The Stranger I Married Part 22

Sinking deeper into her cooling bathwater, Isabel knew she should finish, but could not seem to manage the strength to do so. Despite how often she serviced him, Grayson's s.e.xual appet.i.te for her had not abated at all. Sleep was a luxury she s.n.a.t.c.hed when she could.

She almost wished she could complain, but she was too sated to make the effort. It was difficult to muster true irritation when the man ensured she had a few o.r.g.a.s.ms for every one of his. And he had quite a lot.

He had begun to use French letters, no longer capable of withdrawing before he came. The lessening of sensation for him meant that he could f.u.c.k longer, a circ.u.mstance she had appreciated previously with the lovers she saw only once or twice a week. With her amorous husband it was very nearly too much. He enjoyed her writhing and begging for mercy beneath him, continuing the sensual torment until she could do nothing but whimper in pleasure and take what he gave her.

The man was an animal, nipping with his teeth, bruising with his hands, and she loved every moment of it. Grayson's pa.s.sion was real, not practiced like Pelham's had been.

Isabel sighed. Against her will, memories of the last house party she'd attended with her late husband filled her mind, bringing with them the all too familiar roiling in her stomach. He had been in top philandering form then, dallying with other women in alcoves and slipping from his room at night. The entire fortnight had been h.e.l.l, the time spent wondering which of the women drinking tea with her had serviced her husband the night before. By the time they left, she was fairly certain all the attractive ones had.

From that occasion onward, she'd denied Pelham her bed, which he had the temerity to protest until he realized she would cause him bodily injury if he insisted. Eventually, they had ceased to travel together at all.

The adjoining door opened and Gray's delicious voice dismissed her abigail. His footfalls as he approached were as sure and confident as always. There was a rhythm to them, a cadence, the sound of dominance. Grayson took for granted that every time he entered a room he owned it.

"You're chilled," he noted, his voice coming so close to her ear she knew he must be crouching beside her. "Let me a.s.sist you out."

Opening her eyes, she saw his outstretched hand, saw his face so close to hers, so intent on her. The way he examined her always took her off guard. Of course, she often found herself staring at him in the same manner.

As was happening more often, the sudden flare of possessiveness the sight of him aroused was painful and piercing. He was a man any woman would beg to claim as her own private property, but she, the only woman who had the right to do so, could not. Would not.

He had removed his clothes and now wore only a thick silk robe. Before she could stop herself, Isabel touched his shoulder and watched the blue of his eyes turn to icy fire. A touch, a smile, a lick of her lips-all could stoke his ardor in the s.p.a.ce of one breath.

"I'm weary," she warned.

"You start it, Pel. Every d.a.m.n time." As he stood, he pulled her up with him and then held a towel out for her.

"I do not!"

As he wrapped her, he kissed the tender spot where her shoulder met her throat-a gentle press of his lips to her flesh, not the heated open-mouthed kisses she had grown used to. "Yes, you do. On purpose. You want me panting for you."

"Your 'panting' is inconvenient."

"I have come to realize you like it inconvenient. You like me hard and aching for you in public, and in private. You like me mindless with l.u.s.t until I would f.u.c.k you anywhere, in front of anyone, at any time."

She snorted, but s.h.i.+vered at his tone and the feel of his breath gusting across her damp skin.

Was it true? Was her aim to provoke him?

"You are always mindless with l.u.s.t, Gray. You always have been."

"No. l.u.s.tful, yes. Mindless with it, never. Sometimes, I actually think I could take you in public, Isabel, the craving is so provoking. Deny me now, and I may bend you over the dinner table and provide the evening's entertainment." He nibbled her earlobe.

She laughed. "There is no hope for you. You are a beast."

He growled playfully and nuzzled against her. "You know how to tame me."

"Do I?" Turning in his arms, she faced him with a smile and brushed one fingertip across the bare skin revealed by the part in his dressing robe.

"Yes. You do." Gray caught her hand and thrust it lower, between the parting of his robe at his thighs so that she felt how hard he was.

"It is nearly ridiculous how quickly you rouse," she chastised with a shake of her head.

And he was so base about it, so blatant. Yes, she was seduced by him, but he was not a seducer. Perhaps his outrageous handsomeness had made the need for coaxing unnecessary. Or perhaps it was the size of the c.o.c.k that throbbed against her palm. That would accomplish the task for him nicely.

He flexed inside her clasp and smiled with wicked arrogance.

She smiled back, admitting to herself that she quite liked primitive. No games, no insincerity, no guessing.

"You don't feel tamed." She moved in a way that caused the towel about her to puddle on the floor. Stroking the heated length of his shaft, she licked her lips.

"Witch." He stepped forward, pus.h.i.+ng her back, catching her hips when she stumbled in surprise. "You enslave me with s.e.x."

"Not true." He rarely allowed her the lead, preferring to remain in control.

"I came in here with the express purpose of taking a nap. You instigated everything I must now do to you to slake my craving enough to catch some sleep."

The backs of her thighs. .h.i.t the high bed, and he lifted and tossed her upon the turned-down mattress. Then he shed his robe and crawled over her.

Staring up at him, she found herself smitten with his smile, with the gleam in his eyes, with the dark silky hair that fell over his brow. How different he was from the brooding, gloomy man who had stood in her drawing room so recently. Had she wrought this change? Did she hold that much sway over him?

Her eyes drifted lower.

"That look," he said dryly, "is the reason we spend so much time in this position."

"What look?" Isabel batted her lashes mischievously, enjoying the renewed teasing banter she'd missed. There always seemed to be so much tension between them. Its absence was a pleasure.

Gray dipped his head and licked the tip of her nose, then pressed his mouth to hers. "It says, f.u.c.k me, Gerard. Spread my thighs, mount me, make me hoa.r.s.e and limp from pleasure."

"Good heavens," she purred. "It's a wonder I manage a word in edgewise with such chatty eyes."

"Hmmm..." His voice lowered to the tone she recognized as the immediate herald to troublemaking. "I certainly cannot manage speech when you look at me like that. Drives me insane."

"Perhaps you shouldn't look at me, then," she suggested, her hands coming up to stroke his lean hips.

"You would never allow me to ignore you, Pel. You foster my infatuation at every turn."

Infatuation. She s.h.i.+vered. Could he care for her? Did she want him to? "Why would I do such a thing?"

"Because you don't want my attention to wander." He kissed her before she could digest what he said.

Isabel lay still, her mouth ravished by a kiss that curled her toes, Gray's tongue licking across hers, gliding under it, drinking from her as if she were some delicacy. All the while in her mind, she considered what he had said. Was she attempting to bind him to her with s.e.xual extortion?

When Gray lifted his head, his breathing was as disturbed as hers. "You do not afford me even half a moment to think of another woman." His eyelids lowered, shuttering his thoughts. "You take me to your bed at every opportunity. You exhaust me-"

"Ha. Your appet.i.te is inexhaustible." But the rejoinder that was meant to be dismissing, was instead shaky and inflected with a question. Had she gone from wanting him to stray, to wanting to keep him all to herself?

In one graceful, fluid movement, he rolled and brought her over him. "I require as much sleep as any other human." He pressed his fingers over her mouth to silence a coming protest. "I am not so young as to forgo sleep altogether, so discard any attempt to use that excuse again. You are not too old for me. I am not too young for you."

Catching his wrist, she tugged his hand away. "You could always sleep apart from me."

"Don't be daft. You mistake my observation for a complaint, which it is not." Gray stroked the curve of her spine, applying pressure so that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s connected more fully to his chest. "Perhaps once or twice it has crossed my mind that I should manage my c.o.c.k, instead of allowing it to lead me. But then I remember the feel of your c.u.n.t in o.r.g.a.s.m, the way it clutches me, the way you arch up and cry out my name. And I tell my brain to cease prattling and leave me alone."

Dropping her forehead to his chest, Isabel laughed.

He tucked her into his side. "If you require a physical display of my affections at this moment, I am more than prepared to oblige you. We can't have you worried about waning interest and all that. Whatever you need, Pel, to make it possible to believe in me, I will do it. I suppose I should have stated that bluntly earlier so there would be no doubt. I am not Pelham."

The look in his eyes was fond, with banked l.u.s.t-the look of a man who was just as content to hold her as he was to ride her.

Her throat tightened, her eyes stung.

"Where did you find these sudden insights into my behavior?" she asked softly. The Grayson she'd married had never looked far enough beyond himself to see such things.

"I told you, you have my undivided attention." His fingers plunged into her hair, loosening and then pulling out the pins that held it up, before tossing them to the floor. "There is no other person I would wish to be with more than you, female or otherwise. You make me laugh, you always have. You never allow me to become too full of myself. You see all of my faults and find most of them charming. I've no need of any other companions. In fact, you and I will remain in our rooms this evening."

"Now who's daft? Everyone will think we are up here having s.e.x if we skip dinner."

"And they will not be wrong," he murmured, his lips to her forehead. "We are honeymooners, they should expect nothing less from us."

Honeymoon. Just that one word brought back the dreams she'd once had of a pa.s.sionate, monogamous marriage. How hopeful she had been then. How naive. She should be too old to experience that kind of eager antic.i.p.ation for the future.

Should be. But was finding the opposite was true.

"But we shall also take our meal together up here," he continued, "and play chess. I will tell you of my-"

"You hate chess," she reminded, pulling back to look at him.

"Actually, I have learned to enjoy it. And I am quite good. Be prepared to suffer defeat."

Isabel stared up at him. So many times, she felt as if a stranger had returned to her. A man who looked very much like the man she married, but wasn't. How much had he changed? He was so mercurial. Even now he seemed different from the man who had left her room just an hour before.

"Who are you?" she breathed, her hand reaching up to touch his face, to trace the arch of his brow. So much the same. So very different.

His smile faded. "I am your husband, Isabel."

"No, you are not." She pressed him back, sliding over him again. The texture of his hard body was so wonderful to her-the hard ridges and planes, the dusting of hair over his sun-darkened skin.

"How can you say that?" he asked, his voice turning husky as she moved upon him. "You stood next to me at the altar. You said the vows, and heard mine."

Lowering her head, she took his mouth in a lush kiss, suddenly wanting him. Not because she was physically unable to resist the temptation he presented, but because she saw something in him she had failed to see before-commitment. He was committed to her, to learning about her and understanding her. The knowledge made her s.h.i.+ver, made her sink into his embrace, made her relish the feel of his strong arms encircling her back.

He turned his head, evading her questing mouth. Panting, he said, "Don't do this."

"Do what?" She caressed the length of his torso, cupped his hip, s.h.i.+fted so she could reach between his legs.

"Don't tell me I am not your husband and then silence me with s.e.x. We will have this out, Pel. No more of this nonsense about mistresses and the like."

She stroked his c.o.c.k with a firm, sure hand. If anything proved that Gray had changed it was his resistance to lovemaking while seeking a deeper connection. Despite every bit of her brain that said her life experiences were correct in their dismissal of lasting marital affection, some tiny voice inside her urged her to believe otherwise.

He caught her wrist and bucked with a curse, taking the advantage. Looming over her, he pinned her arms to the bed. His face above her was hard as stone, his eyes glittering with the determination that was mirrored by his tense jaw.

"You've no wish to f.u.c.k me?" she asked innocently.

Growling, he said, "There is a heart and mind attached to the c.o.c.k you enjoy so well. Altogether they form a man-your spouse. You cannot fragment the whole and take only the pieces you want."

His declaration shook her, then decided her. Pelham...the Grayson she once knew...Neither would ever say such a thing. Whoever this man was above her, she desired to know him. To discover him, and the woman she felt like when she was with him.

"You are not the husband I said my vows to." She saw him prepared to protest, and rushed ahead. "I did not want him, Gerard. You know that."

The sound of his name sent a visible ripple through the length of his frame. His gaze narrowed. "What are you saying?"

She arched beneath him, stretching, enticing. Spreading her thighs, she welcomed him. Opened to him. "I want you."

"Isabel...?" He pressed his damp forehead to hers, his hips settled against hers, his heavy c.o.c.k finding her slick for him through no physical manipulation on his part. "Christ, you will be the death of me."

Her head fell to the side as he entered her slowly. So slowly. Bare skin to bare skin. She had missed the feel of him this way, without a barrier between them.

The difference between this and their usual coupling was marked. When he'd first returned, he had been gentle, but the strain of that control had been obvious. Now, as he rocked deeper and deeper into her eager body, she knew he moved leisurely because this moment was one he wished to lengthen.

His mouth to her ear, he whispered, "Who do you want?"

Her voice came slurred with pleasure. "You..."

Chapter 14.

There were a thousand excuses for why Rhys was standing in the Hammond garden late in the evening. There was only one true reason. And she was presently moving toward him with a shy smile.

"I was hoping I would find you out here," Abby said, holding out her bare hands.

He bit the tip of his gloved finger and yanked off his glove, so that when he caught her hands he could feel them. The simple, chaste contact flared heat across his skin, and he did the last thing a gentleman would do-he pulled her closer.

"Oh my," she breathed, eyes wide. "I do enjoy it when you act the scoundrel."

"I will do much more than act," he warned, "if you continue to seek me out."

"I thought it was you seeking me out."

"You should stay away, Abby. I seem to have lost my senses where you are concerned."

"And I am a woman who desperately enjoys, perhaps even needs, having a handsome man lose his senses over her. It never happens to me, you know."

His conscience losing the battle, Rhys lifted his hand, cupped her nape and fitted his mouth to hers. She was so slight, so slender, but she lifted to her tiptoes and kissed him back with such sweet ardor that she nearly knocked him off his feet. The soft scent of her perfume mixed with the scents of evening flowers, and he longed to bask in it, roll around a bed in it.