Passion Page 13

  Dots of light skittered across his vision. His balls tight­ened. His cock jerked. The smell of her filled his brain.

  Suddenly, sound receded.

  He pressed his face into the curve of her neck.

  Held in a silent cocoon of splendor, fiery bliss con­sumed him whole as molten-hot sperm roared from his cock in a heart-sundering purge. It poured out of him, burning away layers of pain and sorrow in its powerful wake. He felt the hot wash of it, spilling back upon him, as deluge after deluge spewed from his enraptured prick.

  And within the fire, his heart beat with a fierce joy, throbbing exuberantly with each potent ejaculation. The more seed flooded from his pulsing shaft, the more full his heart became. He felt as if it might burst as he filled the deepest cavities of Passion’s womb with himself.

  If his heart exploded into a thousand pieces, he wouldn’t care. Passion held him in the paradise of her bodily embrace.

  He’d never been to paradise.

  *

  Chapter Eight

  Troublesome Relatives

  The gray-blue light of pre-dawn filtered through Passion’s lashes as she blinked sleepily. Had she ever felt this warm and secure? She pressed herself more tightly against the strong body curved around hers. Mark! Her eyes flew open, and she looked over her shoulder.

  He was awake and propped on his elbow with his head braced in his hand. His hair was tousled, and his blue eyes regarded her seriously. Only God could have conceived eyes so beautiful.

  “Good morning,” he murmured.

  Passion felt herself blushing. “Good morning.”

  “I’ve never slept the night with a woman.”

  Surprise and a warm tingle of pleasure tumbled through her. “Really?”

  A brief frown creased his brow. “During your mar­riage, did you share a bed with your husband?”

  Taken aback, Passion paused. “Well, yes.” Why did he have to keep asking about her late husband? “But never like this,” she said, glancing at Mark’s bare chest. “And, but for the times when—well, you know—he never touched me. He slept on his side of the bed, and I slept on mine.”

  Mark’s frown deepened and his arm tightened around her waist. “I’m glad he never had you like this.”

  Passion smiled. “As am I.” She wished he would kiss her, but he didn’t. She glanced back at the window and then at the clock beside the bed. “Heavens, it’s almost five o’clock.” She pulled away from Mark’s embrace and, grabbing the light throw at the foot of the bed, held it to herself before standing up.

  A deep soreness in her inner thighs made her gasp.

  Mark sat up and reached for her. “Are you all right?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw his concerned frown. “I’m fine. Just sore.”

  ‘But can you walk?”

  She took a few tentative steps. Her legs ached, but it was the tender soreness of her cunt and womb that both pained and pleasured her most. She savored the raw pull of her muscles as she moved to the end of the bed. As the day passed, the feeling would mellow to a barely notice­able throb. She would miss it. Pausing at the foot of the bed, she smiled reassuringly. “I’ve been well and truly fucked, that’s for certain.”

  Mark laughed and shook his head as he leaned back against the pillows. “I love to hear you say that word.” Propping up one knee beneath the sheets, he tipped his gaze to the satin throw she clutched to her breast. “A little late for modesty, isn’t it?”

  Her cheeks warmed and she nodded toward the clock. “You must go. The maids rise at five-thirty.”

  When he didn’t seem inclined to move, she frowned re­provingly. “If we’re caught here together, it would send my aunt into an apoplectic fit—not to mention the scan­dal.”

  Lifting his arms, he laced his fingers behind his head in an all-too-relaxed fashion. “Kiss me and I’ll go.”

  Lord, a kiss could lead her astray. She raised her brow. “Promise?”

  His large sculpted shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Of course.”

  Gripping the satin throw, she went to the side of the bed and, bending quickly, gave him a peck on the lips.

  He looked at her reprovingly. “That is not a kiss.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake…” Passion sat down beside him and, gripping his nape, pulled him to her for a warm, moist kiss. She had meant to keep it brief, but the taste and smell of him—and the ardor with which he responded—made her linger.

  Deepening the kiss, Mark drew her other hand beneath the sheet. She moaned at the feel of his penis, large and firm.

  God, even sore she wanted him.

  Her fingers curled around him, and her quim mois­tened as she felt the brush of his fingers across her nip­ples. Gasping as he nipped her lower lip, she stroked his shaft and lifted her chest.

  “You have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen,” he murmured against her mouth. She sucked in her breath and tightened her hand around him as he delivered a firm pinch to both of her distended nipples. “Shall we have a quick fuck?” he whispered, kneading her breasts.

  “Oh, very well.” She sighed.

  Mark kissed her and she felt his smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay. I’ve promised to go.”

  Passion snapped her eyes open and frowned into his smiling face. “Beast.” She realized she had let the throw drop and yanked it up as she stood.

  Mark chuckled as he slung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m only letting you go because I’ll see you later at the Palace. I will see you there, won’t I?”

  She picked up her robe from the floor and shrugged into it quickly. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

  As she worked her buttons, he stood and stretched. She couldn’t help looking. He had a glorious body—large, yet beautifully sculpted. Broad shoulders flexed above a firm chest and tapering torso. She admired the musculature of his pelvis, the jutting power of his penis, and the strength of his thigh.

  He let his arms drop with a contented grunt and, shov­ing back his hair, crossed to where he had left his clothes. His cock, not quite fully hard, bobbed before him.

  Passion’s mouth watered and she swallowed. There was no denying he was huge. Beautiful and arousing, the potent masculinity of him made her wet.

  Glancing at her as he pulled on his trousers, Mark smiled his half smile. “You have that come-fuck-me look in your eye. Sure I shouldn’t stay?”

  Blushing, she swept his shirt from the chair and held it for him to slip into.

  He paused briefly before turning and sliding his arms into his shirt. Turning back to face her, he pressed a kiss on her brow. “Thank you.”

  As he closed the buttons of his shirt, he examined the things decorating her mantel. He paused at her hydrangea plate, leaning closer as he examined it. He glanced back at her. “P.E.D.? Did you do this?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked at it again then back at her. “It’s very good.”

  She smiled at the admiring-surprised frown on his face. “Thank you.”

  “Actually, it’s better than good, it’s wonderful. Do you paint on canvas as well, or solely porcelain?”

  Her heart fluttered with pride. “I have painted on can­vas, but mostly I work on porcelain.”

  He studied her plate again and shook his head. “You’re very talented.”

  Passion could barely contain her smile. His praise made her incredibly happy. By what she knew of him, he wouldn’t say one word he didn’t mean. Not always pretty, but honest and unfettered.

  “P.E.D.” He lightly touched her scrolling initials and then turned back to her. “Are you going to tell me what they stand for?”

  How easy it would be to tell him. How easy to become more than they ought. “I think it best we just remain Pas­sion and Mark.”

  He sat in the chair and pulled on his boots. “I know where you live. I could find out your name if I wanted.”

  She frowned. “But you won’t because I’ve asked you not to.”

  He studied her for a moment and then shrugged. “I al­ready know anyway.”

  Passion tensed. “You do?”

  “Yes.” He stood and picked up his coat. “It’s Passion Ermintrude Dittsnapper.”

  Passion widened her eyes and let her mouth fall open. “How did you know?”

  He stared at her for a split second and then a deep chuckle rumbled out of him. “All right, then. I see how it’s going to be.”

  She grinned and batted her lashes at him over her shoulder as she crossed to the window. Served him right for tempting her earlier. She swept aside the curtains and bowed. “Your coach, my lord.”

  An odd look passed over his features and just as quickly disappeared. He paused beside her, his handsome mouth turned in a small smile. “My, what a lovely foot­man.” He threaded his hands through her hair and pressed a soft, languorous kiss to her lips.

  Passion sighed and gripped the lapels of his coat as she savored the taste and closeness of him. Lord, but he felt good.

  He pulled back, kissing the corner of her mouth, before he cupped her face in his hands. She gazed at him and knew she’d never seen a more handsome man.

  “Last night,” he murmured. His blue eyes held hers. “I’ve never felt such pleasure.”

  Her blood surged. “Nor have I.”

  He seemed as if he might say more, but then he just smiled and dropped another kiss upon her lips. After a sur­veying glance out the window, he climbed out.

  Passion gripped the sleeve of his coat. Her hair fell forward, and her hands slid to his wrist as he moved down the trellis. He looked up at her, and his eyes reflected the blue of the day to come.

  “I’ll see you at the Crystal Palace,” he whispered.

  “I’ll be there.”

  With a soft caress, his fingers slid through hers as he climbed down. Leaping the final few feet to the ground, he turned and ran across the garden, his long coat kicking up behind him. She didn’t think he would look back, but as he topped the garden wall, he paused.

  They stared at each other across the distance. Passion trembled. Her insides quivered. Her blood quickened in her veins, rushing to fill her swelling heart. She gasped and clenched her fingers on the sill.

  How would she ever give him up?

  He disappeared over the wall.

  Tears welled.

  God, what had she done?

  Mark tossed his coat over the chair beside the foyer table. Despite his late night and the earliness of the hour, he was wide awake and invigorated. During the walk home, his mind had been so filled with thoughts of Pas­sion that he’d barely noticed his surroundings. Shoving back his hair, he grinned. That’s what a great fuck could do to a man.

  He walked to his study. He could get in a couple hours of work on the library plans before he would need to clean up and go to the Crystal Palace.

  Opening the door, he stopped short. Matt sat by the window, a tray of breakfast sitting on the table beside him.

  Matt looked him over. “Good morning, brother.”

  Mark lifted one brow as he crossed the room. “Do make yourself at home,” he quipped as he fell into the other chair.

  “You always said I should,” Matt replied over the rim of his coffee cup.

  “Mmm.” Mark frowned. “I did, didn’t I?” Looking over the tray of food, he picked up a slice of toast.

  “So.” Matt put down his cup. “I take it by your un­kempt appearance, and the fact that you had me follow a certain lady home yesterday, that you have just come from the bed of Passion.”

  “Yes. And that’s very well said, by the way.” Mark bit into his toast and glanced at his brother. Matt hadn’t smiled once. “What’s wrong?”

  His brother picked up the other slice of toast. “It seems to me that you have an avid attraction for this woman. Am I wrong?”

  “So what if I do?”

  “I thought I knew you, that’s what.”

  Mark frowned. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”’

  “I’ll tell you what the matter is.” Matt tossed his toast back on the plate. “I’m having dinner with Mother last night. She keeps going on and on about this Miss Char­lotte Lawrence—how beautiful she is, how charming, how perfect for you.” Matt leaned closer. “I’m thinking to myself, Mark isn’t interested in Charlotte Lawrence. He told me so himself. Besides, I happen to know he’s on fire for a beauty by the name of Passion. And when it comes to women, my brother never .splits his attentions.”

  Mark’s shoulders tensed. He had a feeling he knew where his brother was going.

  “So,” Matt continued, “I, thinking to save my dear brother from unwanted aggravation, mention to Mother that she ought to drop the subject of Miss Lawrence. That you are currently interested in quite a different woman and that she should leave you the hell alone.”

  Mark’s frown deepened. That was information his mother didn’t need to know.

  “Imagine my surprise when she informs me that I must be entirely mistaken.” Matt slammed his hand on the table. “Because the fact is, you’ve become engaged to Miss Lawrence that very afternoon!”

  “Temper, temper,” Mark growled.

  “You’re my brother,” Matt said, lowering his voice. “We tell each other everything. How the hell could you make this decision without informing me? Something this fucking important?” His expression read disbelief. “I have to hear it from Mother! In that damned condescending tone she likes to use when she feels she has the upper hand.”

  Shit. Passion filled his thoughts so much that he wasn’t considering all the factors involved in extricating himself from Abigail Lawrence’s blackmail. If he was going to keep his brother in the dark, his plans needed to be passed through the what-to-tell-Matt filter.

  Mark tossed the remainder of his toast on the tray. He wasn’t handling things well.

  His jaw clenched. Fucking lies. He hated them.

  Even more, he hated the conniving women who forced him to tell them.

  He looked at his brother. “I apologize for not telling you.” Christ, he hated this! “I didn’t know I was going to make the decision until I’d made it.” He shrugged. “I want children.”

  A sudden vision of Passion with her stomach swollen filled his mind. He took a deep breath and focused on his brother. “She’s pretty. Seems fairly even-tempered. And you know I’ve never cared about a title. In fact, I prefer to have a common wife.”

  Matt stared hard at him. “Commoners commit adultery, too. I thought you never wanted to suffer Father’s fate.”

  Mark swallowed the distaste that rose up in his throat. “Unlike Father, I’m not marrying with any expectation of fidelity. Unlike Father, I don’t intend to languish in a hell of abstinence. Unlike Father, I’ll fuck anyone I like, whenever I like.”

  “Just like our mother did.”

  Mark’s blood began to boil. “Go to hell.”

  Undeterred, Matt sat back in his chair and seemed to be considering. “What about Passion?”

  “That’s temporary.”

  “Temporary?” Matt frowned. “Why?”

  Mark’s body tightened with anger and frustration. “Be­cause everything is temporary, Matt. Everything beautiful dies. Everything sweet turns sour. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  Mark heaved himself from the chair and went to his desk. The drawings for the library were stacked neatly be­side his drafting tools. He had absolutely no desire to work.

  Matt strolled over and held out his hand. “Congratula­tions on your engagement.”

  Mark shook reluctantly. “Thank you.”

  “When shall I meet her?”

  “Soon, I’m sure.”

  Matt nodded. “Don’t forget you’re coming to dinner at the Benchley’s tonight.”

  Mark groaned inwardly. “Right.”

  “And be charming, if you please. You make Rosalind nervous when you’re morose.”

  “I���m sure I told you to go to hell. What are you still doing here?”

  “Waiting for you to show me the way.”

  Mark glared into his brother’s smug grin.

  As Matt picked up his hat from the desk, a light knock sounded on the door. At Mark’s call, Cranford stepped in.

  “My young relation has arrived, my lord.”

  “Excellent. Send him in, Cranford.”

  “If you insist, my lord.”

  Mark almost smiled. Cranford had worked hard to ele­vate himself. He hated the fact that he had ne’er-do-well relatives.

  Mickey Wilkes sauntered in. Cranford gave the boy what was meant to serve as a warning frown before bow­ing out.

  Matt smiled. “What’s this young knave doing here?”

  “Sent for, I was,” Mickey offered. He looked at the two men and then pulled off his hat.

  Matt shook his head. “I thought you gave this light-fingered little thief a position at Hawkmore House. I hardly think the city is the place to break him of his old habits.”

  “Oh, I be entirely broke o’ me old habits, Mr. ‘Awkmore.” Mickey jingled the coins in his pocket. “I’s a new man, I am. Completely habilitated from me old ways.”

  Mark doubted it. Though only seventeen, Mickey had the easygoing confidence of someone who had been through a few scrapes in his life yet somehow escaped se­rious consequences. He’d bet the boy wasn’t as “habili­tated” as he claimed.

  “I need an errand boy,” Mark said to his brother.

  Matt spoke over his shoulder as he left. “You’ll be lucky if he isn’t arrested on his first errand.”

  The study door closed with a light slam.

  Mark turned to Mickey. “Sit down. I have a job for you.”

  “You’ll never guess who’s here, my dear,” Aunt Matty called from below.

  Passion smoothed her gray silk skirts as she rounded *the upper landing. The smile froze on her face as she stared down into the beaming visage of Alfred Swittly.

  “Good morrow, Mrs. Redington.” With one hand on the banister post and one foot braced on the bottom stair, he posed. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!”

  Passion moved down the stairs slowly, an embarrassed flush heating her cheeks. “Good morning, Mr. Swittly. What a surprise to see you.”

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