Not as long as I’m with you, she added to herself. “I’m glad you’re not like him,” she said impulsively. She couldn’t read the look he gave her.
Nineteen
She wasn’t asleep, and he knew it. She was restless, turning toward him, turning away. Lucas lay there, fighting with himself, wondering what was wrong with her.
Sharisse had protested when he lay down beside her, but there was only the one blanket. She had to lie next to him, and she’d even accepted his arm for a pillow. But she was as nervous as a cat. She was undoubtedly worried about their close proximity, but so was he. He was, in fact, amazed by his own restraint. He had her where he wanted her, was even reasonably sure he could make her respond to him, yet he kept away.
She would have to come to him. She trusted him to protect her, so he could not take advantage of her. That trust gave him a satisfying feeling, and he wouldn’t betray it.
Sharisse was exasperated with herself. She had been lying there staring at the dying fire, sleep impossible. She had never slept next to a man before and had no idea it would be so disturbing. Was this desire? Did she want a man to the point of aching for him? From the moment Lucas had joined her on the narrow blanket she had felt this strange disquiet. What would end this awful wondering? She had been willing to give herself to Antoine when there hadn’t been any of this restless yearning, so why was she resisting so hard now? It wasn’t as if anyone would find out. Her friend Sheila had said there were ways to make a man believe you were a virgin when you were not. But what about the other way around? To make a man think you weren’t a virgin when you were? She couldn’t give herself to Lucas and take the chance that he would be able to tell, for then he would know she had lied about being married. It was too late now to admit the truth.
“Shari, you’re not asleep.”
It was not a question.
She stayed as she was as long as possible, then slowly turned around to look at him.
“Lucas? Is something wrong?—”
How inane that sounded. She knew very well what was wrong. He didn’t bother to answer.
“Shari.” He said that and nothing more.
His expression, what she saw in his eyes, told her what he was going to do. And dear Lord, she wanted him to do it.
His eyes were moving over her face, caressing each feature. His gaze settled on her lips, and then his mouth descended to claim hers. The taste and smell of him was intoxicating, filling her. Time stood still. There was only his mouth, working magic. The pins fell from her hair, releasing it to a glorious fall, and she felt his fingers running through it. Her hands moved up to encircle his neck, letting him know it was all right. His tongue slipped between her teeth, and she welcomed it, teased it, hesitantly following with her own tongue.
He groaned, his lips moving along her face to her breasts. She clasped him tighter. He was beginning to undress her, and soon her shirt was open, then her skirt. Her many petticoats were untied, and even the hooks on her corset gave way under his deft fingers.
He pulled her to her feet in a sudden, swift movement, and half her clothing dropped to the ground. He caught her to him with one arm and finished disrobing her with the other. By the time she thought to say no, she was entirely naked and he was lowering her to the blanket again. His fiery kisses dispelled the last of her resistance, and she gave way with all of her being.
He stroked her wonderingly, making her quiver with urgent desire. He stopped suddenly and moved away from her, and she nearly cried out to him. He shed his clothes and moved across her again.
His eyes raked her, burning with a passion that mesmerized her. This was, she knew, her last chance to stop him. No words came. There was only the glorious feeling of him, the hard, masculine body. She reached up to draw him closer, and he hesitated for just a moment, then let himself be drawn by her until his weight covered her. His mouth captured hers in a heated kiss.
He entered her slowly, savoring her. But his tender care allowed for a steady build of pain as he pressed against the membrane that would not give. Sharisse pushed against him a little, but he continued kissing her breasts and moving inside her. His lips worked their magic, and when he suddenly thrust deep inside her, the stab of pain was over before it began.
It was done. Sharisse felt a terrific relief. An incredible burden had finally lifted. He filled her deeply, touching her in a way that brought surge after surge of renewed desire. Fire grew in her loins, and soon there was only the pleasure, increasing with every thrust. The pleasure became nearly unbearable, frightening in its intensity. Waves rushed through her, sweet shocks flooded her, and she was left weak and trembling. Lucas tensed, clasping her to him for a final plunge. She felt his throbbing, and a tender feeling for this man consumed her. She held him to her as tightly as she could.
Twenty
Sharisse woke with a start. As she sat up, one of her petticoats fell away, the only covering she had. She had been draped in her petticoats. She blushed furiously, for Lucas must have done it. He had watched her while she was sleeping. How embarrassing!
“Good morning, beautiful.”
She gasped, and whirled around to face him, clutching the blanket to her. “Lucas?”
“You mean you’re still not sure?” He chuckled. “Well, don’t call me that!” she snapped, irritable because of the fear that had washed over her.
“But youarebeautiful.”
He came to her and knelt down beside her. Swiftly he stole a kiss. But just as her heart picked up its beat, he sat back, fingering a lock of her hair. He watched it float through his fingers until it fell back down to her waist. His eyes met hers. She remembered all of last night with vivid clarity.
“Lucas?”
He shook his head, sensing her serious thoughts. “I was damn curious about the length of your hair,” he said in an exasperatingly casual way. “Why do you hide it in a bun?”
“I’m too old to wear my hair loose.”
