasty action, he’d not married her on the spur of the moment. The ring was fashioned especially for her.

She recalled that enchanted night in the desert when she snatched the stars from the velvety sky to the accompaniment of Christian’s laughter. The first night they spent together. The first time they truly talked with civility. As she inspected the ring, she knew he remembered that night, too, and marked it as the beginning of a special bond between them.

Christian came through the doorway, crossed the room, and stopped behind her. She drank in his image in the mirror. He buried his hands in her hair and sifted his fingers through the tangle of curls. Lifting them to one side, he bent and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck, searing her skin like a brand of ownership. Samantha closed her eyes and leaned back into him.

“Nervous?” he asked quietly.

She nodded.

“Then I’m in good company.”

Her eyes flew open, and she swiveled her head to gape at him. “You? Nervous?”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “I’ve never married, and I’ve never made love to a virgin.”

She returned to the mirror. “I find that difficult to swallow.”

“What?”

“About … virgins.”

“Why?”

“You are s-so knowledgeable,” she stammered, her fingers fiddling with a silver-backed brush on the vanity. “You always seem to know what you’re doing.”

He removed the brush from her hand and swept it slowly through Samantha’s tresses. Her eyelids drifted half closed at the rhythmic stroking. “I never had the desire to deflower a virgin,” he replied. “That task I leave to Garrett. He has a penchant for tender, young things. In the past, I’ve preferred my women with more experience.”

She opened her eyes and fixed them on his reflection. “And now, do you have regrets?” she asked in a small voice.

“For marrying you or for your virginal state?”

“Either. Both.”

Would
he repent this precipitous action? For thirty-eight years, Christian had avoided becoming too deeply involved with any one woman. Did being literally trapped aboard a ship for months on end force an intimacy he had neither sought nor required? Were he and Samantha to part at some point, would her memory fade as quickly and easily as the others? What did the little imp possess that enticed, no, compelled him into marriage, when with all the others, he’d not even come close? He could have had her anyway, without the benefit of vows.

Was he sorry? No. At this moment he could truthfully say he was not. However, he had no knowledge of the future and what it would bring. He could envision a lifetime with Samantha, a home and children. Would the newness of his current bliss last, or, like a silver tea set, would it tarnish with age?

At Christian’s silence, Samantha examined his face, seeking his answer, the reassurance she required. He seemed to sense her insecurity and lowered his gaze to her. A warm smile spread across his sensual mouth.

“No, tigrina, I have no regrets.”

He pulled the brush once more through her hair, from scalp to ends, and slid his hands beneath her arms to bring her to her feet and turn her toward him. His lips hovered over hers and skimmed them, tracing their outline with his tongue, dipping into the corners and parting their softness. The kiss was tender, breathtaking, and full of sweetness, flavored with champagne from the wedding dinner, sugar from their wedding cake, and his dark, underlying desire.

When his tongue moved into her mouth, she met it and followed when he retreated, probing, exploring. His arms tightened around her, molding her smaller, softer body against his larger, harder one, and he took control of the kiss. It deepened, his lips firmer and hungrier, his throbbing erection burning into her belly.

Her heartbeat escalated out of control. At that point she became aware, truly aware, of what would happen between them this night. It seemed she had sought it for an age. The notion accelerated her pulse, spread delicious sparks across her skin, and knotted her stomach.

She eased away from him and searched the expression in his eyes, encountering his dark, turbulent gaze. “Will it hurt?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Only the first time.”

She took her lower lip between her teeth, then released it and asked, “How much?”

He shook his head, smiling apologetically. “That I cannot tell you. For every woman the experience is different, or so I’ve heard. It depends on how thick and firmly lodged is your maidenhead.”

“Will it hurt you, too?”

His brows raised a notch. “I have no reason to believe I should feel any pain.”

A familiar mutiny reared its head, and she frowned. “That does not seem fair.”

He grinned, clearly amused by her reasoning. “Would it salve your demand for equality were I to suffer the agonies of the damned?” When she declined to answer, he went on. “Please believe me, Sam. I’ve experienced my fair share of pain these past months. Wanting you and not being able to have you has caused me more misery than you can imagine. I retired to bed in wretchedness more nights than not.” He twisted her around and started undoing the buttons down the back of her gown. “Now I want to look at you,” he said, his voice rough-edged and husky. “I’ve dreamt of the day when I could feast my eyes on you with no barriers between us.”

When he unbuttoned her sleeves and slipped the bodice off her shoulders, a blush flushed her skin. Unlatching her skirt, he pushed the gown to the floor. After he untied her petticoat ribbons, the garments joined her skirts. “Step out of them,” he said, his words a plea more than an order, and she moved away from the pile of frothy lace and lawn, spinning around to face him.

After unlacing her chemise, he pulled it off over her head and knelt on one knee to untie her drawers and glide them slowly down her hips, leaving her clad only in white stockings, lacy garters, and white leather shoes. Sitting back on his heels, he inhaled a slow breath and made a leisurely, thorough inspection of her body. Samantha’s blush turned fiery. She lifted her hands to shield her private parts from his smoldering eyes.

He brushed her hands aside. “Please, Sam, we’re married. You have no need for modesty.” Reaching up, he smoothed his palms down her arms and across her breasts to span her waist. He slid them over her hips and belly and the curves of her thighs and calves.

“Turn around,” he said with a catch in his voice. She slowly pivoted. His fingers explored her sloping shoulders and the arch of her back. They cupped and kneaded the cheeks of her buttocks and roamed down her legs again. “Exquisite,” he whispered. “You are perfection.”

After bringing her around to face him, he removed her shoes, garters, and stockings. Once he came to his feet, he handed her a silk dressing gown. “Slip into this,” he said, his hands shaking, “though it pales in comparison to the silkiness of your skin.” While he crossed the floor to a table in a corner of the room, she draped the robe over her nudity.

He returned, holding two snifters of brandy, placed one in her trembling hand, and winked. “I know you enjoy brandy. This might calm your nerves. Both our nerves.”

Samantha recalled the brandy she drank in Boston before their first meeting and smiled. Did he never forget anything? She sipped from the glass and gazed into his eyes. The green pools softened, darkened. This was the Christian she loved, the one she had seldom encountered. At last he had lowered his barriers and allowed her to see him as he truly was, as he could be. This was the man who loved her. Her nerves fluttered with expectation of what was to come. Her heart beat faster, not in fear but in anticipation.

Still holding her gaze, Christian began to remove his clothes. She followed the motion of his fingers, noting that his hands trembled as much as hers. More than anything, that tremble gave her confidence. However, when he moved to the fastenings of his breeches, she averted her face.

“No, you don’t. Do not fail me now.” He took her chin in gentle fingers, tugged on it until he could meet her eyes, and pointed to the bed. “I would ask that you sit there. It would please me for you to watch. It’s only fair I stand for your inspection as I asked you to stand for mine.”

She perched on the edge of the bed but closed her eyes. His fingers cupped her chin once again, and she lifted her lids.

“Keep your eyes open, Sam. No mysteries will lie between us. The time has come for you to learn what a man looks like. Though my shape is not as pleasing as yours, it all belongs to you.”

He stepped back and pushed down his breeches and drawers in one smooth motion, as though he expected her to bolt. While he balanced on one leg, then the other, he stripped. At last he stood before her in all his nude, highly aroused glory.

Samantha’s eyes stretched wider. She forgot how to breathe. His broad chest and shoulders, covered in dark hair, were familiar. The dense mat on his chest narrowed as it moved toward his trim waist, running in a dark line down his flat abdomen and thickening again around his groin. His erect penis jutted from the curly nest, and she sucked in a choking breath at her first sight of a man’s aroused phallus. ‘Twas so much more than she ever imagined. A thick, long shaft bulging with veins, a rounded, purplish red tip with a cleft in the center, and … big, surely much too big.

“How can this possibly work?” she sputtered. “‘Tis too large. I have changed my mind. I have no wish to continue with this.” She gave him a pleading look and attempted a smile, but she expected it looked sickly. “You don’t wish to injure me, do you?”

Christian laughed softly, though his compassionate expression revealed his empathy with her virgin fears. He stepped forward, crouched down, and took her cheeks between his hands, looking deeply into her eyes. “I would imagine it’s a frightening surprise, but I give you my vow, it
will
work. Right now you find that impossible to believe. Nonetheless, our bodies are designed to fit together. I’ll not hurt you any more than is necessary.” He straightened his legs, moved to the bed beside her, disposed of her robe, and eased her onto her back. “Now it’s time to rid you of that pesky virginity before you have more time to agonize over it.”