Counterfeit Lady (James River Trilogy 1) - Page 30

Her arms slid around his neck. “Clay,” she whispered, “I love you.”

He put his arms under her and stood up, then carried her to the bed. He lit a candle beside the bed. The delicious bayberry scent floated through the room. “I want to see you,” he said, and sat beside her on the bed. The lace bodice of the nightgown was fastened with seventeen tiny, satin-covered buttons. Slowly and carefully, Clay unbuttoned each one. His hands against her breasts made Nicole close her eyes.

“Did you know that I undressed you the night I took you from the dogs? Leaving you alone in that bed was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“That’s how my dress got torn.”

He didn’t answer her as he took her arms out of the lace bodice, then lifted her to remove the rest of the gown. He ran his hand down the side of her body, pausing at the curve of her hip. She was small but perfectly proportioned. Her breasts were high and full, her waist tiny, her legs and hips slim. He bent his head and kissed her stomach, rubbed his cheek against it.

“Clay,” she whispered, her hand in his hair, “I’m frightened.”

He lifted his head and smiled at her. “The unknown is what’s frightening. Have you ever seen a naked man?”

“One of my cousins when he was two,” she answered honestly.

“There’s a big difference,” he said, and he stood to begin unfastening the side buttons of his pants, the only garment he wore.

She was shy when they dropped to the floor, and she kept her eyes on his face. He stood quietly, and she knew he expected more of her. His chest was tanned from the sun. It was wide and muscled. The deep curve of his muscles played with the candlelight. His waist was very slim, his stomach muscles forming separate ridges. Quickly, her eyes went to his feet, his strong calves, and his heavily muscled thighs. He was a man who spent a great deal of time on a horse, and his thighs showed the result. Her eyes went back to his face, and he still wore a look of waiting.

She looked downward. What she saw did not frighten her. He was Clayton, the man she loved, and she wasn’t afraid of him. She gave a low, throaty laugh of relief and pleasure. She opened her arms to him. “Come to me,” she whispered.

Clay smiled at her as he stretched out beside her on the bed.

“Such a beautiful smile,” she said as she ran a finger along his lips. “Someday, maybe you’ll explain to me why I see it so seldom.”

“Maybe,” he said impatiently as he caught her mouth under his.

To Nicole, Clay’s skin was electric. The size and strength of him made her feel small and feminine. As he kissed her neck, she ran her hand over his arm, feeling the dips and curves of it. Suddenly, she realized that he was hers, that his body was hers to explore and taste. She leaned toward him and kissed that smile of his, ran her tongue across those even white teeth she so seldom saw. She placed little nipping bites along his neck, pulled at his earlobe with her teeth. She moved her thigh between his.

Clay was startled by her actions. Then he laughed inside his throat. “Come here, my little French vixen.” He pulled her close to him and rolled with her across the bed.

Nicole laughed joyously, delightfully. He held her on top of him, ran his hands through her hair, then up her body to her breasts.

Suddenly, his expression changed, darkened. “I want you,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she answered. “Yes.”

Gently, he laid her on the bed and moved on top of her. The alcohol on an empty stomach, the catharsis of telling someone about her grandfather, all conspired to relax her. All she knew was that she was with the man she loved and wanted. She wasn’t afraid when she first felt Clay enter her. There was a moment of pain, but she forgot it at the thought of being closer to Clay.

A moment later, her eyes widened in surprise. Always before, when she’d imagined lovemaking, she’d imagined a rather holy pleasure, a feeling of closeness and love. The feeling that was coursing through her veins had nothing to do with love—this was fire!

/> “Clay,” she whispered, then tilted her head backward and arched her body.

He went slowly at first, restraining himself, knowing this was her first time. But her reactions inflamed him. He’d guessed that she was a woman who understood passion instinctively, but he had never guessed the depth of her. Her throat was exposed, and he could see the blood pounding there. She clutched at his hips, ran her hands down along his body. She made him feel as if she enjoyed him as much as he did her. The women he’d had in his lifetime usually were demanding or believed they were doing him a favor.

He fell on top of her as his thrusts became harder and faster. She pulled him closer, closer, wrapping her legs around his waist. When they exploded together, they still clung, their bodies united, their sweat mingled.

For Nicole, it had been a new, wondrous experience. She’d expected something heavenly and uplifting. The animal passion she’d experienced was so much more than she knew existed. She fell asleep in Clay’s arms.

Clay would not release her even the slightest distance. For all the times he’d spent in bed with women, he felt that this had been his first. For the first time in years, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

When Nicole woke the next morning, it was some minutes before she opened her eyes. She stretched luxuriously, knowing that when she did open them she’d see Clay’s dark-paneled bedroom, the pillow his head had touched. She sensed he was gone, but her happiness was too great to be spoiled.

When at last she looked about her, she was startled to see the white walls of her own room. Her first thought was that Clay had not wanted her to remain in his bed. She tossed the light quilt aside and told herself that was absurd. More than likely, he was concerned that she should have a choice about someone finding her in his bed or her own.

She went to the wardrobe and chose a lovely dress of pale blue muslin, the high waist and the skirt trimmed in deep blue satin ribbon. There was a note on top of the dresser. “Breakfast at nine. Clay.” She smiled, and her fingers trembled as she buttoned the dress.

The hall clock struck seven, and she wondered how on earth she was going to wait until nine before seeing him again. A quick check of the twins’ rooms showed they were dressed and gone.

Tags: Jude Deveraux James River Trilogy Historical
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