Luke could have done without the vote of confidence. It was exceedingly difficult to be a bastard when she had such utter faith in him. He stood there, the wine bottle poised over her goblet, his lust at war with his conscience. In the end, he decided that exceedingly difficult did not equate with impossible. He poured her a full glass of wine, set it on the table beside her chair, and took a seat across from her, the wine jug dangling from one hand.
As she lifted her glass, she swirled the burgundy, gazing thoughtfully into the crimson depths. “I can trust you to take good care of me if I get tipsy, can’t I?”
Luke lifted his goblet to her in a mock toast. “You have my solemn word on it. I always take very good care of tipsy ladies.”
He watched without comment while she upended the glass and downed the wine as though she were drinking fruit juice. When her glass was empty, he leaned across the table to refill it, his gut knotting at the way she licked the corners of her mouth.
“It’s sort of nasty,” she said with a delicate shudder.
“The second glass will taste a lot better,” he told her in a voice gone husky.
He felt no guilt for urging her to drink more. He wanted this girl, needed her in a way he couldn’t and didn’t wish to define. He wasn’t going to play the fool and vacillate about how he got her into bed. He quickly emptied his own glass and refilled it as well. The effect of the wine, on top of the liquor he had consumed earlier, filled him with warmth. Cassandra. He watched her with heavy-lidded eyes, yearning to have her in his arms so fiercely that it bordered on pain.
Glancing at her attire, which was about as seductive as that damn nun’s habit she professed to want, he comforted himself with the thought that at least the setting was right. And hell, drunk or not, he could dispense with the infernal nightgown and socks quickly enough, after all.
“Well,” she said gaily as she polished off half of her second glass of burgundy, “shall we begin?”
Luke was more than ready. “By all means.”
She bent to pick something up from the floor beside her chair. He saw that she held some slips of paper and two pencils in her hand. As she slid some paper and one of the writing tools to him, she said, “It’s a game I made up, so you have to promise not to laugh.”
Cry, maybe. Laugh, never. Luke took up the pencil, thinking to himself that he had another, far more appropriate tool for the occasion—one that was equally long and rigid, which he could put to far better use. “What is the object of this game?”
“To become intimate, of course.”
That suited him. “And the rules?”
“It’s called ‘Secrets,’” she explained. “Khristos and I have played it on rainy days. It’s sort of fun.”
Just what he wanted, to play a game she’d played with her brother. “I’m all ears.”
Her eyes lighted with a mischievous twinkle. “What you do is write one of your most closely guarded secrets on your piece of paper. I’ll do the same on mine. Then we turn the papers facedown and try to guess what the other person has written. We can give little hints, of course. By the time we’re done, we’ll know all kinds of things about each other and be well on our way to a much more intimate friendship.”
Luke set the wine jug and his goblet aside, then smoothed his slip of paper on the table. He quickly jotted down his most closely guarded secret and turned it facedown. When he looked up, he saw that Cassandra was still holding her pencil poised over the paper, her forehead creased in a frown. She was obviously taking this all very seriously.
Luke smiled to himself, trying to imagine what sort of thing she might reveal to him. Knowing Cassandra, it wasn’t likely to be anything earthshaking.
She finally wrote something and turned her paper over. “Okay, you start.”
Luke studied her for a long moment. “Aren’t you going to give me a hint?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Well…it’s something that’s really, really bothering me. A lot. And it has to do with the way I’ve been feeling lately.”
“Lately,” he repeated. “Meaning six months, a few weeks, a few days?”
“A few days.” Her blue eyes darkened like the sky on a stormy day.
Luke had always thought her eyes revealed her every thought and emotion, but never more so than now. One look into those gigantic spheres of blue, and he knew exactly what her secret was. “Cassandra, do these feelings have anything to do with me?”
She averted her face for a moment. When she finally looked back at him, her expression was apologetic. “I’m sorry. I guess this was a dumb idea. I should have written something else down. This particular secret has me really upset.”
Luke tossed his pencil onto the table. “Let’s forget the game, then, honey, and talk about it. What’s bothering you?”
She gazed at him for an interminably long while. Finally she said, “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to be a nun.”
“I know. But what has that to do with me?”
She shrugged. “Now I’m not sure I should become one.”
Luke’s pulse quickened. “Why, sweetheart?”
Crimson flooded to her cheeks. “Because of the way you make me feel. When I’m with you, I feel like I swallowed butterflies—a funny, fluttery feeling in my stomach—and shivery all over.”
Luke’s first reaction was to feel elated, but there was no ignoring that bruised, worried look in her eyes.
“All my life,” she whispered raggedly, “I’ve wanted to devote my life to the church. Now I’m beginning to feel as if all my plans are falling apart. I like you far too much, and the more I’m around you, the more deeply I’m coming to care about you.”
Even as intoxicated as he was, Luke could see how very confused she felt. He also realized she’d deliberately chosen to play this game so she might tell him of her feelings, that she was hoping he would say something wonderfully wise that would put everything into its proper perspective.
Which meant they were both in deep shit here, because—damn it all—he was as confused as she was, and sinking fast. Over the last few years, women had fawned over him, showered him with compliments, and shamelessly tried to entice him with their bodies, all of which had left him emotionally unaffected. Yet Cassandra’s admission that she was beginning to worry about “liking him” in a way she shouldn’t left him shaken.
He knew she had no idea how vulnerable she was making herself to him. She had already consumed one glass of wine and was well on her way toward finishing the second, her cheeks prettily flushed from the alcohol.
“Sweetheart,” he said very gently, “has it ever occurred to you that you may not have a true calling to the sisterhood, that maybe God has other plans for you?”
“Like what?”
Luke took a slow sip of wine, studying her over the rim of his goblet. “Like being a wife and mother, for instance. That’s a very important calling as well.”
The startled expression in her eyes soon turned to a liquid-looking dreaminess, and the smile she bestowed on him was beatific. “Do you think the way I’m feeling means I’m falling in love with you?”
A suffocating sensation crept up Luke’s throat. There was that word again, love. “I think it may mean you’re coming to care very deeply.”
“How do people know for sure?”
A master at seduction, Luke knew every erogenous zone on the female body and how to titillate it. “There’s one surefire way for you to learn if you’re truly developing an affection for me.” He patted his knee. “Come here, sweetheart.”
SIXTEEN
Her eyes wide and wary, she set down her wineglass and rose to her feet. He smiled slightly. The girl was innocent, yes, but far from stupid. She seemed to realize she might be taking an irrevocable step.
Luke held out a hand to her. “Don’t you trust me, honey?”
His heart squeezed when she pressed a shaky hand to her waist and moved toward him. “Yes, I trust you, Luke,” she murmured. Instead of plea
sing him, her words made him feel like a contemptible manipulator. A very intoxicated contemptible manipulator who wanted her so badly, he didn’t give a shit.
When she finally placed slender fingers across his outstretched palm, Luke took a firm grip, afraid she would to try to bolt. Even if she tried, she wouldn’t get more than a step or two before he hauled her back. Now that he had her where he wanted her, at long last, he damned sure wasn’t about to let her get away.
“Here, honey, sit on my knee a minute. Just for a minute.”
Though she slanted him a shyly worried look, she did as he asked. Unfortunately, because of the liquor they’d both consumed, his leg was weaving, and her aim wasn’t all it should have been. He nearly dumped her on the floor.
“Son of a bitch!”
He made a wild grab. A full breast pressed against one of his palms, and he had a handful of deliciously soft fanny in the other. He managed to maneuver her onto his spread thighs. She slumped against his chest and giggled. Luke saw that her nightgown had hiked up, revealing one slender leg. Flawless ivory skin shimmering like silk in the candlelight caught his undivided attention. He curled a hand over her delicately made knee, his fingertips lightly tracing the sensitive skin at the back. She went instantly still, and he heard her breath quicken, then come to a shuddering halt.
He met her gaze. Big, startled blue eyes looked back at him. Eyes that searched and probed and…tugged on his black soul. In some distant part of his benumbed brain, Luke realized she wasn’t the only one who’d stopped breathing. His body felt electrified, every pulse-beat seeming to explode through him. The press of her bottom had turned his cock so hard, it ached. He swallowed, hoping she couldn’t feel his arousal.
It was a futile hope, he realized as her eyes widened. With a soft exclamation of alarm, she tried to slip away from the hard bulge pressing against her softness.
“It’s all right, honey. Don’t be afraid.” His voice, gravelly with desire, cracked on the last inflection. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know,” she whispered.
Luke hauled in a deep, shaky breath and exhaled through clenched teeth. She placed a hand on his chest. Until he felt her fingers splay lightly over his bare skin, he’d forgotten that his shirt hung open. He knew she must feel his heart slamming against his ribs like a sledge.
Dainty little fingertips moved lightly over the contours of his chest, testing the hardness of muscle, the texture of skin, the coarseness of his body hair. His gaze still locked with hers, Luke realized she was exploring him and that the fear he’d seen in her eyes moments before had turned to wonder.
“You feel so different. Than I do, I mean.”
Luke swallowed, hard. He would have liked very much to draw his own comparison. “Do I?”
She trailed a light, inquisitive touch down the pectoral cleavage at the center of his chest to the inverted triangle of dark blond hair below, her crescent-shaped nails tracing each rung of muscle on his belly. “Are you this hard all over?”
Christ, yes. Like a rock. He bit down hard on his back teeth and nodded, feeling sweat pop out on his forehead. She lowered her gaze to follow the path of her fingertips. “Oh, Luke, you’re beautiful.”
He’d been called a number of things, but never “beautiful.”
She found the ridge of a scar that curled from his back around his side, and her touch hovered there. “What happened to you here?”
The lash of a leather belt had cut him when he was a boy, but Luke saw no point in telling her that. He doubted Milo Zerek had ever so much as lifted a hand to any of his children, let alone beaten them, and the longer Cassandra remained ignorant of that kind of ugliness, the better. One of the things Luke treasured most about her was her naivete, and he didn’t want to taint that with his own jaded outlook. Not now, not ever. The longer she continued to live in her little fairy-tale world, the longer he could escape into that world with her.
The thought made Luke stumble mentally, and he backed up like a man who’d just stubbed his toe, to see what the hell had tripped him. It was true, he realized. Cassandra did live in another world, a very sweet, pure little world of her own creation—or maybe of Milo’s—where the harsh facts of life not only never intruded but didn’t exist. In that world, she saw everything through rose-colored glasses, and when he was close to her, he could share in the magic. No ugliness, no deception, nothing to fear. In that world, even Luke Taggart, the whore’s bastard, was somebody wonderful.
Someone beautiful.
A stinging sensation washed over Luke’s eyes, and an awful choking grabbed hold of his throat. The need inside him was a sharp hunger that went far beyond the physical. This girl had become as necessary to him as the air he breathed.
“Luke?”
He jerked and refocused his gaze on hers. “What, sweetheart?”
“You didn’t answer me. How did you get this scar?”
“I don’t remember.” The truth was, he didn’t want to remember, and for the first time in his life, he’d met someone who helped him to forget. “It happened a long, long time ago.”
“It must have hurt dreadfully,” she whispered, her fingertips tracing the still sensitive ridge of scar tissue. “How could you forget something like that?”
Because to remember nearly drove him mad. “I just have, that’s all.”
Tracing the delicate features of her face with a lingering gaze, Luke shoved away the memories that always hovered at the back of his mind, concentrating instead on the feel of her pressed against him. Holding her like this, he decided, was like stirring a generous dollop of honey into strong black coffee. Somehow, she took the edge off, making his life bittersweet instead of completely unpalatable.
His face hovered only scant inches from hers, and he closed the distance, settling his mouth lightly over her lips. She gave a startled gasp, her breath sweet with the taste of wine when she finally exhaled. Luke clamped a hand over the back of her head to hold her fast, then sent his tongue on a cautious foray for a more thorough taste of her. It was her turn to jerk, a violent little arch of her body that brought her breasts fully against his chest. He slipped an arm around her waist to anchor her there.
Careful, the voice of his newly discovered conscience whispered at the edges of his mind. Cassandra was no Gloria or Estelle. Contracts, legal jargon, proprietary rights—none of those things concerned him right now. Now his only thoughts were for Cassandra and the feelings he was arousing in her.
No matter how patient he had to be, or how long he suffered, he was determined to give her pleasure instead of pain. Satisfaction instead of fear. Later, when they were lying sated and entwined, he didn’t want her to feel humiliated or used. Or bought.
A man who’d engaged in nearly every sexual deviance that existed, Luke wasn’t sure he even knew how to be a gentleman in bed. Somehow, the sexual act and good manners had never struck him as behavior that went hand in hand. Even so, he sensed that he needed to move slowly. He couldn’t just dive in like a starving man devouring a plate of food.
To his surprise, her lush lips opened for him like delicate flower petals to sunlight. At first, she kept her tongue withdrawn from his, shying away from the contact he craved. Luke allowed her that, using his hands to arouse her senses instead, lightly caressing her back and feathering his fingertips over her nape. Then he pulled his mouth from hers to trail kisses over her face, kissing her eyes closed, tracing the shape of her ear, whispering to her. He hadn’t memorized a repertoire of sweet nothings; in his social circles, they’d never been necessary. So he fell back on honesty, asking her to trust him, telling her how lovely she was, how much he wanted her, that she shouldn’t be frightened. Eventually he began to realize it wasn’t so much what he said but how he said it that mattered. She responded to the gentleness in his voice, the tension flowing from her, bit by bit, until she relaxed against him.
When he kissed her again, she parted her lips and, with a shy hesitancy that made his breath catch, touched the
tip of her tongue to his. He moaned into her mouth and felt her gulp, taking his breath into herself. Dear God…he wanted to thrust more than just his breath into her.
Warning bells went off inside his head again. She’d never done this before, and he had to ease the way, yet backing off was difficult. He wanted to devour her…now, this minute. Taste all of her. Lose himself in her. Possess her so completely that his touch would be indelibly branded on her skin. His. He had to make her his, not just for tonight, but for all time. Because to face life without her now would be unbearable.
Gently and cautiously, Luke twined his tongue with hers. She stiffened slightly, but after a moment, she relaxed again, letting him taste her. He coaxed and teased until she finally slipped her tongue fully into his mouth. He met the shy invasion with light nips of his teeth. She shuddered and pressed closer, at the same time offering up her mouth more completely by parting her lips wider and letting him suckle her tongue.
Heaven…hell. Luke felt caught somewhere in between, her surrender to him so sweet he gloried in it, yet his need to take more so brutal his body quaked. Hands buried in her luxurious tresses, he ended the kiss with teasing nibbles, tormenting her already swollen lips in ways he knew would make her nerve endings scream. Her breath had started to come in jagged little pants when he finally lifted his head, and her eyes had a dazed look. He could feel every beat of her heart thrum through her body where it rested against him. No bones poked him anywhere, not even the point of an elbow. She was like holding a down-filled pillow, light and incredibly soft, every contour shaped to fulfill a man’s fantasies.
Moving his hands up to cup her face, Luke dragged a thumb lightly over her mouth. It wasn’t as difficult to go slowly with her as he had anticipated, for he wanted to savor everything about her, committing it to memory. Her breath puffed against his hand, hot and moist and quick. She was aroused, he knew, her sense of preservation numbed by the wine she’d drunk. He lowered a hand to the prim collar of her nightgown and flicked a button from its hole with practiced fingers.