What Isabella Desires (19 page)

She had loved having him unwrap her the first time they’d made love, but it took a long time, and she didn’t want to wait tonight.

While they were here in the house, and it didn’t matter if her clothes fit properly, she could get away with it.

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice, Marcus. I’ve been a bit lumpy all night.”

His hands moved to cup her breasts. “You are always beautifully lumpy.”

She smiled. “Just what a lady wants to hear.”

He leaned forward to kiss her again. She was both pliant and demanding. Dominant and submissive. A give and take that enflamed him.

Someone who could challenge and support.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and he aligned their bodies. Her dress was nearly unlatched. One more and it would fall away, leaving only her chemise beneath. No stays. He chuckled against her mouth and then relieved her of the rest of her clothing.

As far as he was concerned, she could stay naked. She didn’t need to wear anything to give her the perfect female dress form. She was perfect to him just as she was.

He whispered that against her lips and fiercely sucked in her beautiful little gasp.

He worked his fingers into her hair and released the pins. Her favorite golden comb clattered to the floor. He wondered if he could kick it under the bed, to keep it for later.

Her beautiful thick hair wrapped around him as it fell to brush her breasts, to caress the middle of her back. It encased him, luring him closer, capturing him within.

Her small fingers brushed the top of his trousers, tugged and pushed down. They dropped to the floor.

He ran his hands up her arms and heard her breath hitch. He deepened the kiss. Her fingers danced along his shirt, unbuttoning and pulling until it fell from his shoulders and bunched at his elbows, hanging loosely behind. Her fingers ran over his chest, and he felt obliged to return the favor.

Soft, smooth skin. Cool and heated, the heat beating further down, but clamoring to rise.

He bent down and took the tip of her breast into his mouth. She clutched him, her bottom half arching into him and giving him better access to the feast.

Bed…yes.

He nudged her forward, laying her down on top, licking and sucking, embracing all of the sounds she made. Her hands threaded through his hair.

He pulled a finger down her stomach and farther down to where the heat had risen. She was already wet, and he groaned against her breast, causing her to moan in response.

“Bella…”

He kissed her, and she hungrily wrapped her legs around him. He shifted and nudged against her, his mouth on hers, his fingers caressing her neglected breast. He could feel her coating his tip. The softest, warm, wet velvet on the most sensitive part of his body. He hovered there while he kissed her thoroughly. For the next few hours he wanted her lips to be bright red, her eyes to be unfocused, and his name to be the only sound she could produce.

She wiggled against him, and he slipped in half an inch more. He shuddered and kept her in place, their heartbeats and ragged breathing allowing just the smallest back and forth, in and out, as he hovered. She wiggled again and panted against his lips.

He looked into her glossy eyes. Passion overrode nearly everything else, but he could read the trust, the…

He kissed her again, more fiercely, and she bucked. He slid another half inch inside. She squeezed him, closing around him to hold him there, to urge him further inside. He fought from thrusting deeply, spearing her so that he touched her soul.

“Marcus…”

The sound was from heaven. His name on her lips, forming the syllables as a plea.

He buried himself completely inside her and shuddered. She arched and whimpered his name. He set about making sure she made more of those sounds. It could have been thirty seconds, it could have been two hours. He was aware of nothing but being inside her, kissing her, looking deep into her eyes and seeing all manner of things reflected there.

A mixture of feelings, some soft, some screaming, echoing through him.

He was aware of nothing but the complete and utter desire to make her his forever.

He dove deeply into her, lifting back out and diving in again. He held her eyes on a particularly long thrust, and when he pulled back, she began to pulse around him. He thrust in and out to keep her on the wave, to keep her pleasure as high as possible, his own feelings and sensations building around and through hers.

She arched back. “I love you, Marcus.”

He peaked abruptly, violently, and spilled himself inside her. He held her fiercely, riding out the last of the overpowering waves with her, trying to get as close as he could to being one with her.

It was glorious and terrifying.

She gasped and bucked, making the most delicious sounds as she repeated her love over and over.

He held her tight.

Sated and crazed.

She loved him.

He closed his eyes. He knew she loved him. Knew deep within that she wouldn’t have made love to him otherwise, no matter what he had tried to convince himself of. And he had taken advantage of that love. That trust. Willfully disregarded the future and selfishly taken the present.

He had completed the most intimate of acts with her. The evidence was between them, as perfect and horrifying as it could be. He had never found his release in anyone else. No one but Isabella. Perfect Isabella.

Panic rushed through him. The old fears and the new choking him. What had he done?

He disentangled himself and let his feet slip off the bed and onto the floor, his head in his hands, his breathing haggard.

He could still hear her deep breaths, could feel her light shudders. He should have been holding her. Should have been assuring her that everything was fine. That he loved her too.

But he couldn’t do that. Everything was not fine. Not even close to fine.

A small hand curled over his shoulder. “Marcus?”

“Yes, Isabella?”

Her hand stopped momentarily, before continuing its path down and around his chest, hugging him back to her as she rose to sit behind him.

He closed his eyes.

So right. So wrong. Contingency plans had to be enforced. He had to do this. Selfishness, pure selfishness, had created this, and selfishness would finish it. It was in the best interests of everyone. Isabella, for obvious reasons; him, for not seeing that shattered, irrevocable expression on her face; and the best interests of any children who would have to suffer the same as he had.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was hesitant, still laced with the confidence she had gained a few days ago, but with the old insecurities seeping back through.

He laughed humorlessly. “I’m brooding.”

Her hand stilled. “Brooding? Why?”

He didn’t answer.

“Did I do something wrong?” He could hear the thread of panic lacing her voice.

No. She did everything right. That was the problem.

“No, you did nothing wrong.” He couldn’t bring himself to crush her completely. He reached up and touched her hand.

A throbbing pain in his head pulled his attention. He smiled mirthlessly. Excellent. Right on time.

She wrapped her fingers around his. “Then what is making you brood?”

“Life’s little ironies.”

Her hand dropped from his shoulder, her fingers from his, and he turned to see her move self-consciously, covering herself with the coverlet.

He could have cursed everything from England to China in that moment. He reached up to touch her cheek, but dropped his hand at the last second. Her blue eyes grew glassy.

The glorious blue of her eyes, one more color he might never see again.

He forced a smooth face and even a small smile. “Bella, we need to leave for London in the morning.”

Her knuckles were white around the coverlet. “Why now? Why suddenly now and not before we came up here? Before we…”

The headache beat more insistently against his skull. Lights danced at the edges of his eyes. He didn’t know what he was going to do if he blacked out or lost his eyesight while talking to her.

“Is it—Is it because the villain has been caught and now you have no further need of me?”

“No.”

Yes. But not for the reasons she thought. He had a terrible feeling he would always need her.

“Is it—Is it because I said I loved you?”

He froze. The pounding of his headache, the heavy beat of his heart, a clock somewhere in the distance, all pressed together around him.

“No.”

Yes. She couldn’t love him.

“Is it because of the way we made love? The—The ending?” Again he could hear the insecurities.

“No.”

Yes. It had been an irreparable mistake.

“I don’t believe you. One of those has to be the reason. Tell me which.” Her voice was pleading.

“No.” The pain spiked.

“Damn it, don’t just keep saying no!”

Her breathing was harsh. She could barely formulate thoughts. She’d even taken to swearing.

Something passed through his eyes, but as usual, the emotion was too quick to decipher.

He winced suddenly, as though in physical pain. “We could have made a child,” he said harshly.

Her arms immediately wrapped around her middle. “I know you said you don’t want a—”

“I don’t, dammit. I can’t.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if it happened,” she whispered.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She hugged her middle more tightly. “I would cherish such a thing.”

“No,” he gritted out, his face more expressive than she had ever seen it, though not set in the expressions she would have hoped. Determination and pain, not love and tenderness.

Pain beat inside her. “I most definitely would!”

“I won’t have a child.”

“You wouldn’t have to marry me,” she whispered, looking him in the eye. Golden eyes on a child’s face. “I’d go away. I’d still cherish him or her.”

“That would solve nothing. This was all madness. What was I thinking? What brand of selfishness have I wrought?” he said, more to himself than her.

She felt the tears. They choked at her throat and moved upward to her eyes.

She wouldn’t let them spill. “I never knew you for a coward, Marcus.”

He gave a short unpleasant laugh. “Welcome to the most unpleasant reality, Isabella. I’m not your hero, I’m not the rakish, all powerful protector that you want so badly. I’m a man with many, many flaws. Most of them decidedly unpleasant.”

She swallowed heavily. “I know.”

“Do you? No, I don’t think you do.”

“You do me little credit.”

His eyes narrowed on hers. “I give you much credit. More so than I give anyone else. But in this, I know I’m right.”

How could he say things like that one moment and then crush her the next? “Marcus—”

He made a slicing motion with his hand. “No. You are going to London tomorrow. You will find someone more suited to you. Someone who wants marriage and children and gardens filled with ever blooming flowers.”

She gripped the counterpane so tightly her knuckles hurt. “This is all because you spilled yourself within me? That there’s a higher possibility of a child? But there’s always been the remote possibility of a child.”

His eyes were piercing. “That was merely my reminder of how very idiotic this whole plan was.”

She saw blurred red. “Idiotic? You seemed just fine with this idiotic plan two hours ago!”

“I let myself forget. It was time I remembered.”

“Remembered what?” she cried. “Why couldn’t you just stay in your forgetful state?”

“It’s not in your best interest.”

“My best interest?” She was nearly hysterical. “Does this look like my best interest?”

“No.” He looked away. “But you will thank me. One day.”

Her eyes focused for a second. “Thank you?”

“Yes.”

She looked to the side. “I’d thank you to be honest with me.”

His head turned back to hers. “I am being honest with you. There will be nothing more between us other than friendship.”

Somehow that seemed unlikely. This would be the end of their friendship too.

But the way he had kissed her, the way he had held her, the way he had looked at her as they…The way his eyes had flashed and his body had responded when she said she loved him.

“I love you, Marcus,” she whispered. “If only—”

She swallowed.

“—if only you could love me.”

He said nothing.

The moments stretched and her hands shook as she waited for him to say something, anything. Anything.

He turned away. “I’m sorry Isabella.” His voice was dull and dead. His eyes unfocused as if he didn’t even see her.

She closed her eyes, the pain too great, the soft light in the room too bright and garish and mocking. She had taken the risks and she had lost. Badly.