Nicole Jordan - Desire

She gave him no resistance when he drew her to him. Her senses burned. She was melting against him. He sucked at her tongue until she whimpered a breathy sound of capitulation. Then he eased back on the couch, pulling her with him.

Desire, wild and irrational, lanced through her trembling body as she found herself draped over him. She could feel him beneath her, the warmth of lithe muscles, the supple play of hard masculine flesh. An intense yearning flooded her, as if she were the one caught in the Gypsy’s spell…

She gave a strangled moan against his tender mouth. This was wrong. Her hand came up between them, pressing against his chest. She should not, could not let this happen. Yet it was all she could do to push him away.

Summoning all her strength, Brynn sat up with a jerky motion. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her head swimming, yet Wycliff didn’t appear to be nearly as affected as she was.

He straightened, watching her intently. Then he reached up with one finger and brushed her lips, still damp and tender from his mouth.

“Whether or not the curse is real,” he said, his voice low, husky, “I would still very much like to have you in my bed.”

Dazed, Brynn stared at him. When she remained mute, his mouth curled in that slow half smile that had the power to capture female hearts.

She blinked, trying to shake off the force of his spell. Regaining her senses finally, Brynn leapt up from the couch, her book tumbling from her lap.

For a span of several heartbeats, she remained there, staring at him. Then, wordlessly, she turned and fled.

As Lucian watched her bolt for the second time in their brief acquaintance, he felt a strange mix of emotions-puzzlement, desire, exhilaration…

Desire was perhaps the strongest. It would be a consummate lie to say he was unaffected by their heated embrace, as he’d pretended. His carnal urgency was every bit as fierce as the last time he’d kissed her. More so now, since this time he knew what exquisite delights lay beneath her modest gown.

Lucian frowned. He put no stock in Miss Caldwell’s claim of being cursed, yet something had caused his intense attraction to her. Despite his pretense of control, it had taken all his willpower to restrain his raging lusts. Even now his body was reverberating with the craving he’d felt. His erection was stiff within his satin breeches, pulsing with his still rapid heartbeat.

Yet what he felt for her went deeper than mere lust or physical arousal. Enchantment was the word that came to mind. He was utterly spellbound. She was a flame-haired, emerald-eyed enchantress, the kind of woman to haunt a man’s dreams…

His lip curling wryly, Lucian shook his head at his poetic flights of fancy. He was indisputably fond of women in general, yet it was unlike him to become enraptured of any one female, even such a beauty as Miss Brynn Caldwell. He’d been intrigued and challenged by her elusiveness, true, but that didn’t explain his violent feelings of possessiveness.

He wanted her-badly. And he intended to have her, Lucian reflected with exhilaration.

He had misjudged her the first time, obviously. He’d tasted the innocence in her kiss just now- enough to convince him that she was as inexperienced as she claimed to be.

That was the real reason he’d insisted on kissing her tonight. To test her virtue. If he was to make her his wife, he needed some reassurance that she wasn’t playing him for a fool. He owed it to his name and title to demand at least some measure of purity from his countess.

His mouth curved in satisfaction. He had found his bride, he was certain of it. Miss Brynn Caldwell had beauty, birth, breeding, and a family history of fertility-five brothers, no less. And a lively spirit as well, one which he found refreshing after all the toadying, marriage-minded debutantes who had relentlessly pursued him for his title and fortune over the years. Tart tongue or no, she would certainly never bore him.

His bride. The image had a powerful charm to it. And the thought of having that exquisite body beneath him, her lush nakedness warm against him, her slumberous eyes heated with desire, was enough to make his loins ache.

Perhaps he was mad, making such a critical decision so soon after meeting her. Choosing a lifelong mate required careful consideration, logic. And taking a wife just now would play havoc with his duty. He hadn’t planned even to think about wedding until after the war had ended and Boney was driven back into his lair.

Yet his deepest instincts were urging him on, telling him to act. He wanted a son, and his enchanting temptress seemed his best chance both to beget an heir and to have a desirable woman in his marriage bed. And arguably, he knew his prospective bride more intimately than most noblemen did theirs.

It was possible Miss Caldwell might object to his plan. She might not want to bear him a son, or even become his wife. She professed to be set on remaining a spinster, which truly would be a crime, Lucian reflected with amusement.

Well then, he would simply have to overcome her resistance. A keen feeling of anticipation rose up in him at the thought of winning her surrender. He had already made a measure of progress. She wasn’t nearly as immune to his caresses as she pretended.

He could have taken her right there on the couch, perhaps. In truth, he’d actually considered it for a fleeting moment. If he had summarily seduced her, it would have removed any chance that she would refuse his offer of matrimony. But he didn’t want to begin their marriage mired in scandal.

Lucian’s elation swelled. He’d thought his stay in Cornwall would be devoted strictly to business, but he intended to return home with a bride.

A fiery, green-eyed beauty who could stir his blood and give him the son he so fervently wanted.

The dream was different this time. He lay wounded, dying, as usual, but he was no longer alone. A woman stood over him - an enchanting beauty with flaming hair and flashing eyes, her hands dark with his blood. His killer ?

Lucian woke in a cold sweat, not knowing where he was at first. Searching the gray shadows, he felt the tension ease from his body.

He was lying in bed, the sole occupant of the prime guest chamber in the duke’s sprawling castle. It was early morning, if the faint light stealing beneath the gold brocade curtains was any indication. There was no sign of his prospective bride, even though in his dream she had seemed so vivid…

“It wasn’t real,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp. She hadn’t tried to kill him.

Sitting up, Lucian rubbed a hand down his face. All her talk of curses had evidently affected his intellect. His sea siren had somehow become entwined with his visions of death. His own death.

With an oath, he threw off the covers and rang for his valet before striding naked over to the wash-stand and splashing cool water on his face.

There was a simple explanation for his recurring nightmare, Lucian knew. During his last foray into France, on a mission to search for a missing Englishman, he’d had a near brush with death. He’d been forced to kill a man he considered a friend-a stark choice of kill or be killed. Guilt had eaten at him ever since. Guilt and a bleak premonition of his future. He’d been haunted by the same nightmare. He saw himself dying alone, desolate, unlamented, and unmourned.

He was not afraid of dying, precisely, Lucian acknowledged. Better men than he had given their lives in the decades-long struggle to rid the world of the Corsican tyrant. But the experience had undeniably shaken him.

For the first time he’d had to face his own mortality. He was not invincible, as he had somehow believed. The charmed existence he’d always taken for granted would not last forever. Life was, he’d suddenly realized, fragile and precious.