Читать книгу Impetuous - Candace Camp, Candace Camp - Страница 6

Prologue

THE DOOR TO her room opened softly, and a man slipped in. The candle in his hand barely penetrated the darkness, but he could make out the bed, and he glided toward it.

The woman in the bed lay turned away from him, her feminine curves concealed by the covers. He stopped, a little uncertain. He had expected her to be awake, to turn toward him with the eager welcome that she had displayed earlier this evening in the conservatory. He held the candle closer to the bed. Its light glinted off the pale fall of her hair as it tumbled across the covers and pillow. It was that light gold hair which had caught his interest this afternoon, more than the perfect features.

He set down the candle and blew it out, slipped out of his shoes, and crawled across the bed to the woman. She said nothing, and he wondered whether she had actually fallen asleep or was merely feigning it. It seemed peculiar that she would simply have gone to sleep when she had made this assignation with him for midnight. It occurred to him that she was pretending to sleep in order to somehow retain an illusion of her innocence in the whole matter—or perhaps she thought that he would find it arousing. He had to admit that there was something rather intriguing about lying beside her warm body, pliant and all defenses down, even that of consciousness.

He nuzzled into the mass of sweet-scented hair, gently looping his arm across her. Desire flickered through him, immediate and piercing. The faint aroma of roses teased at his senses. He found it more arousing than the heavier scent she had worn this afternoon. He lifted her hair and placed his lips tenderly against the nape of her neck.

She let out a little shuddery sigh, and he smiled against her skin. He trailed soft, warm kisses across her neck and up onto her jaw, finding her ear and nibbling at it, tracing the gentle whorls with the tip of his tongue, rubbing the lobe between his lips. His hand slid beneath the covers, shoving them down, revealing her clad in a plain white cotton nightgown. The demure gown surprised him, but he found it intensely, immediately arousing in a way that a more suggestive gown would not have been. He almost chuckled. He would not have thought the chit had such understanding or expertise. Perhaps this would be much better than he had thought. He was glad that he had changed his mind and decided to accept Joanna’s invitation after all.

His hands roamed her body as his mouth continued to play with her ear. He caressed her breasts and the feminine swell of her hips through the cloth of her nightgown. His fingers played over her thighs, her stomach. His blood thrummed as he kissed his way down from her ear, across the soft skin of her neck, until he was stopped by the cloth of her gown. Impatiently he unbuttoned the first few buttons until it fell open enough that he could pull the gown down onto her arm, exposing a tantalizing expanse of skin down to her shoulder. He gazed at the creamy skin for a moment, feeling himself harden and throb. He trailed a finger, shaking slightly, across the smooth flesh. It was like touching rose petals, and it sent a spear of desire straight down into his loins. He bent his head and kissed the point of her shoulder.

His breath came faster in his throat as he kissed his way back across her collarbone and up her neck. He snuggled up closely behind her, pressing his body against hers all the way up and down, letting his desire pulse against her rounded derriere. His hand slid down her abdomen, pushing her tightly against him, and delved between her legs. She let out a soft moan and moved her legs, opening for him. He caught his breath, stirred by the sound of her passion. He was certain now that she must be awake, though her only acknowledgment had been that sound. There was something infinitely arousing in her silent acquiescence, in the way her breath grew faster and louder, as though her most basic needs were betraying her, breaking through her self-imposed quiet. His fingers moved rhythmically, pressing and releasing, sliding across her nether lips through the cloth, and he was rewarded with another low groan that seemed to rise from deep within her.

Eyes closed, luxuriating in the petal softness of her skin, he kissed his way across her cheek. Letting out a murmur of pleasure, she turned instinctively toward him, and their lips met. Her mouth was soft and warm, yielding to the pressure of his, and her lips opened to his questing tongue. Her arms came up and curled around his neck as he kissed her deeply. Desire shuddered through him.

He pulled and tugged at her nightgown, rucking the skirt of it up until finally his fingers were on the soft flesh of her thighs. He caressed the delicate skin, his fingers creeping upward until they encountered the moisture of her desire, which only fed his own. He slipped across the slick, satiny flesh, her pearly dew wetting his fingers. She jerked a little, startled, as he touched that most intimate part of her, but then she moved, inviting his touch, and his fingers began to stroke her.

Need was pounding in him. He wanted to taste her, touch her, everywhere. He would have liked to part her legs and slide between them, plunge deep within her and carry them both to satisfaction. But even more, he wanted to prolong this moment, to explore and taste and suck every ounce of pleasure from this coupling. He had not expected anything like this when he had responded to the Moulton girl’s invitation. She had seemed a blatant hussy, and he had not planned at first to even come to her bedchamber. Only restlessness had finally sent him from his room and down the hall to Joanna’s. But now...

Now, touching her, breathing in her scent, taking her mouth with his—there was none of the casual, premeditated passion he had expected. Her body was like fire beneath him. Her kisses and the way she responded to his touch, the unstudied moans and sighs, all spoke of a blend of passion and inexperience that was more enticing than any practiced touch. He could not remember the last time he had felt so quickly aroused, so intensely alive, in a woman’s arms.

She writhed beneath him, moaning as his fingers worked their magic. He felt as if he might explode. His mouth left hers and trailed down her neck onto the white expanse of her chest. His lips touched the quivering softness of her breast. Gently he kissed her flesh, and her body arched up a little, as though seeking his kiss. Obligingly, he took her nipple into the hot, wet cave of his mouth and began to suckle.

She let out a moan, and her hips moved fiercely beneath his hand. Suddenly she jerked and cried out, her eyes flying open, and he realized with intense satisfaction that he had brought her to release. He raised his head and smiled down into her face. He saw the blank confusion in her eyes, wide-open and staring at him. He saw the horror dawning in them. He also saw, with the feeling of stepping off a cliff into nothing but air, that the girl who lay beneath him was not Joanna Moulton.