Her eyes went wide, and she caught his wrist in halfhearted protest. “Luke? What are you doing?”
He nearly smiled at the question. His intent had to be fairly obvious, even to her. “I want to look at you, sweetheart. Please, won’t you let me?”
For a long moment, she gazed up at him, her face mirroring her hesitancy. Then she let go of his wrist, giving silent permission for him to continue. As she released her hold, Luke realized what a precious gift she was offering him with such sweet generosity.
He started to unfasten another button, acutely aware that his hands had started to shake. He, Luke Taggart, who’d taken women with casual disregard all his adult life. Sex had always been a game to him. Now it suddenly seemed sacred—a melding of himself with something so pure and good, the thought terrified him. Cassandra wasn’t the only one who was about to take an irrevocable step. He had a feeling that once he took her, he’d never be the same again.
The button refused to part company with the buttonhole, an unprecedented development. Normally Luke could have divested a woman of her clothing with both eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back.
“Do you n-need help?” she asked in a tremulous voice.
She reached up to assist him, her slender fingers claiming victory where his own had suffered defeat. Her cheeks pinkened as the fastener fell away, telling Luke that the thought of a man seeing her naked was not easy for her to contemplate. Yet her small hands descended to the next button, her fingertips slipping the iridescent disk from its hole. Her gaze clung to his, as if by looking at him, she drew courage. That humbled him even more.
With each downward progression of her slender fingers, his heart slammed more violently. When at last she’d undone every button, she let her hands fall to her lap and lowered her gaze, her dark lashes forming thick, silky crescents against her flushed cheeks. Not a blush of pleasure, he realized, but one of shame.
Luke’s heart twisted. This girl had dreamed her whole life of becoming a nun, and now she was about to commit an act of fornication. The magnitude of that wasn’t lost on him, not now that he’d gotten to know her. She was sacrificing everything she’d dreamed she might one day be, everything she’d yearned to be.
He caught her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. “Sweetheart, don’t feel ashamed. It breaks my heart.”
It was a sappy thing to say. He didn’t have a heart, for Christ’s sake.
And yet…
Luke swallowed, unable to escape the appeal in those melting blue eyes. His hand shook as he smoothed a rebellious tendril of curly dark hair from her cheek. “Have you any idea how lovely you are?” he asked her softly. “Or how much I need you?”
“Oh, Luke…” She placed her small hands on his shoulders and leaned forward to rub the tip of her nose against his. “Do you truly need me?”
Luke had never rubbed noses with anyone in his life. It didn’t surprise him that he was being introduced to the activity by Cassandra or that he actually found it enjoyable. Her nose, like everything else about her, was soft, the bridge so pliable it gave way against his. When she drew back, he couldn’t help but smile.
“I definitely need you,” he said huskily. Right then, his body was screaming with need. Setting her slightly away from him again, he reached up to smooth back the front plackets of her gown. “And I want to look at you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
The flush on her cheeks darkened. “I want you to,” she admitted. “I know it’s wrong, but—”
“No, dammit. It isn’t wrong. It’s absolutely right.”
As he parted the flannel to bare her breasts, he feared he might die of anticipation. Days, he’d waited…endless days, longing to rest his gaze on those delicious swells of ivory flesh.
She whimpered low in her throat, and her body convulsed as the cloth dragged across her nipple. Luke trailed his palm in the wake of the material, letting the heel of his hand brush over the erect nubbin, slowly and lightly. She jerked again and arched her spine, pressing closer for his touch.
“Luke?”
“It’s all right, sweetheart.” Was that his voice, so gruff and shaky? Grasping her by the waist to hold her erect, he leaned back in the chair to feast his gaze on her. God, she was lovely. Her breasts were as round as plump melons, the skin flawless ivory, the nipples a tempting strawberry-and-cream that instantly made him salivate for a taste. “Oh, Cassie, you’re beautiful.”
She made another whimpering sound, a feminine noise deep in her throat that aroused his every male instinct. Her hands had locked over his wrists again where he grasped her waist, her knuckles white with the force of her grip. He let his palms move over her hips, pressing in above her pelvis with his thumbs and massaging deep. She sucked in her breath and held it, which thrust out her breasts.
Keeping a firm hold on her hips, he leaned forward to touch the tip of his tongue to a nipple. He could feel every thrum of her heart in that turgid peak of flesh, which pebbled and begged for suckling at the first instant of contact. She moaned and released her hold on his wrists to make tight little fists in his hair—whether to shove him away or urge him closer, he wasn’t sure. She didn’t leave him to wonder long. She drew him closer with an unmistakable urgency that nearly undid him. Her lashes drooped low over her lovely eyes, and her breathing came even more quickly.
“Luke,” she whispered raggedly, “this must be wrong—terribly wrong.”
“No,” he cried hoarsely against her silken skin, “nothing that happens between us can ever be wrong, sweetheart. Never. It’s wonderfully right.”
Nothing could have made him stop. He latched onto her breast, drawing sharply. She cried out and arched against his mouth, offering herself to him without reservation. He caught the tip of her nipple between his teeth and began to roll the sensitive flesh, sending jolt after jolt through her slender body until she was sobbing with need, shaking with it.
Luke ran a hand under the hem of her nightgown. Silken thighs parted beneath the pressure of his hand. His fingertips homed in on the nest of curls at their apex and invaded the shy folds of femininity to find a hot wetness that surprised even him. She jumped when he laid claim to the button of flesh he sought. He felt her stiffen. But he continued to suckle and tease her breast, dragging her back down into the vortex of passion with him until she once again relaxed her legs.
After teasing her there for a few minutes, frustration drove Luke to clasp her in his arms and shove to his feet. With four long strides, he reached the bed, where he laid her on the mattress. He positioned her lush bottom at the mattress’s edge and knelt on the floor, parting her knees with the breadth of his chest.
She shrieked when he settled his mouth where his hand had played only moments before, the sound ripping up from her with a shrillness he feared might wake the whole house. She pushed at his shoulders, halfheartedly trying to dislodge him, but he’d firmly staked claim with his mouth and wasn’t to be so easily dispatched.
Such earthy intimacy was bound to embarrass her initially. But it was also the one surefire way he knew to bring her mindless pleasure. Acting quickly, he began to suckle on that throbbing flange of sweetness, the pull of his mouth drawing the flesh there into a taut peak he could flick and tease with the tip of his tongue.
She cried out again, the sound strangled and muffled, her slender body jerking under his ministrations like a puppet manipulated by invisible strings.
“Luke! Oh, Luke, please!” She bucked and twisted, groping blindly for him, telling him in a language as old as womankind that her maidenly shyness was quickly being overcome by need. “Oh, Luke!”
He felt the flesh he tormented start to swell, then grow hard. With a growl, he caught it gently in his teeth, tugging and massaging until she dug the heels of her feet into his back, lifted her hips to him, and made fists in his hair to hold him closer.
When she finally climaxed, her body went into paroxysmal spasms. Luke stayed with her, gentling his ministrations but n
ot desisting, barely allowing her first orgasm to subside before he pushed her to have another, then another. Later, when she remembered this, he wanted the ecstasy to be foremost in her mind, so overwhelming that the crudity of it dwindled in importance. Only when she lay limp and quivering, so exhausted that a fine sheen of moisture covered her skin, did he finally draw back.
Crawling up onto the bed, he settled beside her and trailed kisses over her face. She ran her arms around his neck and drew him down to her, pressing eagerly against him.
Luke clasped her in his embrace. She was magic and miracles, fairy tales and impossible dreams.
“Oh, Luke, I love you! I love you so much. I truly do. I love you. I love you.”
“Oh, Cassie, I—”
Luke felt as if someone had just slapped him stone-cold sober. Love. To him, the word bordered on vile, and he bit it back. Then, grabbing frantically for control, he jerked away from her. He’d nearly said he loved her, and what was worse, he’d nearly said it with absolute conviction.
He swung off the bed and stumbled across the room to the door of his own bedchamber. He burst into the other room, locked the adjoining door and leaned against it, so weak at the knees that he couldn’t stand without the extra support.
Stunned by Luke’s abrupt departure, Cassandra lay in the flickering candlelight, tears of shame and humiliation welling in her eyes until the illumination seemed to swim. She’d heard the key turn in Luke’s door and knew he’d not only left her, but locked her out of his rooms as well.
Oh, God. She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, wanting to die. After giving herself to him that way, after allowing him—no, begging him—to do all those things to her, he’d turned away from her. He didn’t want her love. He didn’t even want her body.
A sob welled in her chest as she recalled the look on his face as he’d drawn away. As the picture gained clarity in her mind, the need to weep dissipated, and sheer puzzlement took its place. She pressed her closed eyes against the cool silk, remembering every detail of his features. Unless she was very, very wrong, the expression that had been stamped upon them hadn’t been disgust.
It had been heartache—the kind that ran so deep, it couldn’t be put into words.
Cassandra sat up with a suddenness that made her dizzy. Holding her breath to listen, she stared at the door that led to Luke’s bedchamber. From the other side, she heard the shuddering intake of his breath. Her heart caught at the sound. She couldn’t exactly say he was sobbing—not as she did when she cried, at any rate. But maybe men didn’t make the same kinds of noises.
All her life, Cassandra had been more sensitive than most to other people’s feelings. Her papa said it was because she wore her own feelings on her sleeve, which gave her special insight. Whether that was true or not, she did believe she had seen straight into Luke’s heart a few seconds ago.
Such pain.
She wasn’t sure what troubled him. She only knew he needed her. It didn’t matter that he’d conveyed otherwise by locking the door between them. He needed her. She sensed it, clear to the marrow of her bones. Indeed, she could almost feel the waves of desperation emanating from him, even through the walls.
Remembering the door that opened from the hall into his bedchamber, she scrambled off the bed. She no sooner gained her feet than she hesitated, held fast by a sudden shyness and indecision. He hadn’t said he loved her. He’d just done those embarrassing things to her person, then left her without a word. Somehow, it didn’t seem very dignified to go after him. Or even very right. If he wanted to be with her, why had he left?
Then her gaze fell on the folded scrap of paper he’d left lying on the table. She stepped over to pick it up. When she read the secret he’d written down, fresh tears came to her eyes. I’m a toad pretending to be a prince.
Cassandra knew by heart the story he referred to. As a small child, she’d heard it from her mother, and when she’d grown older, she’d embellished the tale for Khristos’s entertainment. Apparently Khristos had told the story to Luke. And Luke had given it his own interpretation. Luke, handsome on the outside but ugly within.
Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Nothing. She didn’t know why he would think such a thing, but he obviously did. Some people might even tell you I’m ruthless, he’d once told her. I’m not a very nice man.
She made a tight fist over the piece of paper, as if by sheer force of grip she could obliterate the thought from his mind. He wasn’t ugly inside. He wasn’t! And she couldn’t let him go on believing he was.
Luke couldn’t stop shaking. The worst of it was, he knew he was shaking with fear. He leaned more heavily against the door, closing his eyes. Afraid of a sweet, completely harmless girl half his size? It was absurd.
Oh, God, he’d nearly told her he loved her. He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, trying to block out the thought, refusing to acknowledge even so much as the possibility. He couldn’t love her, wouldn’t love her. It was madness.
Yet Luke couldn’t deny the feelings, the tenderness and protectiveness that had taken root deep within him—feelings that transcended the physical, that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with his heart.
Feeling as though he’d been physically battered, he staggered to the bed and collapsed across it, his face buried in the silk comforter. Memories assailed him as he recalled another time he’d lain with his face buried against a mattress, only that bedspread had been made of faded chenille and had reeked of the semen that permeated the nap, the leavings of his mother’s countless customers.
There’s a good boy. Let old Hank love you, son. Don’t you want me to love you?
Luke wasn’t sure how old he’d been on that long-ago night. He guessed he must have been about Khristos’s age, still naive enough to trust a kindly man with a gentle voice and strong hands. Still naive enough to believe in his mother when she told him to let Hank “love” him and not be afraid. At that age, Luke had wanted to be loved more than anything else in the world, even if it was by a total stranger with whiskey on his breath.
Only there was no love to be had for him that night, just betrayal that had cut so deep, the wound still festered within him. He could remember his mother, shoving one of her stockings into his mouth to muffle his shrill screams of pain…slapping him afterward for crying and disturbing the other customers.
Luke angled an arm over the back of his head in a futile attempt to ward off the memories. On the back of his tongue, he could almost taste his mother’s soiled stocking, the nasty stench of her dirty feet nearly strangling him. He felt as if he were going to vomit, an overpowering urge that had him gritting his teeth.
Please. The word became a litany inside his head, a silent plea to an unmerciful God to stop the remembering, to numb the pain. Only, of course, he expected no answer. If there had ever been anything he could count on, it was God’s turning a deaf ear. No miracles, not for Luke Taggart. No angels appearing from out of nowhere, working their celestial magic.
Then, suddenly, in the darkness, Luke did feel an angel beside him. Cassandra, her small hand brushing lightly along his arm, then drifting to his hair. Her voice, soothing him, saying nonsensical things, warming him deep inside where he had always felt cold.
“Cassie?” Luke couldn’t believe she’d come to him. After what he’d done to her, he just couldn’t believe it. Christ, he treated his whores with more consideration, at least making a polite excuse before he walked out on them.
“Oh, Luke,” she whispered. “Of course it’s me.”
Luke stiffened, absorbing her presence through the pores of his skin, so glad she was there that it was all he could do not to drag her into his arms and hold on for dear life.
She pressed against him much as she had earlier, only this time he was the unlearned child, she the wise one. As light as gossamer, she trailed her fingertips over his hair again, then brushed her knuckles along his temple. Luke couldn’t stop himself. He turned his face toward her ha
nd, craving her touch. Her small thumb caught one of the tears on his cheek, and he heard her breath catch.
“Oh, Luke…” she whispered in a tortured voice. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong.”
It was the one thing Luke could never do. What had happened to him was too terrible, too ugly, to share with her. He didn’t want her to know there were men in the world so vile they would do such things to a little boy, or that there were women so cruel and heartless. His mother had rented him out to good old Hank for fifty dollars. How could he tell Cassandra that? If he did, she would be forever changed by the knowledge. He didn’t want her to change, dammit. He needed her to be just what she was, an angel with stars in her eyes.
He rolled onto his side and caught her to him. Almost afraid he might hurt her, he squeezed so hard, yet was unable to gentle his hold. “Don’t leave me.” The words erupted from him raggedly, a muffled testimony to his weakness, which at any other time would have humiliated him beyond bearing. He pressed his face against her wonderful hair. “Promise me, Cassandra. Promise you’ll never leave me.”
“Oh, Luke. Shhh. Shhh.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, one hand splayed over the back of his head. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. Shhh.”
Cassandra. In her touch and in her soft, whispering voice, Luke finally found the tenderness that had eluded him. She pressed against him, her arms a precious haven; the kisses she trailed over his jaw, light caresses that he treasured the way some men did jewels. She made no request for money. There was no bargaining before she offered herself to him. In short, she had no ulterior motive. She was just a simple, uncomplicated girl making a gift of herself to him in a simple, uncomplicated way.
Luke cupped a shaking hand over the silken nape of her neck, drawing her face closer to his so he might taste her mouth again. Not a carnal kiss this time, but a hesitant searching, hers born of innocence, his of wonder. The taste of her mouth washed away the bitterness at the back of his throat and eased the pain of his memories.