A Stolen Heart. Candace Camp
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He could see the dark circle of her nipple through the sheer material of the camisole. He thought about putting his lips to the soft, quivering orb; he thought of taking the pink-brown nipple into his mouth and teasing it into diamond hardness. Desire swelled in him.
He dragged his eyes to her face, but he found that her beauty did not decrease his desire in the slightest. Her lips were full and deep red, moist and soft from her bout of tears. As she looked at him, they parted slightly.
Thorpe pulled her tightly against him, and his lips came down on hers. He kissed her fully and deeply, drinking in the sweetness of her mouth, his desire as suddenly full and tumultuous as it had been in the gallery. Alexandra pressed into him eagerly, her arms going around his neck and holding on. He let out a soft moan, his lips pressing harder against hers. Passion thrummed in him. She was soft and pliant against him, and the little sounds that rose from her throat stoked his desire.
His hand slipped to her breast, covering it and stroking the quivering flesh, bare above her camisole. He could feel her nipple hardening beneath his palm, and he wanted to feel it without any cloth between them. He pushed down the camisole, sliding it across the budding nipple, and took her nipple between his thumb and finger. Gently he rolled and pressed, caressing it, delighting in the way it thrust out even more, firm and proud.
He had to taste it. Pulling his mouth from Alexandra’s, he kissed a trail down the slender column of her throat and across her chest. His mouth moved tenderly over the slope of her breast until he found the prize he sought. Softly his tongue traced the button of engorged flesh.
A groan escaped Alexandra’s lips. She sagged against Thorpe’s arm, her eyes closed, lost in the sensations he was creating in her. With every movement of his tongue, her loins quivered and grew hotter. She felt like wax melting in his arms. When he took her nipple into his mouth and began to suckle, she cried out softly, her body jerking in a paroxysm of delight. She had never felt anything like this, had never even known that such sensations existed. Her body was consumed by heat; each rhythmic pull of his mouth sent another shock of desire through her. There was a deep ache growing between her legs, a yearning that she didn’t know how to satisfy.
Alexandra moved her hips against him instinctively, searching for satisfaction, and Sebastian shuddered. His hands went to her buttocks, digging into them and shoving her even more tightly against him. His desire throbbed against her, hot and rigid. Slowly he moved her hips over him, and Alexandra gasped at the new sensation, her passion spiraling.
In the hall there was the sound of footsteps and a man’s voice saying, “Nothing, Miss Ward.”
“No trace of him?” Aunt Hortense bellowed, sounding irritated.
Alexandra gasped and stepped back, jolted from her haze of passion by the sounds. She put her hand to her mouth, her eyes huge, looking at Thorpe.
Fury stabbed through Thorpe, and he wished the servants and Aunt Hortense to hell for interrupting them. He wanted to reach out and pull Alexandra into his arms, ignoring the world outside the room, but then reason returned to him. This was hardly the time or place for lovemaking. Anyone could walk in at any moment, and the scandal would be all over London within a day. He realized, too, with something of a jolt, that he was acting like a cad. Alexandra had just gone through a frightening experience; she was unusually vulnerable—and he was taking advantage of that vulnerability. He certainly had no qualms about having a mutually satisfying affair with a woman, but he knew that it would be unfair and dishonest to lure her into lovemaking when she was so shaken and frightened by an attack.
Irritated at himself, he turned away, saying gruffly, “Forgive me. I should not—”
Alexandra wrapped her arms around herself, feeling very empty and alone. She cleared her throat, telling herself not to be a fool. “There’s no need. I was not myself. The circumstances were—”
“What happened?” He turned, seizing on the topic. It was doubly irritating, he found, that he was still throbbing with desire, even if his good sense had taken over enough to stop him before they tumbled together on the floor.
“I’m not sure.” Alexandra frowned. “He jumped out at me from behind some shrubs. He followed me—at least, I think he did. I started hearing footsteps, and then they were gone, and the next thing I knew, he was rushing out of the shrubs down the street. He grabbed me from behind and he said—this is what is so very strange—he said, ‘Go home!’”
“’Go home?’” Thorpe repeated in disbelief.
“Yes. Or go back where you came from. Something like that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am!” Alexandra snapped. “I could scarcely mistake something like that. He distinctly told me to leave. Why would anyone care? Why would someone attack me just to tell me to go back to the United States?”
Thorpe stared at her dumbfounded. “I cannot imagine. You must have heard him wrong.”
“I did not hear him wrong. That is what he said.”
Thorpe looked at her for a moment. He felt quite sure that the man had not grabbed her to tell her to leave the country. It was absurd. No doubt his intent had been to rape her; Alexandra was probably just too naïve to realize that. The thought made his blood boil. He thought with great satisfaction of what he would do to the man if he had him in his hands.
Frustrated, he snapped, “What the devil were you doing out there in the first place? Haven’t you any sense?”
Stung, Alexandra retorted, “I was walking home. If you will remember, you left me at the ball.”
“I told you to wait.”
“I didn’t feel like it. I was tired, and I didn’t know anyone. The footman told me you had gone away in the carriage with the Countess, and I had no idea when you would be coming back—or even if you would.”
“You think that I would simply abandon you there?”
“Well, you did.”
“I was coming back. I wanted to see the Countess home, to make sure she was all right. I specifically told you to wait. If you had listened to me instead of charging off on your own, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“Oh!” Alexandra glared at him. “Now you are blaming me because some man decided to attack me?”
“I’m not blaming you. I am simply saying that it was foolish of you to walk home without an escort.”
“May I remind you that I am perfectly able to take care of myself. I don’t have to sit around kicking my heels, waiting for my escort to reappear and trundle me home like some piece of baggage.”
“Able to take care of yourself?” He raised a scornful brow. “It hardly appears that way.”
“What do you mean?” Alexandra clenched her hands, jutting her chin forward pugnaciously. “I did take care of myself. I kicked him and tore away from him and ran to the house. No one helped me but myself!”
“The point is that you wouldn’t even have been attacked if you had not been walking alone. He probably thought you were—”
“Were what?” Alexandra’s eyes flashed fire, and she set her hands on her hips.
“Easy prey,” Thorpe said, tight-lipped. “And, blast it, you were.”
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Alexandra said coldly.
Thorpe started to speak, then stopped. “Yes. No doubt you are right. I will take my leave of you.” He turned and strode toward the door. He stopped as he reached it and turned. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon,” he said peremptorily. “I promised the Countess that I would bring you over then. She wants very much to meet you.” He gave her a nod and added, “Good night. Make sure all your doors are locked.”
Alexandra’s jaw dropped. How dare he tell her where she was going and what she was doing tomorrow afternoon? She