Chapter Twenty-three
Eleanor watched the firelight caress the hard planes of his face, softening them and burnishing his skin to a dark gold.
Such a simple thing, to take his hand, to ease him down beside her and let the warmth of his body envelop her skin. She closed her eyes and let her breath rush through her lungs in a sigh, then opened them again as strong fingers cupped her jaw.
His whisper was soft and dark against her ear. “Kiss me.”
Eleanor hesitated, then brushed her mouth over his firm lower lip, her first stroke shy, tentative. He made a small, strangled sound in his throat and caught her hand to press it harder against his chest. Encouraged, she kissed him again, but she lingered this time to savor his taste. Port, was it? A fine one, rich and spicy against her tongue.
Dear God. He’s delicious.
She stroked the tip of her tongue across the seam of his lips, then opened her mouth over his to taste him deeply. His chest vibrated with a groan, and he closed his hands around her upper arms to drag her closer. “Yes. Give me your mouth.”
Eleanor pressed her mouth to his with a gasp, thrilled at the rough command in his voice, his possessive touch. He’d been careful with her up until now, hesitant, as if he were afraid she’d flee at any moment, but with each brush of her mouth against his he grew wilder, his body tensing with unleashed desire.
She licked into his mouth again and again, desperate for more of his taste, but after a dozen dizzying kisses he drew away from her, laughing softly at her whimper of protest, and slid his hands over her back, searching for the row of tiny buttons on her gown. He tugged on them until he’d loosened her tight bodice, then slipped his fingers underneath the thin muslin of her shift. “So soft.” He stroked the bare skin of her neck. “I want to see all of you.” He traced a finger over the swells of her breasts, right above neckline of her gown. “Show me.”
Eleanor froze. He wanted her to . . . bare herself to him? She let her gaze wander over his naked chest. Her breath caught at his masculine beauty, the raw power of his body, the layered muscles, hard and sleek under his tawny skin. Would he get pleasure from her body, as she did from his? He was perfection, but she was pale, fine-boned. Perhaps he’d think her too small, or—
“Don’t hide from me, Ellie. Show me.”
Eleanor shivered. His voice was gentle still, but she knew at once he’d accept no excuses, no evasions. If she wanted him, she’d have to offer every part of herself to him. Willingly. Eagerly. He’d allow nothing less.
She gazed at him, the square jaw, the strong curve of his chin, the high, proud cheekbones—a stern face, yes, but soft now, with his chestnut hair falling over his brow and his eyes, so hot, green flames, yet still soft, for all that. Even when she’d threatened to expose Amelia’s secrets, his eyes had been soft when they touched her face.
You don’t want to do this, Eleanor.
Even as she’d railed at him, tried to hurt him, threatened the sister he loved so dearly, he’d been worried for her.
You could never hurt her. Say it.
Eleanor looked into the dark forest of eyes. He’d made her say it. To admit it, to him and to herself, because he wanted to tear her free from something so ugly. How had he known, even before she had, she could never hurt Amelia? He’d seen her, even before she’d seen herself, and he’d trusted her, even when she hadn’t trusted herself.
I should care. I do care.
What would it be like, to have such a man care for her? Love her? Even as she’d struggled with him, even as she’d fought him, hated him, she’d been stunned by the depth of his love for Amelia. How would it feel, to have that kind of love for herself?
Is there no hope for us?
Was there? She didn’t know. Perhaps she’d never be able to trust him after the way they’d begun, and yet . . .
Wasn’t that what hope was? A dream that defied logic. A waking dream . . .
He watched her with shadowed green eyes. Waited. If she wanted him, she’d have to give. Herself, with no reservations. Somewhere deep inside her she’d known this moment would come, except it wasn’t as she imagined it would be. She thought she’d feel as though she’d lost something to him, but instead it felt like she’d been given a gift the moment his hand closed around hers.
Eleanor slipped a finger under the narrow band of ribbon and tugged her sleeve down, baring her shoulder.
Cam watched her, his eyes burning. “The other one.” He drifted one finger down her neck and under the sagging neckline of her gown to stroke the warm valley between her breasts. “All of you.”
She grasped her other sleeve, her gaze holding his as she eased it down, the fabric dragging over her skin as she freed herself from the heavy silk, until nothing held the bodice up now except her hand fisted in the neckline.
Cam’s breath was short, harsh. “Show me.”
She let the material slip from her fingers, and the gown fell to her waist. Underneath she wore only a sheer white shift, and he could see . . . she closed her eyes as heat rushed into her cheeks. He could see the outline of her breasts, and, dear God, her nipples, hard against the fine fabric, seeking his touch—
Eleanor shivered as his warm palms cupped her breasts.
“Open your eyes.”
She stole a glance at him from under her lashes. He continued to caress her, but his eyes were riveted to hers. “Look at me when I touch you.” He brushed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, once, more a breath than a touch.
Eleanor gasped and threw her head back, but he shifted closer to her and tangled a hand in the hair at the back of her neck to bring her gaze back to his. “No. Watch me.”
A strangled moan tore from her throat as he stroked her nipples again. She quivered in his arms, overwhelmed by the feel of his rough fingertips against the straining peaks.
His laugh was soft, dark. “Do you want me to touch you, Ellie?”
“Yes. I want you to touch me. Please, Cam.”
He groaned and trailed his hands from her breasts up the front of her neck in one smooth stroke. “Do you want more?” He plucked at the fabric of her shift, toying with the bow there.
Eleanor released a shaky breath. “Yes.”
He slid his fingers under the loose fabric and slipped it off her shoulders. “I do, too. So much more. I want everything from you.”
Cool air rushed over her breasts as he drew the shift down, baring her. She lifted her chin a fraction, fighting the urge to close her eyes again as his gaze dropped to her breasts. His mouth went slack and a hot flush of color swept across his cheekbones, and a surge of triumph washed over her, dizzying her.
“Eleanor.” All hints of teasing fell away as he fought to catch his breath, his cool composure shattered. Dear God, the way he looked at her . . . his gaze was hot, hungry. Eleanor’s pulse throbbed, sending a wild surge of blood to the warm, secret places of her body.
“Come here.” He crooked one long finger, beckoning to her, but he made no move to touch her. He simply waited, his green eyes glittering with desire.
She didn’t think to question him, or to disobey his command, but crawled across the bed to him. With one quick move he wrapped his arm around her waist, tugged her onto his lap, and buried his face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder. “God, your scent.” His low grown vibrated against her skin. “I’ve dreamed of this, of tasting you.”
In the next breath his mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, on her lips, the sensitive skin behind her ear, her neck, her throat. She wrapped her fingers in his chestnut hair and rose to her knees, urging him to take more, but he pulled away, took her chin between his fingers, and forced her gaze to his.
“I’m going to kiss you here.” He traced his finger around one swollen nipple. “Don’t close your eyes, and don’t look away. Watch, Eleanor—watch me when I put my mouth on you.”
Eleanor cried out as he caught a hard, pink nipple between his teeth and bit down gently. “Oh. Cam, I—I . . .”
“Shhh. Let me taste you.” His mouth closed over her nipple, his lips and tongue hot and rough, devouring her. He drew hard on the swollen bud, then—oh, God, he was licking her with the tip of his tongue, darting over her nipple again and again, like a cat licking cream from a dish.
He pulled away at last when she began to tremble in his arms. She moaned a protest and reached for him, but he grasped her wrists in his hands and held them over her head, then eased her back flat against the bed. “Are you going to be mine?” His breath was hot against her ear, his words urgent.
His? Yes. For now, for this moment, she was his. Once this moment had passed . . . oh, she didn’t know, but it didn’t matter whether or not she knew the answer, or if she spoke the truth or a lie. All that mattered was this moment, and she would have promised him anything. “Yes.”
“Say it.” He lowered his head and dragged his tongue across her nipple again. “Tell me you’re mine.”
Eleanor sank her fingers into his hair and pulled him tighter against her breasts. “I’m yours, Cam.”
He froze for a moment, then drew in a deep, shuddering breath and buried his face in her neck. “Again. Say it again. You’re mine.”
The fierce possessiveness in his voice made her tremble, but even as her heart gave an anxious throb in her chest, she could deny him nothing. “Yes. Yours, Cam.”
He opened his mouth against her neck and sucked her tender flesh between his lips until her back bowed from the delicious torment, then his fingers went slack around her wrists. “Take off your gown.”
She looked up into his wicked green eyes. He’d make her yield in every way to him, and then he’d take . . .
He bit down on her earlobe when she hesitated, a tiny punishment. “Take off your gown and your shift.”
She shivered at the demand in his voice, but even as dark thoughts danced around the edges of her mind, she caught the mass of silk fabric bunched at her waist, her eyes on his. She raised her hips from the bed and slid her gown slowly, oh so slowly down her body, over her belly, her thighs—
Cam bit out a groan and grasped the silk in his fist. He stripped the gown from her body with one tug, then drew her shift over her head and tossed them both to the floor.
Eleanor trembled, bare before him, and waited for him to say something. Anything. But he remained silent as he took in every inch of her, his gaze heating her skin everywhere it touched.
Dear God, why didn’t he speak? When she couldn’t take his silence any longer she began to rise, to reach for the coverlet.
“No.” Cam said, his voice a low rasp. He placed his palm between her breasts and eased her gently back down against the pillows. “No. Let me look at you. Ellie.” His voice trailed off, and his throat worked. “I knew you’d be . . . but I never imagined, could not have imagined you . . .”
Warmth swelled in her chest, pressed against her rib cage, and pooled in her belly. She’d been called lovely before, beautiful even. Her past suitors, smooth-tongued and glib, had written odes to her lips, expounded on the fineness of her skin and compared her hair to a gleaming waterfall.
But none of them had ever touched her heart. Cam, with his broken words, his awkward lapses into silence—he made her heart soar.
He made her want to give him everything.
She reached for him, let her hand rest against his cheek for a moment, and then traced a fingertip around his lips before skimming her palm over his neck and throat.
He closed his eyes as she pressed her hand over his heart. “Yes. Touch me.”
Eleanor lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, her tongue lingering at the center of his palm as her gaze wandered over him, at his skin tinted gold from the firelight. She’d never dreamed a man’s body could be so beautiful.
She slid a hand over his shoulders, then trailed her fingers over his chest until they came to rest on his taut belly. “I was wrong. You don’t pad your coats, after all.”
He blinked, surprised. “No. Did you suppose I did?”
“I thought you must.” Her lips quirked. “The shoulders and the chest.” She rose up and pressed her lips to his chest, and he shuddered with pleasure when she dragged her fingernails gently over his nipples. “But this . . .” She bit her lip as her gaze roamed over his powerful shoulders and arms, his muscular thighs. “This is all you.” She slid her fingernails over his hard belly, relishing the feel of his flesh sliding under her palm. “And your skin is so smooth. Like warm silk.”
He groaned low in his throat, moving restlessly on the bed as she teased her hands over him. “Eleanor?”
She raised her gaze to his. His green eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, his eyelids heavy. “Yes?”
He took her hand and dragged it across his belly until the tips of her fingers met the top of his breeches. “I don’t pad my breeches, either.” He moved her hand lower still, his breath leaving his lungs in a heated rush as her fingers curled instinctively around him. “This is all me, too.”
Her eyes never left his as she twisted open the buttons on his falls and slipped her hand inside to brush against the hard flesh there. “Oh,” she murmured, surprised. This part of him felt so alive. It twitched in her palm, as if it sought her touch. She held him, her hand still. Cam didn’t speak, but a strangled cry escaped him and he arched into her touch when she stroked her hand once over his hot skin.
Eleanor tightened her fingers around him then, thrilled at his low moan and the way his hard flesh throbbed against her hand. Dear God, she wanted touch him like this forever, to watch his face and listen to the low, broken sounds coming from deep in his chest as his powerful body shook. She wanted to see him lost in pleasure, helpless against it.
She watched, fascinated as his back arched and his hips moved in rhythm with each of her strokes, but after a moment he reached down and grabbed her hand to still it. “Enough.”
He pulled away from her and rolled off the bed, and Eleanor nearly leapt off after him. “Cam? Where are you—”
The words died in her throat. He stripped off his breeches and smalls with one deft tug. Eleanor swallowed, hardly knowing where to look first. He was magnificent—smooth bronze skin poured over muscle, his body lean, hard, graceful, every line in perfect symmetry, as if a sculptor had carved him.
He joined her on the bed again and she reached for his shaft where it jutted proudly from his hips, eager to resume her exploration, but Cam caught her hand with a strained laugh. “No.”
Eleanor made a half-hearted attempt to get free. “But I want—”
He moved to lay over her, the dark hair on his legs tickling her thighs. “You want to drive me mad.” He raised her arms over her head and this time he held them there with a hand around her wrists. “But it’s my turn now.” He nudged her legs apart with his knee and slipped his hand between her open thighs to cup her there.
Eleanor gasped at the intimacy of it. Heat rushed over her and she trembled at the caress. “Cam, I—”
“Shhhh.” His tongue brushed against her ear as his fingers danced over her, teasing at her damp flesh, stroking her between her legs. “I want to taste you.” His soft hair dragged across her heated skin as he moved lower to press open-mouthed kisses between her breasts, then lower still, his tongue licking a path down her stomach to her belly-button.
He released her wrists and his hands slid down her sides to her hips, then his palms were between her thighs, easing them open, wider, then wider still . . .
A strangled cry left Eleanor’s lips as his fingers moved delicately between her legs, his thumbs opening her gently. He lowered his head and . . .
Taste her? Surely he didn’t mean . . . surely he wouldn’t—
“Wanted you like this forever. Dreamed of tasting you,” he groaned, right before his hot tongue snaked out to touch her, there, where his fingers had been, and dear God, it felt like . . . oh, she didn’t know! She’d never felt anything like it before. She knew only it was wicked, what he was doing, wicked and exquisite, and she couldn’t make herself stop him, couldn’t think—
He did it again, his soft tongue tracing lazy, maddening circles over her swollen flesh, making her gasp. Her hands fisted in his hair to . . . drag him away? Drag him closer?
“Does it feel good?” His whisper was low and urgent, his breath hot against her damp flesh. “Tell me.”
Eleanor made an incoherent sound in answer—a gasp or a moan, she didn’t know which, only that she’d never made that sound before in her life. He pressed his tongue harder against her, his mouth relentless, devouring her, flicking again and again over that tiny knot of flesh hidden in her folds until she could no longer keep her hips still, and writhed against the bed.
Cam’s breath hissed from his lungs when she arched under his hands. “Yes, Ellie, yes—Give me everything.”
He murmured to her between teasing strokes of his tongue, his voice low and wicked, and his fingers were everywhere, one spread low over her belly to hold her still, the other thrusting slowly into her wet heat, his tongue hot and slick, working her until her back bowed with each stroke.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take another moment of his delicious torment, he slid a second finger inside her. “Ah, yes—so sweet and wet, Ellie.” His strokes were more insistent now, faster, his breath ragged. “Come for me.”
She didn’t understand his words, but it didn’t matter—it was enough to hear his voice wash over her, move through her heart as the knot he’d tied inside her body drew tighter and tighter until it unraveled in hot waves of pleasure. Eleanor cried out, her fingers pulling Cam’s hair as he stroked her through a bliss more intense than any she’d ever known. He didn’t stop until her body went limp against the pillows, then he released her thighs and moved to lie beside her. His mouth took hers, stealing each sigh from her lips until she calmed at last, then he brushed her tangled hair away from her face.
“So beautiful.” His voice was soft, filled with wonder, but strained, breathless, and his shaft leapt against her belly. She shifted against him, squirming lower on the bed so his hard length nudged between her thighs.
Cam moaned, his big body shaking as she urged him to lie on top of her. “Tell me you want me.” He held still, his hips tight against hers. “Tell me you’ll give yourself to me.”
Oh, she did—she wanted him, against all reason, whether she should or not.
“Tell me.” He moved his hips in a gentle thrust.
She gazed up at his stark, beautiful face, into his intense green eyes, dark with longing, and all thoughts of resistance melted away. “I want you. Don’t stop, Cam.”
He released a long breath, and his lips met hers, the kiss so tender Eleanor had to pull away. His face softened as he looked down at her. He caressed the insides of her thighs, then pushed them apart gently to open her to him. He settled between her legs, his lean hips opening her wider. “Don’t be afraid.”
Eleanor only nodded, for how could she tell him it wasn’t the physical pain she feared, but the pain to her heart?
A ragged groan tore from his throat as he braced himself over her. The tip of his cock nudged against her entrance, then he thrust into her in one quick, powerful stoke. Once he was buried deep inside her, he went still. “Ellie?” He turned her face to his with a gentle hand on her cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She’d gone stiff beneath him, stunned at the sudden, sharp pain, but she could already feel her body closing around him, accepting him, tugging his hard flesh deeper inside her. She slid her arms around him and sank her fingers into the arch of his back. “You feel so . . . big. So hard.”
Some of the tension eased from him, and he laughed softly. “You feel—ah, Eleanor. You feel beautiful, so hot and sweet. I can’t get enough of you.”
Encouraged by his words and the feel of her body easing around him, she moved, just the tiniest circling of her hips, but Cam gasped and threw his head back as if he’d never before felt such astonishing pleasure. “Yes. God, yes.”
He began to move inside her then, his movements slow, careful. His body coaxed hers until each stroke took on an urgent necessity. “Cam,” she gasped, sinking her fingernails into his sweat-slick back. “Cam.”
He thrust deep into her with a powerful surge of his hips. “Do you need more?”
Eleanor closed her eyes and cried out at the exquisite sensation of him filling her. “Yes. Yes.”
She thrust her hips upward in a desperate attempt to repeat the sensation, but Cam held her to the bed with his hands, and with a dark laugh resumed his slow, measured strokes. “Not yet.”
He held back ruthlessly, keeping her just on the edge of release until, maddened, she broke free from his grasp and pulled him hard against her with her legs around his waist. She locked her ankles around his taut hips and pressed her mouth to his neck to suck and bite at him, his skin salt and musk under her tongue.
Cam gave a fierce, guttural cry and surged against her, all restraint at an end as he worked to give her what she needed. He twisted a fist in her hair to draw her head back so he could see her face. He thrust into her again, then again, hard and fast and deep. “Eleanor. Come with me.”
Eleanor arched against him, panting, her eyes locked with his. “Oh, oh . . .”
“Now.” He slid a shaking hand between her open thighs to stroke her and she cried out, her legs tightening around him as she exploded beneath him.
“Yes, Eleanor. So good . . . ” Cam’s hips thrust furiously as he drove into her, until at last he cried out with savage triumph, shuddering over her, his back bowing as he came to his own release.
His arms collapsed beneath him and he sagged against her, his body spent. For long moments they lay there and he held her, the only sound their mingled breathing.
Eleanor reached up to stroke his damp hair, dazed. He was . . . dear God, he was magnificent. She’d never dreamt she could feel such pleasure, and he’d been so tender, so careful of her. Her heart crashed against her ribs now, just thinking of it. To experience such pleasure in his arms, it made her . . .
Vulnerable.
He eased to his side, gathered her against him and buried his face in her hair. He murmured to her, his voice hoarse—he told her she was beautiful, exquisite, that she’d given him such pleasure—but his words washed over her, soundless, drowned as each desperate beat of her heart echoed in her ears.
She’d given him everything.
When she didn’t reply he pulled back to look down at her, an anxious frown creasing his brow. “Eleanor. Are you all right? Oh, God, I didn’t hurt you?”
She shook her head, too numb to speak. No, he hadn’t hurt her.
But he would.
Panic began to well in her chest. She could become a slave to it. To the pleasure, yes, but also to him, his fingers under her chin as he tipped her face up to his, his green eyes, dark with passion, his whispered words in her ears, so sweet she’d never be able to deny him anything.
Oh, dear God. What had she done?
He’d take everything from her now, until there was nothing left, until she was so empty inside she no longer recognized herself. She’d become a ghost, haunted and silent, her feet soundless against the marble floors.
The villain, or the hero, but never both at once.
He wrapped an arm around her neck and urged her head down to his bare chest. He toyed with her hair for long moments, then heaved a deep, satisfied sigh. “I knew it was a good idea to bring you to Lindenhurst.”
Eleanor’s breath froze in her lungs. “What did you say?”
Cam twined a long lock of her hair around his finger. “Just that I’m glad we came here.”
She shouldn’t be here. Not with him. Not like this.
“Why? Because you managed to lure me into your bed?” Eleanor heard the fear in her own voice, cold and brittle, like glass shattering.
“This is your bed, sweet.” His voice was teasing. “But yes, since you ask, I would have gone much farther than Lindenhurst to have you.”
She tensed. “How much farther, Cam? Far enough to orchestrate a seduction? To ruin me? It’s a good plan if you want to trap a lady into marriage.”
Silence. A pause, then Cam’s body went rigid beneath her. “Don’t, Ellie. Please.”
She had to close her eyes against the quiet agony in his voice. Oh, God, she didn’t want to do this, but the panic pressed in on her from all sides, and the coverlet was too tight over her, too hot, smothering her, and she had to get away, now, because if she didn’t, she’d sink down into him and never rise again, and he’d own her . . .
She kicked at the covers twisted around her legs and struggled out of his arms. His body was too warm, too seductive, his heartbeat too loud in her ears—
Cam caught at her waist to stop her but she jerked away and scrambled off the bed. Her gown lay in a discarded heap on the floor. She struggled into it, then turned back to face him. Her heart twisted in her chest when she saw he’d gone as white as the bedsheet still bunched around his waist. “Do you deny it?”
“Don’t do this.”
The pleading note in his voice stabbed at her, and she had to force herself not to cover her ears. “Do you deny it?”
He seemed to fight with himself for a moment, then, “It might have begun that way, yes, but now—”
“It won’t work.”
His expression changed then, his mouth hardening. “What do you mean, it won’t work?”
She laughed, the sound high-pitched, unnatural. “Just what I said. It won’t work.”
He rose from the bed and crossed the room to retrieve his breeches. Eleanor averted her eyes from his naked body. She didn’t want to see him, to see how beautiful he was. It made her weak.
“Explain.” He stood in front of her, his arms crossed over that massive chest, every line of his body rigid.
Eleanor lifted her chin. “I don’t care if I’m ruined. It doesn’t matter. It changes nothing. I won’t marry you.”