Page 7 of Against the Wind

What was Abby thinking, sending such a man to her door? But before Kit could think of what to say, he took another step forward.

“Come to me,” he repeated.

Perhaps it was the two glasses of brandy she’d had, or perhaps it was the man himself who drew her. He was a stranger, but his voice, so warm and soothing, was hypnotic. Her doubts slipped away and she went to stand before him. His hands caressed her arms as he slowly drew her to his warm chest. Eyes like blue flames held her gaze, so intense she could feel them reaching into her soul.

“What’s your name, beauty?”

Still in a daze, she responded. “Kit.”

“Well…mon chaton, my kitten, we will take this slow. It has been a long time for me. You need do nothing. Just let me love you.”

He inclined his head, and his lips touched hers ever so softly. His arms wrapped around her. The embrace promised every comfort Kit desired. For a brief moment she allowed herself to melt like wax before a flame.

The man pulled away and looked at her, his eyes falling to her curves barely disguised in the thin silk wrapper she wore. “So beautiful…are you real?” His indigo eyes glowed in the soft light of the fire as he ran his fingers through her hair sending shivers down her spine. His throaty whisper came to her as if across a great gulf. All she could do was stare.

His warm lips soon nuzzled her neck, brushing over the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. Kit closed her eyes, and a long sigh escaped as she lifted her hands to his shoulders then entwined her fingers in the waves of his mahogany hair. She had never been with a man like this. The old baron never excited her and Rutledge terrified her. The proper thing would be to send him away. Obviously he thought her to be someone else. But perhaps for once she could follow her own desires; she could let this man continue to kiss her. Like a drug, he was taking away all of her pain.

The touch of his warm lips on her throat sent another shiver up her spine. His hands roamed her wrapper, gently cupping her breasts, and it was as if he touched her bare skin, leaving tingling heat in the tracks of his fingers. He offered warmth and comforting words, everything she wanted. Perhaps that was why she did not turn away. Why not let him love her as he intended?

His lips returned to her mouth. She responded, opening to him. His tongue slipped inside to stroke hers, slowly, erotically. She had never been kissed like this. Once again he was gentle, handling her as if she were precious. Kit responded with a passion she did not understand. She had dreamt of being touched like this: by a gentle man, by a knight with eyes of blue flame. Was it wrong to let it happen?

As if reading her mind, he picked her up and carried her across the room. Another vague thought to protest quickly faded. She would not deny herself what she desperately wanted. Not tonight. Perhaps just once she could pretend she lived a fairy tale.

Dark blue velvet curtains were drawn back at the four posters of the large bed where he laid her down. The soft velvet cover rose up to cradle her body, embracing her like a welcoming cloud. She sat with half open eyes as the man undid her robe, sliding it from her shoulders, and the garment fell away to reveal her naked form. Quickly he shed his clothing, returning and covering her with his body as if he knew instinctively that she craved his warmth.

His rigid manhood, ready for her, pressed into her thigh. She was surprised she felt no alarm. No, she wanted this man, needed him like her next breath. The overwhelming passion rising within her was new but not unwelcome.

He kissed her again, this time deeply, and then shifted to one side, bracing himself on an elbow as his warm hand traveled from her neck to her breasts. His leg slipped between hers, and the warm skin of his leg pressed against her inner thigh. She reached for his nape, pulled his mouth back to hers and turned in toward his body. When his palm caressed her nipple, she pressed her breast into his hand, wanting more.

He bent his head to her breast, gently licking, and then he took the sensitive tip into his mouth. Heart beating faster, Kit entwined her fingers in his hair and held him close. A moan escaped her when he brought his lips back to hers, wooing her with kisses and roaming hands.

His manner proclaimed she was his. She reveled in that possession, for she wanted to be his if only for this one night. He could take away the terrible memories, the loss, the pain.

As if he heard her thoughts he whispered, “Kitten, you are mine tonight. I intend to love you well.”

His warm hand moved across her belly and down to the nest of dark red curls at the apex of her thighs. Gently he touched her there, parting the folds of her most sensitive flesh with his fingers, and she shivered but welcomed the caress of that responsive bud. She was already wet for him, the honey liquid having flowed unbidden in response to his first touches. It might have been a long time for him, but he must have once loved well.

“You are sweet innocence in your responses, Kitten, as if I’m your first man. I cannot wait much longer to be inside you.”

Kit knew little of lovemaking. The old baron she married had been kindly enough, though he was more like a grandfather, which made their wedding night a perfunctory affair. Then, a mere two weeks after they wed, the old lord died of heart failure. Never before had she experienced the feelings, the sensations or the response that this man drew so easily from her.

He rose above her, letting his erection settle into the cleft guarding her most intimate center. Her flesh was slick, sensitive and hungry for him, and when he rubbed himself over the opening it caused her breathing to speed. She lifted her hips in invitation.

He entered her slowly, as if savoring the feel. Though he was large, she was so wet that he slid forward unimpeded. Deep within her he stilled, and she responded to the fullness by gripping him with her inner muscles, imprisoning his warm hard flesh. Then, with a single thrust, he drove deeper still.

“Ah, God, Kitten,” he rasped as he started to move—slowly at first, rhythmically, then faster. The slight pain that had come with his first hard thrust quickly disappeared. She wasn’t a virgin, but she had only been taken twice by the old baron, and he had been small she now realized.

Who was this man who claimed her? What magic had he woven to take one who in her heart had never been taken before? She moved now in a dance so instinctive that she needed no instruction as she wrapped her legs around his. Her body responded to him as if he’d always been her lover, and Kit raised her hips to take him deeper, wanting all of him. He kissed her passionately—even, it seemed, desperately.

Her breathing came in pants as she raised her hips again, digging her fingers into his warm muscled shoulders. A tension had begun to build, one she’d never before experienced, pulling her to the crest of an unfamiliar mountaintop she yearned to reach. Wrapped in the throes of passion, they moved as one. Closing her eyes tightly, Kit willed the pleasure to continue as it swiftly built. Then, with a burst of stars, spasms welled up deep within her. They rolled over her as her muscles gripped his hardened flesh. Kit was infused by a pleasure she had never known.

A soft cry escaped her lips just as the stranger’s body stiffened and released a flood of warmth within her. Small echoes of pleasure radiated from where he was lodged deep inside. Sinking into a trancelike state of bliss, she clung to him, and he held her in return, whispering French words she recognized as words of love.

Martin had never before experienced any woman like the one he held now. Elise had died so young. Their lovemaking had been sweet and joyful, enthusiastic…but nothing like this. He told himself it was just because it had been a long while since he’d known a woman’s body. But he knew it was more. It was this woman. It was everything about her.

It was as if his body recognized hers. They had moved in tandem like two who had long been lovers, though in other ways she seemed so innocent. Because of that innocence, he had been most tender with her.

Moving to one side, he pulled her close, stroking her long hair that to his fingers felt like silk. He kissed her forehead as she rested her head on his shoulder, her full breasts pressed against him, warm pillows of pleasure. Through barely opened eyes, he glimpsed her pale skin and long limbs glowing in the dim moonlight. A goddess in repose. Drawn to that beauty, he began to stroke her, reveling in the warmth of her body and the softness of her rounded breasts with their soft, dusky nipples. And with each touch of her silken skin, his body responded.

He whispered in her ear, “Tu m’ensorceler.”

She had, indeed, bewitched him. She was an enigma: while seemingly innocent, still so passionate, so responsive. There was nothing practiced about her. Was she new to this life? As they lay together, he wondered. A fallen dove perhaps. Whatever she was, whoever she was, somewhere during this night she had become precious to him. She had become his kitten.

Finally, he could fight sleep no longer. Holding her close, his last thought before slumber was to make her his mistress.

Yes, he would see Miss Abby about it in the morning.