In the Prince’s Bed by Sabrina Jeffries (14)

Chapter Twenty

The man was infuriating! He always thought to get round her by kissing her…turning her knees to mush…sparking a low heat inside her belly that—

No! She jerked back from him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Anger still rode him; she could see it in his glittering eyes as he removed his cravat. “What I should have done two nights ago—making sure we get married.”

His words sent a thrill coursing through her. “By seducing me.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it?” His words were clipped. Flicking open the buttons of his shirt with one hand, he glared at her. “That’s what we rakehells live for—seducing young innocents.”

He yanked his shirt over his head, and her mouth went dry. For a moment, she forgot about their argument and his anger. She could only stare at his bare chest—the sculpted muscles, lean waist, the strands of black hair caught in the glow of the lamp, reminding her of that wonderful night at Astley’s…

She shook herself. “I know you’re not a rakehell.”

“Really?” He dragged her into his arms. “Is that why you carry that blasted book around in your reticule like a talisman?”

“It’s not…I just—”

He cut off her feeble protest with a hot, furious kiss. For a moment, she let him kiss her. She shouldn’t blame him for his fury; his explanations had been totally plausible. And she had overreacted to his lateness. Nor had she told Sydney of their betrothal as she’d promised.

But she still didn’t quite trust him, either. He was hiding something; she could sense it in the way he avoided certain questions.

She wriggled out of his embrace to slip from between him and the orange tree and back farther down the path. “You can’t seduce me.”

He prowled after her as relentlessly as a conqueror marching over a vulnerable land. “I can do as I please. I’m a rakehell, remember?”

“Would you stop saying that?” She nearly stumbled over a watering pot before catching her balance and backing farther away. “You don’t mean it. You’re just annoyed by my book.”

“I’m far beyond mere annoyance, I assure you.”

The determined way he stalked her sent a shiver down her spine. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a shiver of fear. “You can’t do this. People might see.”

“Not back here, away from the windows.”

Goodness, he was serious. “But everyone will guess what we’re doing.” She thrust a chair in his path.

He knocked it aside. “If they even guess we’re in here. Anyone who has returned to the balcony will find the garden empty and assume that we’ve returned to the house. And if they don’t, that’s fine, too. Then you’ll have to marry me.”

He cornered her in a little alcove with a wide, cushioned bench at her back. But when he pounced, it wasn’t to haul her into his arms. Instead, he turned her so he could unfasten her buttons.

The mere brush of his fingers down her gown uncoiled a reckless excitement in her belly that she struggled to ignore. “We cannot do this.”

“We can.” He raked kisses along her neck, in her hair, on the parts of her upper back he bared inch by inch.

It was all she could do to keep her mind unfogged by his seductions. “We’re not married yet.”

“We will be.” He pushed her gown off her shoulders, and it fell to her waist, baring her corset and chemise. He unlaced her corset so easily that it annoyed her.

“You certainly know very well how to undress a woman.”

“I’ve undressed a few,” he admitted as he tossed the corset aside. “Though not as many as you seem to think. And not for some time.” From behind her, he brought his hands up to cup her thinly clad breasts. “Is that what’s worrying you—that I’m wicked enough to seduce you and not marry you?”

“I never said you were wic—”

“What does your book say about rakes marrying, anyway? Or are they not supposed to?”

It was hard to think with him fondling her breasts so deliciously, but she roused herself to answer. “It says…married rakes should be…discreet.”

“God rot it. I’ll have to burn that blasted thing.”

“Or stop following it.”

He tugged her around to face him, his face ablaze. “I’ve never—”

“I know.” She pressed her hand to his lips. “I do know.” Only when his fury abated did she drop her hand. “But apparently rakehells and respectable men on the prowl think alike.”

He eyed her warily. “In what way?”

“You’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?”

He hesitated, then gave a tight shake of his head. “I’m trying to make love to you. It’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Seduction is when a man coerces a woman into saying yes to sharing his bed.” He drew her close, then bent his head to whisper, “Making love is when she says yes because she wants to be there.”

That was certainly not in The Rake’s Rhetorick. She’d read enough to know that the anonymous author didn’t believe in giving the woman much choice.

“And why should I say yes?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she was doomed. Because she was already thinking about it, already wanting it, already—

“Because you need me as much as I need you.” He kissed her again, the slow-burning kiss of a man who knew what he wanted, who knew what she wanted, better than she knew herself. “Show me you trust me, sweetheart.” He nibbled her lip. “Show me you won’t go running to Lovelace the minute I disappoint you. Show me you want to marry me.”

Now that his anger seemed to have ebbed, he was far more dangerous to her self-control. “I do want to marry you, but…there will have to be rules.”

“No rules.” His face shone hard as steel.

“But—”

“No,” he growled, dragging her chemise over her head and tossing it aside.

She wore no drawers, and his eyes widened, raking her naked body with obvious desire. Self-conscious, she started to cover herself with her hands, but he caught them in his as he drank his fill.

He lifted a fiery gaze to her face. “You have too many rules, sweetheart. Demand anything of me you wish when we’re in society, but when we’re alone, there will be only one rule.”

Her bared nipples puckered beneath his hot glance. “Wh-what rule is that?”

“The rule of lovers: All that matters is pleasing each other.”

“And if I want more? If I want…” What? Love? She’d told him she didn’t believe in love. “Mutual affection? Consideration for my feelings?”

“You’ll have that, too,” he said, though a strangely haunted look shadowed his features as he drew her close. “You will, I swear.”

For some insane reason, she believed him. “All right. Then, yes.”

His hands tightened on her waist. “Yes, what?”

“You said making love is when a woman says—”

He brought his mouth fiercely down on hers, taking command of her. Soon she was drowning in sensations…his tongue stabbing deep…his thumb teasing her nipple into a fine, hard point…his other hand cupping her hips and tugging her flush against his pelvis.

As hard male flesh dug into soft feminine curves, she suddenly remembered the shocking prints from The Rake’s Rhetorick, where the men’s “staffs” were so ridiculously large.

Lord preserve her—could that have been…could a man really be…Curious, she slid her hand between them to explore the bulge in his trousers. When it jumped in her hand, she jerked back with a squeak. “My word, it moves!”

Alec gave a strained laugh. “Nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart. Here, try it again.” He brought her hand back to the heavy rod trapped inside his buckskins. His eyes slid shut as she stroked him tentatively. Then he rasped, “Wait—” and stepped back to undo the buttons.

In the dim light, his eyes looked almost black as he shoved his trousers off his hips. His drawers quickly followed, and she could only stare at the thick flesh that jutted out from between his well-hewn thighs. Except for its nest of sable hair, his member was the very image of the ones in the book. My goodness! So men really could increase in size until they—

“Touch me again,” he said, grabbing her hand and drawing it back. “I promise to stay still…just touch it…please…”

The hoarse need in his voice delighted her. Alec had never begged her for anything; he was always too self-assured for that. Feeling terribly wicked—and terribly excited—she let him close her hand around his “staff.”

Well! He was certainly as big as any of those men in the pictures. And stiff—how did flesh get so stiff? Or feel so warm, and be so responsive when she stroked it?

At his groan, she hesitated. “Am I doing it right?”

“Yes…” His breathing was weighted, thick.

“Show me how to please you. What do I do?”

His eyes shot open to scour her with raw hunger. Then he gripped her fingers and molded them to his rigid length. “Just…hold it.”

“Like this?”

“Tighter.” When she did as he said, he moaned and thrust into her hand. “My God, sweetheart…that feels so good.”

“Does it?” She exulted to see his rapt face, to hear his rough sounds of pleasure. He’d always been the one to make her react. Having the shoe on the other foot was exhilarating—and deliriously freeing.

The way his flesh leaped beneath her touch, the way it felt in her hand, was more thrilling than she’d imagined. The only thing more thrilling would be to have him touch her the way he’d done before.

As if he’d read her mind, he reached down between her legs, found the damp aching flesh there, and fondled her as boldly as she was fondling him.

When his finger delved inside her, she gasped and thrust her hips against his maddening palm. He rubbed her hard, making her insane, blotting out everything but the glorious thrill of his hand caressing her so intimately. Her knees faltered, and she swayed against him.

“Does that please you?” he growled.

“You know…that it does,” she gasped.

She tugged hard on his staff, and he shuddered. “Does this please you?” she countered, his response making her stroke more boldly.

“Too much,” he said thickly. Suddenly, he was brushing her hand away and lowering her onto the cushions. As he followed her down, spreading her thighs so he could kneel between them, he growled, “You’re mine now, Katherine Merivale. Not Lovelace’s—mine.”

“Yes,” she breathed as she flung her arms about his neck.

He parted the flesh between her legs with wicked, knowing fingers. “You’ll marry me,” he commanded. “As soon as possible.”

“Yes.” She squirmed beneath him, wanting to feel his fingers driving deep inside her again. “Whatever you say.”

He stared down at her with a heavy-lidded gaze. “You do know how this works, don’t you?”

His solemn expression, coupled with the amazing intimacy of him lying between her legs with his fingers teasing her in the most shameless manner, made her giggle. “If I don’t, then I’m about to have quite a surprise.”

“Katherine—”

“Yes, I know how it works.” She arched against his hand, instinctively craving more. “I’m a country girl, remember?” Not to mention that she’d been looking at pictures of it for months.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said as he continued to hover over her.

“You can’t avoid it.” She turned her head to kiss his muscular left arm, the one straining to hold him off her. “So unless you’re thinking of stopping—”

“No,” he growled. “No stopping now.” Then it was no longer his fingers, but something bigger and firmer forging its way up her slick passage.

Her eyes slid shut. How very…interesting. It was tight…hot…thrilling even, as it stretched her in a place she’d never imagined being stretched, heated her in a place she’d never imagined being heated.

Suddenly he stopped moving to press his lips to her ear. “All right, country girl, here it comes. Try to relax, and it will go easier for you.”

She nodded, but braced herself anyway. Relaxing was impossible. Every inch of her lower body felt alive to his flesh within her, as if she’d waited for him a hundred years, waited to become his woman, pain or no.

But when he thrust, she felt nothing but a little pinch, so fleeting that she laughed aloud. That was the virtue she’d been protecting so fiercely? That barrier so easily disposed of?

Planted to the hilt inside her, he whispered, “What’s so funny?”

She opened her eyes to stare up at him. He looked concerned. “It’s not…what I expected, that’s all.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”

“The sky to fall, and the earth to shake.” And all because she’d shamelessly given her virtue to a man outside of marriage.

He smiled rakishly, then brushed his lips over hers. “Just wait,” he said in a tone of promise.

“For what?”

Then he moved. And moved again. And again and again, driving deep, thrusting hard, sweeping all thoughts from her mind, banishing all protests.

“Oh…my…goodness…” she whispered, as he rode her as masterfully as he’d ridden his horses. “That’s…oh…”

“Yes,” he rasped against her ear. “By God, sweetheart…you feel incredible…you have no idea…”

“I do, I do,” she chanted as he thundered inside her, around her, with her. And when he slipped his hand between them to flick his finger over the tender nub he’d touched before, she went positively wild, thrashing beneath him, nearly throwing him off the bench with her writhing.

Satisfaction blazed in his face as he drew back far enough to look into her eyes, his breath harsh and ragged. “Remember this…remember you find it…with me…not Lovelace…me.”

She could only nod, because the sensations he created made it too hard to speak…to think…to do anything but wrap her legs about his hips so she could press into him higher, harder…

“Mine,” he said in a guttural voice against her ear as he gave a sudden mighty thrust, driving into her so deeply that she felt him in the very heart of her. “Mine now. Only mine.”

Then the earth did shake, and the sky did fall…and she was lost to anything but him straining against her, spilling himself inside her as a cry of pleasure tore from her lips.

He muffled it with his mouth, so it didn’t betray their presence in the orangery.

But in her mind she repeated his vow—Mine. Mine now. Only mine.