He served her chicken and cold carrot and raisin salad, pâté and warm toast. Then he served himself. She watched his strong brown hands, his long, lean fingers. She stared at his downturned face, at the strong jaw, the hawkish nose, the sensuously chiseled lips and high, harsh cheekbones. He looked up, bared his teeth. “Don’t wait for me.”
She toyed with her food.
He attacked his.
Jane could not eat. She was aware of him cleaning his plate fiercely, with the same kind of thick, raw energy she sensed he harbored in his body. He finished, shoved the plate away, and raised his glass. “To you, wife.”
She didn’t move. He drained it. When he set it down, his glittering eyes went to her bosom.
Jane could not breathe. She would be fooling herself if she denied what she was waiting for now—his touch. She wanted him. Despite all the hurt and humiliation, despite Amelia, now, right now, she wanted him to take her in his steely arms and make hard, hot love to her.
Their gazes locked. Jane leaned slightly forward. She willed him to come to her. Instead, he lunged to his feet with a savage curse and strode from the room.
Disappointment left her trembling.
She sat still and unmoving for a long time, trying not to think. He did not want her, he’d probably just bedded Amelia. It hurt. It hurt so much. Slowly she rose, taking her glass of wine with her. She moved to the French doors and stared unseeingly into the night, blind to the moon and the stars. Then she went upstairs.
At her door she paused, her hand on the knob, not opening it. She knew he was two doors down the hall. Her body was flaming from the thought. She would just go to say good night. She would not, she told herself, make any forward moves, but she would give him an ample opportunity to come to her.
She decided not to knock. She pushed open the door to his bedroom. He was standing in the middle of the room, shirtless, trousers unbuttoned and belt open, an unlighted cigar in hand. His gaze whipped to hers.
He was all gleaming bronze skin and thickly packed sinew. He was a beautiful male animal. She drank him in.
“What do you want?” he said harshly, taking one rigid step toward her and going no farther.
She tried to breathe evenly, and failed. “I—I just wanted to say—say good night.” Jane swallowed, her palm pressing against her own abdomen, her breasts rising and falling visibly.
“Damn,” he growled. “Damn! Didn’t Lindley satisfy you?”
The question barely registered, and then she dismissed it. She only knew that if he didn’t touch her she would die. And if he did touch her …
“Didn’t he?” the earl roared, fists clenched, taking another step forward. His body shook. His skin glowed in the lamplight.
“No,” Jane whispered. Her gaze fell from his hot eyes to his flat belly and into the vee of his open trousers. His sex bulged against his underpants. She met his gaze. “Lindley is only a friend.”
He stared, his muscular chest rising and falling now too. “Jane,” he said thickly. “You’re asking for it. If you don’t leave—now—you’re going to get it.”
Jane didn’t break their eye contact. And she didn’t move.
He struggled visibly with himself.
“Nicholas,” she said softly, and boldly stepped forward to touch his hard belly.
For one instant he gasped, and they both stared at her small white hand low on his dark abdomen. Then he covered her palm with his, groaning, pushing it down into his trousers. He filled her hand through the underwear.
He caught her up, kissing her wildly, carrying her to the bed. She didn’t release him, but began to stroke his thick length, hard and fast. He threw her down, pressing on top of her, anchoring her head with her hair, tearing at her mouth. Jane slipped her hand into his briefs and gripped him. He was sticky, sliding easily in her grasp.
He gasped, arching on all fours, thrusting into her palm. “Jane,” he cried, their gazes meeting.
“Please.” She moaned. “Please!”
He pressed onto her, tossing up her skirts, tearing off her delicate French lace panties. At the feel of his fingers against her heat and wetness, Jane sobbed. And she guided him against her.
He thrust home. They cried out together, strained together, rose together, fell together. He plunged savagely and she met him savagely. Jane suddenly gripped the headboard, keening, and a moment later the earl collapsed with his own cries on top of her.
43
Jane didn’t move as the earl rolled from her to lay on his back beside her. His arm touched hers.
