Page 10 of The Lyon Whisperer (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #79)

C hase eyed his new bride’s elegant profile as she ate. Of course her table manners were impeccable, her posture perfect. She uttered not one word of complaint.

But her mood had soured, and now, so had his.

He took in the stuttering candles, the decanter of wine, the table for two laid out before them, the glowing fire in the grate. The giant, inviting bed mere feet from where they sat. It was a damned romantic setting that invited intimacy, something he’d bet his life Amelia craved.

Despite her obvious innocence, he recognized her innately sensual nature. It was there in her body language, in her frank looks, in her openness to try things, in her eagerness to experience his kisses.

Lord knew, sitting this close to her, breathing in the nectar of her feminine scent, drinking in the sight of her creamy skin glowing in the candlelight, was wreaking havoc on his already inflamed senses. He wanted nothing more than to feast on her mouth and touch and taste every inch of her body.

When she’d entered the chamber earlier to find him waiting for her, he seen the flare of passion in her eyes. So close. She had been so close to giving herself to him.

Then they’d sat down to eat—and talked. Somewhere the conversation between them had veered off course.

But she’d thrown him with talk of that novel—and her interest in politics, of all things.

No matter. He’d manage his wife’s odd proclivities. They didn’t call him the Iron Lion for nothing.

He weighed his options. Allowing her to join him on his ride into the forest had no merit.

But what choice did he have? Leaving her on her own to say God-knew-what to the villagers in her zeal to assist him didn’t seem a viable alternative.

“Amelia?”

She placed her cutlery down on either side of her plate and turned to face him, her expression maddeningly enigmatic. “Yes, my lord?”

There. The proof he needed that instead of softening toward him, she had retreated. She was back to calling him my lord .

“I would very much like for you to ride out with me tomorrow.”

Her large violet eyes, with their thick fringe of black lashes widened a fraction. “Ride out with you? But you said—”

“I know what I said.” One corner of his mouth crooked upward. “I was too hasty. I did invite you along so that we could spend time in each other’s company.”

Her eyes, sparkling like a pool of tiny amethysts in the flickering light, searched his. “I thought…” Her words died. A moment later she sent him a brilliant smile that seemed to light up the room. “Thank you, Chase. I shall be very pleased to join you.”

For all his wife’s skill at concealing her reactions, she did not hide her pleasure. He wondered if she would be as overt about expressing her physical pleasure. “I assure you, giving you pleasure this weekend is my greatest desire, Amelia.”

Her cheeks flushed in an instant. “I want to please you, as well, Chase.”

He nearly groaned as satisfaction, lust, and a strange warmth collided in his chest at her guileless reply. He turned back to his dinner and tamped down hard on the charged emotions running roughshod through him.

They ate in companionable silence, only broken by the sounds of cutlery clinking on porcelain and the occasional snap of a log in the hearth.

Then Amelia spoke in her velvet-soft voice. “May I ask you something rather personal, Chase?”

No. “Go on.”

“You said your mother left when you were twelve? Have you heard from her since? Do you have any idea where she is?”

Of all the questions she might ask, he never would have guessed she’d broach his long-gone mother. He set his cutlery across his nearly empty plate and took a long slug of wine before answering.

“I assume she went back to Paris. I believe that’s what she informed my father the day she left.”

Amelia angled her body to face him, leaning her torso into the cushions and resting her cheek on the back of her hand. “You’ve not heard from or even spoken with her since?”

“Why are you asking about my mother?”

She ran her tongue absently over her lower lip. “I want to know who it is I married.”

He shook his head in consternation then shifted to face her.

“I’m happy to answer any questions you may have about my family,” she offered.

“Are you?” He traced the curve of her cheek with his knuckle, gratified when she closed her eyes briefly. “Perhaps you should lead by example.”

She sent him a slow smile. “Very well. I was raised by my father, and a slew of nannies, most of whom I managed to run off.”

He huffed out a laugh. He never knew what the woman might say.

“I suppose I wanted my father’s attention, and defying the nannies who then called him in to the nursery seemed the easiest way to get it.” Her eyes twinkled as she remembered. “I brought a frog into the school room and put it in one nanny’s desk drawer. I put jelly on another’s seat. I hid from another all day. Only when I realized my naughtiness didn’t cause him to stop replacing them, did I go a little easier on them. Besides, I did enjoy learning.”

“What was your favorite subject?” He liked hearing her talk. The tenor of her voice, the cadence of her words. He also wanted to avoid her posing further questions about his past. He picked up her free hand and toyed with her fingers. Her skin was silky smooth and cool to the touch.

“I…” She swallowed. “What did you ask?” Her voice was low and breathless.

His loins tightened. God, he wanted to kiss her. He reminded himself he needed her to come to him. “I asked what you liked to learn.”

“Everything. Language. Music. Science. Maths. Your turn. Tell me something personal.”

He flipped her hand and ran a fingertip over the tender side of her wrist.

She shivered in response.

“My father was a difficult man. He was quite strict and not at all warm—except with my mother. Toward her he was like a volcano always ready to erupt. To be fair, it wasn’t all his fault. She teased and taunted him at times. Other times she lay in her chambers and wept. I think there was something wrong with her. She was quite beautiful and could be warm and loving toward me and my father. But I learned early on never to count on that. One minute she was laughing, the next ranting, the next sobbing.

“After she left, it was almost a relief. Almost. It also hurt. My father blamed me for what happened. I suppose I did as well.”

She sat upright, her expression one of shock, and tugged her wrist from his grasp. “What? How could it be your fault? You were just a boy.”

“Because, according to my father, she changed after she had me.”

He hadn’t meant to say so much. He never talked about his childhood, his parents. Not with anyone. He supposed no one had ever actually asked.

Still, even had he anticipated her questions, he would have sworn he wouldn’t breathe a word of a past he’d put firmly behind him. Yet she’d coaxed it out of him with the ease of a practiced mesmerist.

She stared at him. Intense emotion burned in her unblinking violet eyes. Not pity. Something else he could not discern.

“What are you thinking, Amelia?” He jammed hand through his hair as frustration gripped him. “I can’t read you. I can never read you and it’s driving me—”

“I would like you to kiss me. Now. Please, Chase.”

Her velvet demand reached across the space between them, grabbed him by the throat, and seared his insides with a firestorm of need. He cupped her face with hands that shook, and lowered his head, bringing his mouth to hover over hers. “Say it again.”

She drew a shaky breath, twining her arms around his neck. “Kiss me, please .”

In the next heartbeat, his lips covered hers. He feasted, demanding everything she had and wanting her so damned much he ached.

She responded with a sweet ardor that stole his ability to think.

With an effort of sheer will he brought himself back from the brink. He didn’t want to pounce on her like a wild animal. She deserved to be seduced, finessed, like a tender rosebud blossoming, handled with delicacy. If it killed him, he would do just that.

He leaned forward to press his lips to the creamy skin of her cheek. It was silky and soft, inviting him to nibble his way to her ear. Gingerly, he took her delicate earlobe between his teeth, enjoying her gasp and the way she shivered in response to the gentle abrasion.

Conscious of not overwhelming her, he eased onto his back, drawing her pliant body with him. He bent one leg to prop it against the cushions and allowed the other to splay over the edge.

Her soft curves melted into his hardness, fitting to him as if she’d been formed for this moment.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Is this all right?”

He waited for her reply, his self-control strained to the limit. God, if she said no, if she gave any indication she—

“Yes.” In one graceful move, she propped herself onto her elbow and traced his temple and line of his jaw with silken fingertips. She gazed down at him, her expression sage and sure beyond all comprehension. In the muted light of the candles, her violet-blue eyes seemed to see into his very soul.

He bit back a groan and, slamming his lids shut against the exquisite torture of her fingers playing over his heated skin, her breasts pressing into his chest, her hips settling against his, he rose up to claim her mouth once more.

He suckled her lips with tender reverence, unable to get enough of her taste, some maddening combination of sweet wine and something uniquely Amelia. His tongue skimmed over the seam of her mouth until, with a gasp of delight, she opened for him, and he entered her moist heat.

Blood pounding in his ears, he smoothed his hands over her lithely curving back and gently rounded hips, finally sliding them lower until his palms fitted over her supple bottom.

A shiver coursed through her and she emitted a tiny mew, her hips wriggling against his erection in a move as erotic as it was, undoubtedly, unconscious.

Everything in him tightened with need. Unable to resist the urge, he squeezed the twin mounds, lifting her and snugging her pelvis even more closely into his. She arched against him. It was too much.

His hips bucked up, his cock straining against the fly of his trousers and nearly spilling his seed from the exquisite friction, no matter that too many damned layers of fabric separated him from her secrets.

He would bloody well not unman himself. Such an outcome could not be borne.

Worse, he’d nearly lost sight of his goal.

She had to be the one to initiate their lovemaking. She had to want him as much as he wanted her.

He tore his mouth from hers, cupping her nape to lock her head in place, his masculine pride glorying over the dazed look of wonder in her hooded eyes. He pushed aside the suspicion he felt the same wonder, unwilling to accept he was anything but in control. Everything depended on it. “I’m going to carry you to the bed, Amelia. Nothing will happen you don’t want to happen. Do you trust me?”

She did not hesitate. She nodded once.

Satisfaction roared through him. He scooped her into his arms and in two strides, reached the large bed.

He laid her gently atop the mattress. For the first time, trepidation lurked behind the passion in her heavy-lidded eyes.

Locking gazes with her, he eased himself onto his side to stretch out beside her. With unhurried strokes, he traced her cheek, her jawline, the graceful line of her throat. His large, bronze-skinned hand looked clumsy and awkward against the backdrop of her pristine flesh.

He couldn’t make himself care. All that mattered at this moment was Amelia, and awakening her sensual delight. His pleasure could—and would —wait.

Fingertips delving into the hollow at the base of her throat, he lowered his head to brush his lips over hers, feather light, over and over again, until she reached for him, circling his nape with hands, slightly damp, to tug him toward her.

The wicked sounding laugh he loosed seemed to spring from his very core as he resisted her efforts, drawing a whimper of need from her lips for his crime of extending both of their torture. He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Do you want me to kiss you, Amelia?”

“Yes,” she said on a breathless pant.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, brushing the flat of his palm over the crest of her breast.

A choking gasp escaped her, her nipple tightening in an instant, and he groaned.

She arched up, pressing her ripe breast into his hand. Tiny tremors vibrated through her. She was so close. He could feel her surrender like a riptide, just under the surface.

With a growl, he took her mouth and tugged her bodice low. His hand shook as he found the small, round treasure. He circled the edge, then gently rolled the tight bud between his fingers.

She clung to him, fingers weaving into his hair, nails scoring his scalp.

“Do you want me to taste you, Amelia?” he breathed against her lips. He didn’t wait for her reply. He pulled his mouth from hers. He allowed himself a few seconds to glory in the sight of her, shifting and restless, her perfect breasts nearly freed from her bodice.

Then he wrapped his lips around one taut nipple and suckled.

“ Chase, oh, Chase ,” she choked, arching herself up to press herself into his mouth, her hand fisting in the bed covers.

He opened his eyes, watching her face as he suckled.

Her wispy brows were furrowed in desperate pleasure. Her white teeth were planted in her lower lip. God he wanted her.

He propped himself up onto his forearm. He brought his mouth to hover over hers. “Let me make you feel good, sweetheart.”

“I do,” she panted. “You are.”

He slanted his mouth over hers and smoothed his hand over her flat belly, then lower to grasp fistfuls of her skirts. Inch by slow inch, he raised the hem, his unhurried rhythm for her sake alone. By the time he could shove the mass aside to settle his palm on one nicely rounded knee, his entire body shook from the effort of restraining his own fierce passion. He was near to breaking.

Seeming to realize the game had changed, her eyes slitted open and locked with his as his hand cruised higher, over her silk stockings, past her lacy garter. She made not one peep of protest.

When he grazed her curls, his breath hissed in his teeth. The deafening roar of blood rushed in his ears as her feminine secrets called to him like a siren’s song.

Her eyes widened and her lips parted, but she did not pull away.

“Do you want,” he began, his voice a hoarse croak. He cleared his throat and started again. “Do you want this? God help me, I’ll stop right now but you have to tell me.” He swallowed, waiting and more desperate for this woman than he’d ever been for anyone or anything in his life.

“Please, Chase,” she said. “I want…I need…” She reached for him.

He closed his eyes and allowed her to pull his mouth to hers. As his lips sealed over hers, he slid his fingers inexorably between her legs, parting her petals.

Sweet heaven . Her flesh was swollen, feverishly hot, and slick with the honey of her sex.

He heard a whimper and dimly realized the sound came from him. “Here,” he said in a thick voice he barely recognized as his own. He found the tight nubbin of her sex with the pad of his thumb, and she gasped. “This is what you need. This.”

He rubbed her, slowly, slowly, reveling in the silken feel of her, in the shivers he coaxed from her with his touch. Her sensual awakening, hips shifting and rocking, legs parting and lifting, wordless demands for more pleasure spilling from her lips, was more intoxicating than wine, more satisfying than breath.

A low moan sounded in her throat, building, building until she was gasping and calling his name like a plea. His name.

Well past the limit of his control, his cock ramrod hard and desperate for release, he eked every last bit of pleasure from her until her body went limp and boneless. And that was when he noticed someone pounding on the antechamber door.

“Go. Away,” he ground out, his knee spearing between Amelia’s thighs, his hand freeing his raging erection.

“But, guv’ner, there’s a fire.”