His Wicked Charm Page 16

  Lilah’s hands were at his waist, and she slid them up over the soft silk of his waistcoat, wishing she could slide her palms over his bare skin, as he had done to her. Still, it was good to have only his silk waistcoat and shirt between them. Even better, in the wide V made by his waistcoat, there was only his shirt between his skin and hers. She could feel the form of him, the bone overlaid by muscle. And, she noted, it seemed to please him, for his kiss turned hotter, more consuming. She eased her fingertips under the sides of his vest, and that made him shudder.

  Con took her jacket in his hands and pulled it back and down, allowing his hands to roam freely over her. He kissed her lips, her face, her throat, his teeth toying with her earlobes, while his hands delved beneath the thin cotton chemise, caressing every inch of her skin. Deep within Lilah, an ache blossomed, flooding her with desire.

  He bent his head to her breast, teasing the nipple with the tip of his tongue and shooting bright shards of pleasure through her. Lilah drew in her breath, shocked, and then, startling her even more, his mouth settled on her breast, pulling the sensitive bud into it. She sagged against the wall, her mind floating away as pleasure washed over her.

  Lilah had never felt like this before, never ached and throbbed and hungered all over. And when he slipped his hand between her legs, with only the fabric of her skirt between them, she had to clamp her lips together to keep from crying out. His mouth pulled at her, his fingers moved against her core, and inside her the heat built until finally the oddest little burst of pleasure rippled up through her.

  She could not hold back the faint cry that came to her lips. “Con!”

  He planted his hands on the wall on either side of her head and pushed himself back from her. For a long moment they didn’t move, could only stare at each other. Con’s eyes were glazed and hot, his lips reddened from their kisses, and tension radiated from him. The sight of him made desire coil inside Lilah again. She wanted more. She wanted him.

  “Lilah... We can’t... I shouldn’t.”

  “I don’t care.” Lilah shoved her fingers into his hair and moved into him, fastening her lips to his.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  AFTER THAT, HE said nothing, merely tore at his clothes as they continued to kiss, moving blindly across the floor. Unwilling to part, they jerked and twisted and shoved at their clothes, leaving bits and pieces of them scattered across the floor in a meandering trail to the bed.

  When they finally reached the bed, they tumbled backward onto it, shedding their last remnants of clothing. They rolled across the bed, kissing, stroking, reveling in the feel of naked skin on skin. Con’s body was heavy on hers, and the very weight of him was another pleasure.

  He slid down her, cupping her breasts to feast on them. Every tug of his mouth, every velvet caress of his tongue sent another twisting thread through her, tightening the tangle of desire deep within her. As his mouth worked its magic on her, he explored her body, moving with a featherlight touch that left a shiver in its wake.

  His fingertips slid across her stomach and down onto her thigh, and then, startling her, insinuated themselves between her legs and drifted upward over the soft skin of her inner thigh. She was lost, breathless in anticipation as he teased ever closer, until at last he settled in that most intimate of places.

  Con’s lips returned to hers in a deep, slow kiss as his fingers caressed her. Lilah would have been embarrassed had there been any room inside her for anything but passion. She felt in that moment utterly open and exposed to him, naked in every way, and she reveled in it, at once so free and yet so caught. Transfixed, transformed, she drank him in.

  Hunger grew and pulsed, and she moved her legs restlessly against the bed, aching for completion. The knot of desire deep in her abdomen became ever tighter, and suddenly pleasure exploded through her, waves of it sweeping outward and leaving her shaking.

  There was still more, for Con moved between her legs, opening her to him. His hard length pulsed against her sensitive skin, probing, easing inside. She drew in a gasp, amazed and eager, and then he was thrusting into her. There was a flash of pain, but it was stifled under the bone-deep satisfaction as he filled her, stretching her in a way that made her want to purr beneath him.

  Lilah dug her fingers into his back, flooded with an elemental hunger, a deep primitive need to surround him, possess him, be taken by him. With every stroke, every hard, hot breath he took, the wild hunger built in her. Unbelievably, it broke through her again, crashing through all barriers, all resistance. She shook under the force of the feeling, clinging to him, as he emptied himself into her.

  In that moment, it was so fulfilling, so achingly pleasurable, so shattering, that tears welled in her eyes.

  Con collapsed against her, his face in the crook of her neck, his breathing ragged. Pressing a gentle kiss on the soft skin of her neck, he rolled onto his side, sliding an arm beneath her head and with the other, tucking her into him.

  She was enveloped in his warmth, her chest swelling with emotions she could not express, could not even identify, and somehow that spilled more tears out of her eyes. Con’s arm tightened beneath her head. “Are you crying?”

  No, no, don’t, Lilah thought helplessly, as he reared up on his elbow, gazing down at her with something like...horror.

  “Oh, my God, Lilah.” He sat up, pulling his arm from beneath her head.

  Lilah swiped at her eyes. “No.” Her voice came out hoarse, and she had to clear her throat. “Don’t be silly.”

  “I’m sorry. Lilah, I—please, forgive me. I thought you wanted—no, that’s no excuse, I know.” He closed his eyes, shoving his hands back into his hair. “I was wrong, so wrong. You’re—you didn’t know really, and I should have—” He muttered a curse.

  Lilah lay there, looking up at him, tears gone, along with the achingly sweet, wonderful moment. Now she was aware of the air upon her bare breasts, and shame washed through her. What had she done? She thought of the way she had acted, throwing herself at Con—it was no wonder he thought she had wanted to do this. She had. She’d been utterly brazen.

  Lilah crossed her arms over her chest, wishing desperately for clothes, a blanket, anything to cover her nakedness. But her clothes were thrown everywhere, and even though Con had obviously seen her naked, had touched her and done the most intimate things, somehow she couldn’t bear to hop out of bed and run about naked in front of him, picking up her skirt and bodice and—oh, Lord—her various undergarments. She and Con were lying atop the dustcover over the bed, and she reached out to pull it across her, covering herself as best she could.

  “I shall marry you of course.” Con squared his shoulders, his face, for once, tight and inexpressive. Like a child offering to take his punishment. A man facing the firing squad.

  His words froze her. Lilah sat up, keeping the dustcover wrapped across her front. “I think not.”

  Con sighed, his face changing from the blankness into a kind of sorrow, an expression equally unfamiliar on him and somehow even worse. “Lilah...I know you’re angry at me, and you have every right to be. I should have been more careful. I knew it was a mistake. I knew, deep down, that you didn’t realize what you were agreeing to.”

  A mistake. That inexpressible, heart-piercing joy she had felt, that new and wonderful experience, was a mistake to him.

  “I’m not a child, Con. Of course I realized what I was doing.” It made Lilah feel a little better that she could still pull her armor into place. Whatever else she might be, she would not be weak. “I’m surprised that your mother’s son would make such a condescending statement.”

  “It’s not condescending!” he protested, looking offended. “You are an innocent, and I am not. I am at fault.”

  “This is a perfectly nonsensical thing to be arguing about,” Lilah said crisply. She was on firmer ground now, at least, with Con glowering at her.

  “Blast i
t, Lilah, be reasonable. It’s all very well to believe in women’s equality, but you know as well as I do that it’s the woman who suffers.”

  “I have no intention of suffering.”

  “I am talking about your precious reputation—you know, that thing you were so worried about a couple of hours ago.”

  Lilah wanted to lash out, toss back some withering retort, but unfortunately Con’s barb had hit the mark. She had been a complete hypocrite, whining about her aunt causing a scandal and a few minutes later acting like a...a hussy. The moment a man kissed her, apparently she turned to jelly. “I am a bit surprised to find you so concerned about propriety.”

  “I don’t give a damn about propriety, and you know it.” He swung off the bed—obviously he had no qualms about his nudity—and began to pick up his clothes. Back turned to her as he yanked on his trousers, he said roughly, “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

  It was too late for that, Lilah thought. But she had brought it on herself. She had been willful and reckless, and she wanted more than anything to burst into tears. But she wasn’t about to let him see that her spirit was bruised. She was thankful that he wasn’t looking at her. “This will doubtless surprise you, but I don’t want to marry you any more than you want to marry me.”

  “Less, I’d say, since you’re turning down my proposal.”

  “And I won’t be hurt unless you plan to bruit this about to your cronies.”

  “Lilah!” Con swung around indignantly, his fingers stilled in the process of refastening his shirt. “I would never! How can you even think that?” His temper was well up now, which, really, Lilah preferred to that regret that had sat so incongruously on his face earlier.

  “I didn’t think you would. I was simply pointing out that no one will talk about it because no one will know.”

  “And what if you’re pregnant?”

  Lilah blushed at his blunt words and looked away. “Well, of course, then it would be a different matter. It would be necessary for us to—to—”

  “Sacrifice ourselves?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Don’t you dare!” Lilah flared, almost dropping her concealing dustcover in her anger. “Don’t you dare pretend that you are a wounded party here. As if you wanted to marry me. You would be miserable if I had said yes. You’re glad not to marry me. You’re just pouting because I don’t want to marry you either.”

  He glared at her for a moment, jaw clenched, then let out an explosive sigh and dropped down onto a chair to pull on his boots. Giving an extra—and in Lilah’s opinion, entirely unnecessary—stomp to fit his feet into them, he stood up and began to pick up Lilah’s clothes. It put a strange lump in her throat to see his hands holding her things.

  “Here,” he said in a far more conciliatory tone, setting her clothes on the bed beside her. “You’re right of course. You are being rational. We would never suit. I just... I want you to know that I am sorry.” He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “I didn’t intend for this to happen. I didn’t set out to seduce you. And I truly regret if I have caused you pain or regret.”

  “I know.” It was impossible not to believe Con. Impossible not to like him. But it was equally impossible to admit that she was so brazen that she didn’t even regret what they had done. “I am a grown woman, Con. I am responsible for what I do.”

  He nodded. “I...um, I shall go search another room.”

  “Very well. It’s... I think it’s best if I go home now.”

  * * *

  WELL, HE’D CERTAINLY mucked that up, Con thought as he strode down the corridor. What in the hell was the matter with him? Yes, he had always been a bit impulsive, but he’d never before been so seemingly unable to control himself. Certainly never before had his lovemaking made a woman cry.

  His stomach twisted as he remembered turning to look at her, feeling so deeply, amazingly replete, and saw that she was in tears. Had he physically hurt her? Of course, how was it any better if her tears had been those of remorse and regret?

  Con rubbed his hands over his face now, feeling again the bite of guilt. Whatever Lilah said, she was far too naive to have really known what she was getting into. Even though she had flung herself into his arms and kissed him, he had taken advantage of her. Deep down, he’d known he was taking advantage. He shouldn’t have accepted her “yes” as consent.

  Con reached the end of the hallway, so he turned into the last room and went through the motions of searching it for hiding places, though at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care about finding some benighted key. He was too busy brooding over Lilah.

  She’d been most forgiving about it—which did not really seem like Lilah at all. He would have expected —if he had thought about it—that she would make him pay for breaking so cardinal a rule. Worse, for tempting her into breaking a rule. Truthfully, he wished she had. It would have been far easier to take if she had rung a peal over his head or taken a swing at him.

  She’d been so reasonable. So calm and dispassionate. The thing that had apparently roused her ire had been his offering to marry her—and where was the sense in that? While he would not classify his irritation as “pouting,” as Lilah had termed it, he had to admit it had stung a bit when she’d said she didn’t want to marry him.

  She was right; he didn’t want to marry her either, but she needn’t have been so bloody adamant about it. It wasn’t as if he were some penniless mountebank. Or some mad relative who’d been hidden away in the attic. He was generally considered something of a catch. He had ample money, and he was the son of a duke. And he had only to look at Alex to know that he wasn’t bad-looking. You’d think a woman who was so rational, so respectful of social mores, would be agreeable to making an advantageous marriage.

  But oh, no, marrying him was apparently horrifying and to be done only in the most extreme emergency. Of course, to be reasonable, what woman would want to marry a man whose lovemaking reduced her to tears?

  Why had she cried? What had he done? Until that moment, he would have sworn that Lilah had been as deep in the throes of passion as he. The way she had kissed him, touched him. He thought of the way her hands had slid beneath his waistcoat.

  Con braced his hands on the mantel and stared down at the cold fireplace, his search forgotten. The devil of it was he was aching for her all over again. It seemed the bitterest irony that he should feel this way about Lilah Holcutt.

  Why was it that her cool, calm, so carefully polite face set him on fire? That when she looked at him in her disapproving way, he could think of nothing but turning that look into passion? That he couldn’t look at her without wanting to take down that mass of bright hair and bury his face in it?

  God, she was beautiful. It was a crime she was so beautiful. And if he had thought so before, now that he had seen that slim white body, now that he had felt her move beneath him, she dazzled him even more.

  He rested his forehead against the edge of the mantel. The truth was, he had never before been so shaken, so turned inside out, so shattered and put back together again as he had just now with Lilah. It had been a storm of heat and hunger, and when he had sheathed himself in her warmth, when he’d come to climax inside her, her voice a soft moan in his ear, it had been like coming home. No, that was far too tame a term. He had felt...perfect.

  And wasn’t that mad? To feel such desire, such pleasure, in a woman who was so absolutely wrong for him.

  He should leave. He didn’t have to find the key now. There wasn’t any immediate danger. In fact, he had the feeling that if he really examined his motive in coming here to find the key, it might have more to do with that wrongheaded desire for Lilah Holcutt than it did with solving the mystery.

  The wise thing to do was to remove himself from temptation. No doubt Lilah would prefer not to have him around. Indeed, now that he thought about it, Lilah might very well ask him to leave.

 
That idea brought up a surge of alarm. However perverse it was, he didn’t want to go. He liked it here. He wanted to explore Lilah’s odd house; he wanted to see the Levels up close. He wanted to go through that maze again. The mystery of the key intrigued him even if it wasn’t necessary to resolve it right now. He wanted to figure out why Dearborn was so eager to get his hands on it.

  The truth was, at the bottom of it, he didn’t want to leave Lilah. He liked looking at her. He enjoyed being around her, even if she was as frustrating as the devil. He could control his desire. It wasn’t as if he was some lust-craved maniac. After all, desire for her had been a low, nagging heat in him these past months, but he’d not done anything. He wouldn’t have done anything today if Lilah hadn’t been so willing, even eager. He doubted that she would be so receptive again. One could count on Lilah not to throw out teasing lures.

  If she wanted him to leave, that would be a different matter...though he thought he could talk his way out of that. His mood brightened a bit. He worked his way down the hall, finding nothing, and finally, he decided to stop for the day. It was time for tea, and frankly, it was boring to search the rooms alone. Besides, he needed to check on Lilah, make sure she was all right.

  To his surprise, he found Lilah sitting on a bench in the hall below, idly twirling her riding crop in her hand. Con eyed her somewhat warily. “Come to take the crop to me?”

  Lilah, who had been looking down the hall the other way, started in surprise and turned to him. “What? Oh. No, of course not.” She rose to her feet, dropping the crop on the bench beside her.

  “I thought you had gone home.” Con went down the last few steps.