Captive Of Sin Part 27

She clearly expected him to make coherent conversation. Didn't she realize the state he was in? But her eyes remained focused on his face with a sweet determination that only made him want her more.

He turned and s.n.a.t.c.hed the armoire behind him open. He squeezed his eyes shut in an agony of desire as faint floral scent filled his nostrils.

Now that she wasn't touching him, hunger threatened to overpower him. Only the humiliating knowledge that touching her would unman him kept him from leaping on her.

Blindly, he fumbled in the dark cupboard until his hand fell on what he wanted. He turned and flung the yellow pelisse at Charis. "You're cold."

And I'm on fire.

She caught the coat and sent him a speculative look. To his frustration, she didn't cover her body.

Curse her, it was February. Didn't the woman have an ounce of sense? Through the buzzing in his ears, he tried to concentrate on what she said.

"...and then you're free."

He shook his head to clear the fog from his eyes. "Free?"

Her soft pink mouth took on the tiniest of curves. "Are you listening?"

Itchy heat crawled up the back of his neck. He forced himself to stare at the undistinguished landscape on the wall behind her head. But the image of her perched on the bed, disheveled from sleep, was etched into his eyeb.a.l.l.s.

"Of course I am."

She made a doubtful sound deep in her throat. He couldn't resist looking at her. Then he wished he hadn't surrendered to temptation. On her knees in front of him, she seemed all too available.

"It's important," she said.

"What?"

The hint of a smile faded, and her voice lowered into seriousness. "When you forget yourself, you're free."

He frowned. "I never forget myself."

"Yes, you do. You forget yourself in violence. You forget yourself in sleep. Perhaps if you wanted it enough, you could forget yourself in..."

"A good swiving?" he finished on a sarcastic note. Frustration sparked. "Every d.a.m.ned doctor in London poked and pried at me. None suggested the s.e.x cure. Perhaps they should have. Even if the remedy doesn't work, their patients won't care." His voice roughened into urgency. "Will you b.l.o.o.d.y well cover yourself?"

She lifted the pelisse, inspected it with an unreadable expression. And deliberately tossed it to the floor.

"No." With a languor that in a more experienced woman he'd attribute to purposeful enticement, she leaned to one side and uncurled her legs.

He wouldn't look. He wouldn't look.

He looked.

The nightdress hiked up, revealing neat ankles and gracefully curved calves. The night before last, he'd slid between those slender legs and he'd...

His mind slammed shut on the memory. He'd hurt her and disgraced himself. He couldn't go through that again for all the gold in Guinea.

She slid her feet to the floor and stood. Still with that eye-catching slowness. To his regret, he watched her hem slither down to her bare feet. G.o.d help him, just the sight of her toes, rosy and perfect, made him think of bedsport.

Even during his wild early days in India, no woman had stirred him to this pitch of arousal. He swallowed the constriction in his throat and forced himself to say what he must. "Charis, we've been through this before. There's nothing to be done."

He strove to sound calm, sensible, resigned. Difficult when his heart raced at triple time, and he couldn't rip his gaze from the girl standing only a few feet away. One step in her direction, and he'd be close enough to grab her.

What a d.a.m.ned disaster that would be.

"So you say," she said softly.

Was her voice always so husky? Or did his ears play tricks? He fisted his gloved hands by his sides and prayed for strength.

"What happened...changed me. I'm not a whole man."

Those sinfully thick eyelashes veiled her eyes. He couldn't remember seeing anyone in such minute detail before. It was like all the light in the world shone just on her.

"You looked whole the other night," she said evenly, although color rose in her cheeks.

Oh, dear merciful G.o.d in heaven. How could she remind him of that? It was meant to be the one time. It must be the one time.

His aching c.o.c.k twitched as if to deny that a.s.sertion.

"You know what I mean," he snarled, nearly frantic with the painful heat sizzling through him. Heat that found no outlet. "You know...What the devil are you doing?"

"Unbinding my hair." She sounded unconcerned. Her deft fingers undid the long plait that curved sinuously across one shoulder.

"Don't." The command emerged as a croak.

"I need to brush it out and put it up for the day."

"Blast you, that's not why you're doing this."

He couldn't help but watch those busy fingers. Nor could he turn away when she buried her hands in the bronze mane and combed it loose so it fell like a s.h.i.+ning curtain. Desire knotted every muscle in his body.

He lifted his hands to touch the glorious ma.s.s. Then hesitated midair. Feeling like the greatest fool in Christendom.

"Why do you think I'm doing it?" She shook her head so her hair slid around her in dark gold splendor.

"Your purpose is...seduction."

He stumbled over the last word like a prim spinster. Decadent images of that silky hair flowing about him as he pounded into her body fired his brain.

"You say you're impervious to the lure of the flesh."

"I never said that."

"Then what's stopping you?" She raised one hand and tugged at the ribbon holding her plunging neckline closed.

"Don't d.a.m.n well do that." He should walk out the door right now.

"Why?"

He couldn't immediately think of an answer. All he could think of was how he would hurt her with his vile clumsiness if this scene reached the end she clearly wanted.

Why in Hades didn't she avoid him after that rough coupling? What was wrong with the chit?

His lips parted on a groan as her bodice gaped to reveal the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He forced himself to concentrate on her face instead of her bosom. His heart slammed to a stop. The silent determination in her eyes shook him.

If he intended to retain a shred of honor, he needed to get out of here. Now. She didn't know what she invited. She couldn't.

"I'll wait outside while you dress."

"Coward," she said softly but distinctly.

"Charis, it's for the best." He tried to remember why he couldn't just jump on her and take what he wanted. His mind was a black, impenetrable jungle.

"Is the Hero of Rangapindhi running for cover?"

"I'm no hero," he snarled, cut to the quick. He abhorred the name the press bestowed on him. He turned to escape, unable any longer to bear the sight of what he wanted most in the world. Displayed for his delectation like a banquet. As unreachable as the stars. "I'll order breakfast."

He waited for argument, plea, protest. But she was silent. Clearly, she'd recognized her quest to seduce her oaf of a husband was futile.

He told himself that what trickled through his veins like acid was relief. She must at last see he was no use to her. It was tragic but irrefutable.

He reached for the door. Through unfocused eyes, he noticed his hand was unsteady.

There was a sudden flurry of footsteps behind him. Then a blinding, exquisite moment when she hurled herself, every lovely inch, against his back.

The shock stopped his breath. His heart hitched, then crashed against his ribs. Her heat made him dizzy. The softness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly pressed into him. Her arms snaked around his waist.

"Don't go," she said in a broken voice.

She leaned her cheek upon his back. The fragrances of carnations and warm female flesh filled his senses like smoke. He closed his eyes and groaned. Swearing under his breath, he banged his head on the door. The sharp pain did nothing to clear his mind.

His skin p.r.i.c.kled at the contact, but s.e.xual hunger drowned out his screaming demons. He could touch her now, all right. But in this state, he wasn't safe with any woman, let alone this exquisite girl.

He sucked in more air. Speech was torture when every sense concentrated on Charis. "Please step away."

Her grip around his waist tightened, and he felt desperation in the clawing fingers. She strained so close, he felt her every breath. And her trembling. "You'll leave."

"I must." His voice cracked, and he clutched the doork.n.o.b so hard, his hand spasmed. "For G.o.d's sake, Charis, do as I ask."

For a long moment, she didn't budge. Then, with tangible reluctance, she slid her arms away and straightened.

His animal hunger spiked, insisted he seize her, toss her on her back. Grinding his teeth, he beat back the raging demands.

He released the doork.n.o.b. His hand ached with stiffness. Slowly, against his will, he turned to face her.

She stood a couple of feet away. Her chest heaved as she fought for breath. He'd been terrified he'd made her cry. But for all her palpable, quaking misery, she remained dry-eyed. In a defiant gesture he recognized, she lifted her chin as if she stared down death itself.

Swiftly, she tugged the nightdress over her head and flung it into the corner.

"d.a.m.n you, Charis," he breathed, stepping toward her before he recalled he couldn't touch her. "Don't do this."

Unclothed, she was...heavenly. Slender neck, straight shoulders, long graceful arms, high b.r.e.a.s.t.s with whorled pink crests. Flat belly punctuated by the sweet hollow of her navel.

Last, helplessly, his gaze focused on the delta between her legs. Blazing arousal flared. He swallowed and forced himself to breathe. He drank in the sight of her as he'd drink from an oasis after crossing a desert.

The desert still extended ahead.

Dry. Waterless. Barren. Deadly.

She glanced down at his trousers, then unflinchingly lifted her eyes. "You want me. I know it." Her voice broke.

He strove to deny his desire. But his throat closed and wouldn't permit that ultimate heresy.

His heart pumped out an inexorable rhythm. Two words. Over and over. Take her. Take her. Take her.

"Do I...do I please you?"

He fought to frame the lie, to tell her she meant nothing to him, to set her free.

Vibrating with tension, she stood before him. She stared back from steady hazel eyes, more brown than green. But her lips were soft with a vulnerability that mangled his gut.

He opened his mouth to speak.

She didn't flinch. Nor did her gaze waver.

She must guess what he meant to say.

Her mouth trembled. If he hadn't watched so closely, he'd have missed the tiny tensing of her lips. It was the reaction of someone braced for the killing blow, for pain past endurance.

He knew that feeling. Just so had he faced down his jailers in Rangapindhi.

That hint of vulnerability broke him.

Three strides, and he was at her side. He swung her high in his arms. Blood thundered in his ears. Two more strides, and he reached the bed. Without letting her go, he pushed her back onto the crumpled sheets.

Gideon was pure animal. Savage. Hungry. Desperate.

He knelt between her legs, his c.o.c.k straining. Roughly, he brushed away the thick dark blond hair cascading across her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The demons shrieked for him to stop, but roaring physical need trapped them behind a wall of gla.s.s.

He grabbed her hips with his gloved hands and pressed hard, openmouthed kisses across the white plain of her belly. She tasted like hot musky honey.

He suckled on her nipple, pressing it against his tongue, drawing the flavor deep into his mouth. She cried out and bucked.

He didn't linger. This moment poised on a knife edge. His lips closed on her other nipple, biting until she writhed. She lifted her hands to his shoulders.

Dear G.o.d, if she pushed him away, what would he do?