Master of Love (28 page)

She lifted her chin at his insults. “Turn your back.” If he could issue orders, so could she.

Truth to tell, she
was
eager to clean off the filth. She stood at his washbasin and scrubbed hard at her hands, face, and neck. After her first pass with the soap, she realized she'd have to strip off her boy's jacket and shirt to get fully clean. Although Dominick's back was to her at the moment, stiff with angry disapproval, he would at some point turn around and see her in naught but the linen strips binding her breasts and her slim breeches.

She shivered.

Instead of shaming her further, the thought of standing so clad in front of him filled her with a strange sense of power. And with something more.

But he was still prattling on with his scolding. “Callista, you took such risks—for your safety, your reputation! A woman traveling alone—anything could have happened to you!”

To punish him for going on so, she
did
strip off her outer layers. “Nothing happened, Dominick,” she grumbled. “I was perfectly safe.” It suddenly struck her she
was
safe, here with him, no matter his present anger. And he was safe, too, now that his secret was out. The worry and strain of the journey were over. She'd accomplished her goal—more or less.

A mood began to grow on her.

He went on, tapping a foot angrily. “And for what? What were you trying to accomplish? Are you trying to shame me, the absurd Lord Adonis who dares to think he's a scholar?”

“I swear I wasn't trying to shame you, Dominick,” she said hotly as she returned to scrubbing. “You must know that. You
are
a scholar—an excellent one! I esteem your essays highly.”

“But you knew I didn't want them made public as my own. Why did you force the issue, and in this ridiculous way?”

“I . . . I can't exactly tell you why.”

“Why the bloody hell not?”

His crossed arms pulled his finely tailored frock coat tight across his shoulders, and Callista admired again the breadth of his strong back. He truly was a most superb specimen of manhood. “Would you please cease your cursing? You sound like a sailor. And I can't tell you because it's a matter of honor. Someone else is involved, and their reputation could be at stake,” she said staunchly, wringing out her washcloth. If she were wrong about Mr. Thompson, she didn't want Dominick's confidence in the young man destroyed.

“Not you and your damned honor! Who are you protecting now? When will you ever learn you only get yourself into trouble when you try to guard everyone around you, all on your own? And how can you talk about honor when you've dishonored my trust in you, in the most egregious way? I think you owe me an explanation!”

She thought it through, patting herself dry with a clean cloth and unpinning her hair for good measure. “You're quite right. And I will explain all—I promise. Just not yet.”

“You'll tell me now,” he snarled. Then he turned and froze, speechless, as his eyes went wide. The dark, angry light in them shifted to something hot as his gaze swept up and down her length.

She laughed and raised her arms to shake out her hair. “Or what? You'll ravish me like some Barbary pirate?” The absurdity of the situation came over her, here in this inn room in Edinburgh. There was something very interesting about Dominick, flushed and aroused with temper.

When he stalked over and pulled her hard against his chest, a thrill shot through to her core. “Don't get fresh with me, missy,” he said. “I'm very angry with you.”

“I know,” she said soothingly, and somewhat breathlessly, “and you're fully justified.” She tried to sound contrite but actually felt quite liberated and rather . . . playful. “I am sorry. Truly sorry. Perhaps I can help you find it in your heart to forgive me.” She didn't know where it came from, the boldness that had her reach down between them. But it felt delicious, as did the heavy weight of him in her hands.

“Callista!” The expression on his beautiful face filled her with delight.

“Yes, my lord Lover?” She giggled—when was the last time she'd giggled?—as she fluttered her eyelashes at him and ran her fingers over his rapidly expanding length. “Do you have some need with which I may assist you?” Even through the fine wool of his trousers, she could feel his blistering heat. An answering warmth pooled low inside her, and, more than anything else, she suddenly wanted to be with him again. When else would she be in a private room in a faraway city with a man such as this: someone who loved books as much as she did, a man so beautiful and intelligent and proud and tender he made her weep?

Here they were, alone, together,
now
. She arched up to press her lips to his neck and breathed in his scent—sandalwood soap, fresh linen, and the warm musk of his exotic maleness. So different than the scents of her female household.

His hands came up to rub circles across her naked shoulders. “I'm supposed to be angry with you,” he muttered.

“I know, I know,” she purred as she pressed little kisses down the column of his throat. “But wouldn't you rather be doing something else with me?”
Where did this brazen hussy-self come from?
she wondered, marveling. At the Society of Love Ball, she'd wanted to do intimate things
to
him, as she'd learned how the game of love worked and sought some sense of control in its play; now, she was ready to share intimacy
with
him. She'd never realized a woman could initiate lovemaking and enjoy it as did a man, but it was suddenly quite obvious to her: with the right partner, why not? There was so much women were told they couldn't do, for no apparent good reason, but with this, as with the rest:
why not?
She liked this bold new self of hers, she realized.

“Callista, ahhh, Callista.” She could hear his desire in the sound of her name as he massaged her neck, but also the hesitation that held him back. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes, Dominick.” She rubbed up against him like a cat. “I am most definitely sure.”

He brought his hands up to cup her face in his palms. Gazing into those dark chocolate eyes up close was mesmerizing. She felt her attraction to him, stronger than ever before. It was not only physical—although she was sizzling with need—but was the strongest connection of minds she'd ever felt.

He
understood
her, and she him, in a way she'd never experienced with anyone else before. A shiver racked her body and made him pull her tighter to him, but it wasn't from cold. Tomorrow or the next day, back in London, would be soon enough to sort it out, she assured herself.
Today,
now
, is for us
.

She took a step back and, with that strange new boldness leading her on, started to unwind the linen binding strips made from an old nightgown from around her breasts. She kept her eyes on Dominick and smiled in wicked pleasure at the slack-jawed look that came over his face. He was rapt and thick with desire—all over her!
Her!

She turned her back right before the last of the bindings came free and coyly smiled at him over her shoulder. “Oh, that feels
so
much better.” She lifted her arms high over her head and arched her back into a long stretch. “Now to get out of these tight breeches.” She worked the fastenings and wiggled her hips to peel them slowly down. “However do you gentlemen get in and out of these things every day?” She leaned forward to pull them off, waving her behind at him through her thin ivory silk drawers. The drawers were another innovation of Marie's, who swore they'd soon be the rage in women's undergarments. They did work wonderfully under the breeches, not bunching up at all. When Dominick's jaw dropped at the sight, she sent her friend silent thanks.

“Callista,” he growled again, all hesitation having fled from his voice. “Be careful with this game of yours. You're playing with fire.”

“Oh, really?” She glanced back at him again as she shook free first one stocking and then the other. “Is that a promise?”

He was behind her so fast she squealed, grabbing her and pushing her up against the foot of the bed, soft with an eiderdown blanket folded high at its end. His hands reached around to cup her naked breasts, kneading hard as he bent across her to rain hot kisses and wet nips up the side of her neck. “What a temptress you are, beauty,” his voice rumbled in that deep brandy-throated way she loved.

“Dominick,” she moaned as fire shot through her.

He nudged her legs apart with a knee between her silk-clad thighs. “Will you let me pleasure you as I wish? Are you mine now, Callista?”

“Yes.” It was all she could do to gasp out the word. “Yes, please, Dominick, you're mine.”

“That's not quite what I asked, although it's true enough,” he said wryly.

Still fully clothed, he pushed her firmly down across the end of bed with a large hand against her back. Her long red hair fanned out onto the white coverlet as he dragged a pillow under her hips. She arched her bottom up even higher and wiggled it at him.

A purr sounded deep in his throat as he slipped his hands up her ribs to play with her nipples. “What a picture you make, Callista. Do you know how beautiful you are, how much I want you? Edinburgh is populated with dolts if any one of them thought you a boy today.”

Words were becoming beyond her and her taste for coy teasing was gone. She craved further sensation at his hands. What it meant for tomorrow she did not know, but it was her last rational thought before he leaned his heavy weight onto her and ground his pelvis hard into the open crotch of her silk drawers.

“Ahhh, Dominick!” Before when they'd made love, the sensations had built gradually as he introduced her to the pleasures of her body, but now she felt swamped by the ripe passion of her yearning.

Standing behind her, he rocked into the uplifted V of her legs, hands gripping her hips.

“Take off your clothing, Dominick,” she begged. “I need more of you.”

He seemed to agree, for he backed up with a muffled curse. She lifted her head to watch over her shoulder as he shed garments willy-nilly, hard flesh emerging to come up behind her again, this time smooth and naked and hot.

She made to turn over and embrace him, but he stopped her with one hand splayed on her back and the other catching her arm. “Oh, no, my little trickster. You stay right where you are. I'm not done with you yet. You deserve more punishment for that stunt you pulled today.”

“Punishment? Whatever are you talking about?” A tickle of alarm—and anticipation—flickered through her.

When he bent to the floor to scoop something up, her question was answered by the trailing end of the linen binding. He had her hands tied to the headboard bedposts before she could frame a protest. Despite her vulnerable position, with her silk-covered bottom propped high in the air, it was too preposterous to think he'd actually try to
spank
her, wasn't it?

She barely had time to think the question before his hand, large and strong, came down with a smack. She shrieked and squirmed, but the bonds held her in place as he delivered three quick slaps.

“I'm starting to feel better now—what about you?” he asked wickedly as he stepped back between her legs and ground against her again.

The sting had already faded into a tingling awareness, especially as she could now feel every naked inch of him. He rubbed against her heated flesh but held back from entering her. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw how her splayed legs pulled apart the silk of her slitted drawers to form an ivory frame around her core and his jutting length.

She'd never been more aroused in her life.

Still, there seemed a principle at stake. “I'm not sure I like being spanked as if a naughty child,” she managed to gasp out rather breathlessly.

“Oh, you're no child. You're a glorious, brilliant, daring, sensual woman.” He punctuated each word with a teasing shallow thrust. “Maybe you'd like it more if you tied and spanked me sometime.”

“What? I . . . you?” she sputtered, more lost to her passion with every moment. “I'm glorious and brilliant and daring?”

“Oh, yes—and don't forget sensual. Very, very sensual,” he rasped out, apparently as lost to the moment as was she.

Suddenly even the silk seemed far too much clothing, and when he tore it quickly in two, she felt nothing but relief. She wanted that heavy weight rubbing against her to enter her now, but Dominick apparently had other ideas. He shifted the pillows higher under her hips and stretched her legs wider apart. She felt wantonly spread open but so on fire from his touch and words she felt no shame. Only pleasure and need and trust and delight in the way she and this man fit together, body and soul.

His strong hands kneaded her thighs and buttocks as he laid down a trail of wet kisses across her back and upper thighs, heading ever closer to her mound. His hot breath inflamed her, and she squirmed to be touched at the core of need pulsing between her legs.

“My eager kitten,” he teased in his deep brandy voice. “Would you like me to pet you?”

“Dominick, please!” she gasped. Her fingers fisted into the bed's coverlet, her wrists straining against the linen bindings. When his thumb stroked lightly down her outer folds, she could feel her slick wetness. And when he finally pressed his hand firm against her mound, she thought she would die from the pleasure.

He took his time stroking her while he slipped his other hand under her hips to rub slow intoxicating circles around her tight nub. “So beautiful, so sweet,” he murmured appreciatively.

She felt caught in a current pulling her toward a gathering maelstrom of pleasure. But as she approached, he stilled his fingers to a maddeningly soft brush. She needed more—
needed it right now, there!
—and tried to push into his touch, but he only laughed and lifted his hand away.