Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

T he look in Beatrice's eyes made Munro's heart gallop and his cock pulse painfully. He wanted her so badly, and the fact that she was here with him now was like a dream. Every time he blinked, he was half-afraid that she'd disappear.

The more he touched her, though, the more real she became. He could have never imagined the silkiness of her skin or the lushness of her body under his hands. Nor could he have guessed at the erotic sounds she made as she climaxed or the way her ripe mouth opened to form an O at the moment of ecstasy.

She'd come hard and long. She'd clenched his fingers in a painful vise inside her, and he wanted to feel it all again. More than anything, he wanted to be inside her. She couldn't have any idea the willpower it took to hold himself back from ravishing her when she was naked and writhing beneath him. He had never wanted any woman this much. He had never exercised this much restraint, and he knew he would wait as long as she needed before making her his—in body or name.

He'd been such a fool to think he could ever leave her and sail away back for Italy. He was her slave, more than ever now that she held his wrists pinned on the bed, her breasts just above his mouth. He extended his tongue and licked one of her dusky nipples, making it harden. She inhaled sharply. "I told you, it's my turn."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Torturing you." She kissed him, sliding over him as she did so. Why the devil was he wearing so many clothes? "Like you tortured me." Her mouth brushed over his cheeks, his jaw, slid behind his ear. Her teeth caught his earlobe, and he clenched his hands together. She still held him on the bed, but he could have easily lifted her off him and reversed their positions.

Her hands slid over his chest, down the lawn of his shirt, and stopped at the waistband of his trousers. His cock was practically twitching. He hoped to God he didn't embarrass himself if she touched him there.

Then her hand slid lower, moving with agonizing slowness, until she brushed over him and took hold, sliding down the length of him through the material of his trousers. "I feel how much you want me," she murmured in his ear, making him shiver.

"More than anything," he said.

She squeezed him, and he groaned. Slowly, she slid off him. "Take off your clothes, and we'll see what happens next."

He was off the bed in an instant, yanking at his coat. He got it off, tossed it on the floor and started on his waistcoat. Then he made the mistake of glancing at Beatrice. She'd arranged herself on the bed, lying on one side with her head propped on a bent hand. The curve of her hip and the dip of her waist were endlessly alluring. His hands ached to cup her full breasts, and he wanted to nestle in that triangle of dark curls between her thighs.

He threw the waistcoat on the floor then tore at his neckcloth, ripped several buttons off his shirt then yanked it over his head.

She made a sound of approval when she saw his chest, and her desire for him only increased his need for her. He sat on the bed to remove his shoes, and she rose on her knees behind him, kissing the back of his neck and running her hands over his shoulders. "You're the one who is beautiful," she murmured, pressing her soft breasts against his back. She nipped at his shoulder, and his hands shook as he pulled off his stockings. Finally, he stood and unfastened his breeches. His back was still to her, and he let them fall, giving her a view of his backside. He'd heard that was one of his best features.

Her reaction didn't disappoint. She let out an appreciative sigh, and he felt her fingers skim over his buttocks. "Now turn around," she said.

He stepped out of his trousers then hesitated. He was actually worried she might be disappointed. Damn the Brazen Belle and her Rake Review . He took a breath and turned, and her gaze slid from his eyes to his chest to his cock, standing at attention.

"Thank God," she said.

He arched a brow. "That's a reaction I haven't had before. I take it you weren't looking forward to trying intercourse with a pierced cock."

"I'm sure it's enjoyable. I just wouldn't know what to do with it." She reached for his hips and pulled him closer. "And do you know what I'm thinking now?"

He hoped whatever it was involved her full lips around his decidedly jewelry-free manhood. "What's that?" he said, voice raspy at his own fantasies.

"If the Brazen Belle was wrong about that fact, what else was she wrong about?"

"Almost all of it," he said. "But she was right about one thing."

She looked up at him.

"My exit from Society was due to your marriage. I couldn't stay here and watch you with another man."

"I'm all yours now." She slid her hands to his erection and closed around it, gliding up and down the length of him. Then she bent and took the tip of him in her mouth, and he found he had to grasp her shoulders to keep upright. His knees buckled at the warm, wet suck of her lips. If he allowed this to continue, the night would be over much sooner than he wanted. And yet, he couldn't quite summon the strength to push her away. He relished the feel of her mouth as she took more of him. Finally, he moved away.

She looked up at him, the expression on her face that of a child whose favorite toy has been taken away. "I wasn't done."

"Later," he said. "Lie down."

She raised a brow, and he thought she might refuse him just to be contrary. Instead, she slowly slid back to her knees then onto her back. He was about to tell her to spread her legs, but she did it without asking, revealing the glistening dark pink of her sex.

He knelt on the bed, between her legs, and kissed his way up her inner thighs until he reached the heat of her. He licked her glistening sheath, and she moaned and spread her legs wider. Then her hand cupped his cheek, and she said, "Later."

He chuckled at having his own words thrust back at him, but he explored his way up her body, hands and lips taking in her every soft, vulnerable place until they were both shaking with need.

"Munro, please," she whispered, closing her legs on him. He kissed her then guided his cock into her warm sex. He moved slowly, taking his time, and listening to the way her breath caught in her throat at the first nudge of his member inside her. He took her hands, linked her fingers with his, then slid deeper. She arched and clenched her hands. He bit his lip as he sheathed himself fully. "Oh, yes," she moaned.

He would have moaned too if he'd had the ability, but he couldn't manage a thing except to feel the way she tightened around him as he moved inside her. His gaze locked with hers, and he adjusted his angle and rhythm to match her reaction. The blood rushed in his head like a storm as he fought to hold off his own release. He could see in the way her mouth opened and her ragged breaths became quicker that she was close. Her hands clenched his so tightly, it was almost painful.

And then finally—God, yes—finally, she tumbled over, and he allowed himself to follow, thrusting deep and crying out. Her lips were moving, and she was saying something. It wasn't until his head was on her shoulder and his breath slowed, that he realized what she'd been saying, over and over and over again.

"I love you, too," he whispered.

Beatrice didn't know how she could be feeling so many different things all at once. Her body sang with pleasure, while her emotions felt raw and used. A tear ran down her cheek, even as she wanted to laugh for joy.

Munro lifted his head, saw her tears, and gave her a sympathetic look. "That bad, eh?"

She gave him a playful shove. "You know it wasn't bad." She swiped at her tears. "I don't know why I'm crying."

"Perhaps it's from joy?"

"Perhaps it's from mortification. Might we pretend I didn't say…what I said?"

"Which part? When you said, Munro yes, yes, yes? "

"Not that part."

"Oh, when you said, Oh god oh god oh god ?"

"Munro…" She flashed him a look of warning and pushed so that he landed on his back beside her. He immediately turned to face her.

"Ah, then it must be when you said you lo—"

"That one. Let's forget that, shall we?" She started to rise, wanting, for the first time, to cover herself with a sheet or blanket or some item of clothing. She found his shirt, let it drop over her head, and immediately regretted the decision. The material smelled of bergamot and citrus, and she felt as though she were once again enveloped by him. The sensation was not at all unpleasant.

"I understand," he said, looking down at the bedclothes and tracing a wrinkle in the material. "People often say things they don't mean in the heat of the moment."

Beatrice froze, remembering he'd said he loved her too. Of course, he hadn't been saying it because he was in the throes of passion. He'd said it before. She glanced at his face, which was turned down. Clearly, he didn't want to look at her, didn't want her to see the pain she caused him.

What was wrong with her? How long had he wanted to hear her say she loved him, and now she was trying to deny it because she felt scared and vulnerable? When would she trust him?

"Munro," she said with a sigh.

He waved a hand. "It's already forgotten. In fact, I don't even recall what we were discussing. The weather?" He looked up at her, his face schooled into a mask of amusement. If she didn't know him so well, she might have believed it.

She sat on the bed and put a hand on his leg. Good Lord, but the man had nice legs. His calves were firm and round, his thighs tightly muscled. She'd better not look higher than that else she'd forget what she wanted to say. "I told you I love you," she said.

He raised a brow. "You are making it difficult to forget."

"I don't want you to forget."

"I see. Actually, I don't see, but I'm certain that's because I'm a man and your superior feminine logic has once again outpaced me."

"No wonder you were such a renowned rake. Women must love when you say things like that. The truth is, I'm not being logical at all."

"Really?"

She smacked his leg.

"Ow."

"I do…" She swallowed. "I love you, but I don't like how it feels having you know that."

"Rather like taking your heart out of your chest and offering it up on a platter?"

Her gaze met his. "Exactly."

"I know the feeling."

She thought about all the times he'd admitted his feelings to her, risked being hurt or rejected. "I know you do. And the truth is, I always loved you. I was afraid you'd hurt me, so I went with the safer choice years ago and tried to hold you off now. But you passed all the tests."

"I still have one more to pass."

She shook her head. "I don't want to give you any more tests. I don't want you to leave for Italy at sunrise. I don't want us to be apart. Ever again."

"An army of dragoons couldn't have forced me on that ship in the morning. Not after seeing you naked on my bed. You need time to learn to trust me. I can give you that. I'll wait forever if you give me some encouragement, once in a while."

"That's hardly fair to you."

"That's love, Beatrice. Now that I know you love me, I can wait forever."

She stood. "Well, I cannot. As you know, I abhor a rake. But there is one thing to be said for them."

"We're charming?"

"No. Rakes are extremely skilled in bed sport."

"Ah, yes." He laid back on the bed and put his hands behind his head, looking rather pleased with himself but also incredibly delectable. How could she not want to climb up that body and lick every inch of him?

"And now that I've had a taste of your expertise, how am I to resist you?"

"You won't have to. Another thing we rakes are good at is sneaking into bedchambers and stealing kisses in secluded alcoves."

She shook her head. "Not good enough. I don't want stolen kisses or furtive meetings. I want everyone to know you are mine."

"I've always been yours, since I first saw you at the ball my brother hosted for your debut."

"You remember that?"

"Every moment." He closed his eyes. "When you walked into the ballroom you took my breath away. You wore a white silk gown with gold thread woven through, and you seemed to shimmer. Your hair was in those long curls that always made my fingers itch to wind around them, and you had gold in your hair as well. Pins with little gold stars on them."

Beatrice put a hand to her heart. "You remember all that? I didn't even remember those pins until you mentioned them just now."

He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "I remember the first time you looked at me. Your eyes were so green, and when your gaze met mine, I felt as though I'd been punched in the breadbasket."

"Well, that's romantic."

"I wasn't looking for romance. I wasn't looking to fall in love. In fact, I was actively avoiding it. But I was infatuated with you from the first look. And then I danced with you, and despite the glare your sister gave me throughout the entire reel, I fell in love with you."

"I was in love with you years before that. You know the only reason you were allowed to dance with me is because I begged Judith."

"Years before?"

"I remember seeing you at Judith and Arthur's wedding. You probably didn't notice me. I was just a child, and you were almost a man at fifteen. You were already so handsome. You knew it too. You were terribly arrogant and had a cocky smile that made my childish heart pitter pat. My heart still trips every time I see you. That's why I need to see you all the time. When I wake up. When I go to sleep. Across the breakfast table."

He unclasped his hands from behind his head. "Are you—"

"Asking you to marry me? Yes. You asked me the first time. I thought I should ask this time."

He jerked and sat straight up. "And you really don't need any more tests? You trust me?"

"It was never you I didn't trust. It was myself. I was so afraid if I married you and you left me I'd never recover from the heartbreak. I made what I thought was the safe choice with Solomon and regretted it from the start. And then when I saw you at Lavinia's ball and you drunkenly declared your feelings for me—"

"Ah, yes. Another example of my romantic side."

"—I was afraid I would make another mistake. I'd never stopped loving you, but I didn't trust myself."

"So of course, you devised a number of tests for me to prove my love, when that wouldn't have changed anything at all."

She shook her head. "I had to trust myself."

"And do you?"

She straightened. "I do. I'm an intelligent woman."

"Clearly."

"And one bad decision doesn't define me."

"I hope not. I've made more than one bad decision."

"Then shall we both make a good one. Will you marry me, Munro Notley?"

He sat and took her hands. "I will."

Fear and pleasure burst within her, and then he pulled her forward, and she forgot all about the fear. Munro was kissing her, and this time it wasn't a gentle, teasing kiss but a deep possessive kiss that took her breath away.

His hands skated under the hem of his shirt, and he ruched it up and over her head. And then his mouth was on her neck, her breasts, her belly. But he was hers now, and she wanted to stake her claim as well. She pushed him back and threw a leg over him, straddling him. His tawny eyes gazed up at her in appreciation. She bent and kissed him, loving the way his hands stroked over her then slid into her hair and twisted it around one fist. She slid her own hand down and found him hard and hot. She edged back, taking him inside her inch by inch.

Munro released her hair and grasped her hips, groaning as she lowered herself onto him. And then when she'd filled herself to the hilt, she began to rock.

"Oh, God. Yes," he moaned. She was moaning too now as she'd found the pace and the position that gave her the most pleasure. She moved slowly, loving him, pleasing him and herself. Then her body demanded she move faster, and they were running together, he holding onto her, following her lead, weathering the storm as she climaxed in a whirlwind of sensation. She felt his release too, heard his guttural cry, and looked up to see his face as he climaxed. He was beautiful—his hair a ring of fire, his eyes almost golden. And when those eyes finally cleared and met hers, all she saw was love.

And that was all she needed.