Nicole Jordan - Desire

Dear God, the curse.

From somewhere far away dim reason filtered through to her consciousness. This was madness. He was much too fervent. His passionate embrace was careening out of control, spiraling into something dark and dangerous. Brynn knew without a doubt that her virginity was at stake; if she let him continue like this, she would have no claim to innocence left.

“No… please… you promised,” she gasped.

Dredging up a vestige of resistance, she tried to pull away. Yet to her dismay, he would not let her go.

Her desperation rose. On the edge of panic, Brynn brought her knee up between his thighs, contacting with the hard ridge of male flesh hidden there beneath his breeches.

The sharp sound he made in response was between a gasp and a groan, but her blow had the desired effect of making him release her with a smothered curse. She caught a glimpse of his face- bewilderment, pain, anger-as he doubled over. He stood there a moment, his hands clutching his knees as he struggled for breath.

Brynn stared at him, her naked breasts heaving. No lady should claim to know about the intimacies of a man’s body, but having grown up with five brothers, she knew something about fighting. Grayson himself had taught her to protect herself physically from over amorous suitors, instructing her on the most vulnerable parts of male anatomy.

For the first time in months, Brynn found herself blessing her older brother rather than cursing him.

But she still had an angry, injured male to deal with, she realized when the handsome Lord Wycliff lifted his head. Despite the glazed, spellbound look in his eyes, he fixed her with a baleful glare, his gaze raking her bare breasts.

Desperately she straightened her disheveled chemise and inched away, slipping out from between him and the boulder. She regretted having to cause him such pain, but there had been no other way to break the spell.

“I am sorry,” she muttered defiantly, “but you should never have kissed me-touched me-like that.”

He was still short of breath when he answered, surprising her. “I know. It was unpardonable of me.”

Brynn returned his gaze warily as she moved over to her pile of clothing.

His sensuous mouth twisted in an expression that was halfway between a pained grimace and a self-deprecating smile. “I am the one who should be sorry. My only excuse is that I became carried away by your charms.”

His apology amazed her, yet she wasn’t certain she could trust it. Scooping up her gown and slippers, she held them to her chest, concealing her breasts from his view.

“I suppose you could not help yourself,” she replied grudgingly.

Clutching her garments close, she turned and scrambled up the rocky path that cut across the cliff face, unmindful of her injured foot.

She paused once to glance behind her. Lord Wycliff stood on the shingle beach below, staring up at her. His hands rested on his narrow hips, his powerful legs slightly spread, as if he stood on a mountaintop, surveying his domain.

He did not intend to follow her, she realized with immense relief. Yet she hadn’t seen the last of the arrogant earl, Brynn was certain.

Turning, she fled, disappearing behind a scrub thicket that clung precariously to the edge of the path.

When she was out of sight, Lucian let out his breath in a quiet rush. The encounter had left him unexpectedly shaken.

It was a novel experience, being bested by a servant. For that matter, it was novel for any woman to resist his advances-and even more singular for him to lose control the way he had.

Lucian shook his head, feeling an amused, self-mocking smile twist his mouth. He was entirely unaccustomed to being rebuffed. Normally females, no matter their station or claim to comeliness, vied for his attention and favors. Never before had he been assaulted by one.

This entire interlude was wholly unforeseen. He was on a mission to uncover vital war intelligence, searching the coves along the seacoast for places where stolen gold might be hidden. The last thing he’d thought to discover was a scantily clad sea nymph with flaming auburn hair and emerald eyes.

Enchanted at first sight, he had watched bewitched when she climbed from the pool, stricken by the untamed beauty he had stumbled upon. When she stood bathed in full sunlight, a soft sea breeze wafting over her body, she had looked like a primitive goddess, and he could barely catch his breath.

But she was no imaginary creature, he’d discovered to his delight. She was intensely real, an alluring, flesh-and-blood woman. Everything about her was profoundly sensual, from the deep blaze of her hair, to her creamy, silken skin, to her slim thighs, naked and dewy from the sea. And those eyes…

He could lose himself in those vibrant green eyes.

Who the devil was she? She was too well-spoken to be less than an upper-class servant. A lady’s maid, perhaps, or a governess. Except that no governess looked the way she did, or possessed such spirited defiance or so tart a tongue. He was a little amazed at her daring.

Obviously she had the confidence of a woman secure in her position. Her beauty doubtless commanded the homage of a wealthy protector.

She would make a magnificent mistress, Lucian knew-fiery, disdainful, yet sexually responsive enough to meet his intense appetites with those of her own.

He could eagerly imagine sliding deep within her silky body, feeling her wrap those strong, graceful legs around him, that cloud of glorious hair entwining him as he took her in the throes of passion.

It was enough to set his blood on fire. And the thought of her response…

She had wanted him, he knew. He had recognized all the signs of an aroused woman, her body growing sweetly pliant as he held and caressed her, her soft whimpers of pleasure as he had tasted her lush, ripe breasts…

Heat surged through him at the mere memory. Lucian found himself swearing a low oath at the ache in his loins. He hadn’t been left this tormented with unconsummated desire since adolescence.

So how did he proceed from here? Could she be lured away from her protector-by the promise of riches or some other significant consideration? There was no question that he was intrigued, or that her lush loveliness entranced him.

A pity her station wasn’t more elevated. For months he had been searching for a bride to bear him a son. Were her lineage better, he wouldn’t hesitate to claim her.

But despite her lack of breeding, he would enjoy a dalliance. No, more than a dalliance, Lucian amended. He felt a restless aching need to possess her. He wanted the fascinating beauty in his bed.

His eyes narrowed as he contemplated the cliff path where she had fled. He wanted her. And Lucian Tremayne, seventh Earl of Wycliff, usually got what he wanted.

With grave reluctance, Brynn descended from the family carriage and took her brother’s proffered arm. A welcoming blaze of lights illuminated the family seat of the Duke of Hennessy, the highest-ranking peer in the district, but Brynn had no desire to attend this assembly, no matter how rare the occasion or prized the honor.

“You might try for a smile, puss,” Grayson teased. “You look as if you’re being sent to the guillotine.”

“I would far rather have stayed quietly home.”

“I know. But it has been three years since the duke has issued any invitations to his home. It would never do to snub him-or his illustrious guest.”

Brynn’s heart sank at the thought of that illustrious guest. The Earl of Wycliff. The aging duke was holding an assembly to honor his London visitor.

“Moreover,” Gray added seriously, “it will do you good to get out for once. You are at risk of becoming a recluse.”

“You know perfectly well why I keep out of the public eye.”

“Yes, but you needn’t avoid society entirely, only males who show you undue attention. And curse or no curse, I doubt a man of Wycliff’s stamp will be in danger of swooning over you. He’s one of the most sought-after lords in England. Doubtless he will be attracted only to a great beauty with a fortune and title to match his own.”

Yet the bold earl had been attracted to her, Brynn thought gloomily.

Other than to warn her brother that she’d seen a stranger nosing around the cliffs, she hadn’t told Gray about her encounter with the lustful Lord Wycliff four days ago, nor did she intend to. Gray would be distressed to learn she had so narrowly escaped trouble, perhaps enough to forbid her to swim in the cove, which was one of her few liberties. He was as protective of her virtue as a mother hen.

As they were admitted into the immense foyer of the ducal mansion, Grayson swept a critical eye over her. “I don’t think you need worry about attracting male attention, Brynn. You have disguised your feminine charms rather well.”

Her ivory gown, which was four Seasons out of date, was of plain muslin and boasted a modestly high neckline, while her blazing hair was scraped back in a severe knot and mostly hidden beneath a feathered chapeau.

“If he does pay you any notice, however, it will not hurt you to make yourself amenable. Wycliff wields a great deal of power in elite circles, and an acquaintance can only be beneficial.”

“Beneficial to whom?” Brynn replied dryly.

“To me, of course. To our family.”

She heard the note of bitterness in her brother’s voice and glanced up at him. Her elder by four years, Grayson was a handsome man with features similar to her own, although his hair was much darker than hers, a rich chestnut brown. Despite his looks and title, however, his eligibility was greatly disadvantaged by the impoverished state of his finances-a circumstance for which he bore little blame.