kiss of two people slowly becoming better acquainted. It was not a tender, closed-mouth caress of a lover who had forever and a day to win and woo his reluctant lady fair. It was not a brief, introductory meeting of two tentative pairs of lips.
It was a kiss of such flaring fire and primordial passion that Madeleine was instantly overwhelmed. Dazed and clutching at his smooth, deeply clefted back, she felt herself go limp in his strong arms as he swiftly deepened the blazing kiss. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth, boldly exploring all the highly sensitive regions, stroking her tongue with his own, sending her wits scattering and her pulses pounding.
Madeleine realized, as her lips were combined with his, that she wanted this handsome, hard-faced rogue. Before she died she wanted to know—one last time—the kind of passion she barely remembered from her first nights as a newlywed.
If any man could give her even the slightest taste of that kind of rapture, it was surely this dark, seductive Creole who was kissing her with such unrestrained passion. She sighed into Armand’s mouth and her nails raked down his warm smooth back. The more she considered the two of them making love, the more she wanted it.
The more she wanted him.
When at long last his conquering lips released hers, her head fell back against his rock-hard biceps. She looked into his eyes and trembled with rising desire.
“Mr. de Chevalier,” she said finally, almost shouting to be heard above the wind’s constant roar, “will you…that is, I…could we…?”
“What? I can’t hear you.” He leaned down, placed his ear close to her lips.
“Make love to me, Mr. de Chevalier,” she blurted out. Armand raised his head, looked at her, one dark eyebrow lifting slightly. She rushed her words, “We are going to go down with this ship. You know we are, I know we are. So what difference would it make if we…we…” Her words trailed away and she lowered her eyes, sorry that she had made such a preposterous proposal.
Until he put his thumb and forefinger to her chin, raised her face to his, and looking straight into her eyes, said, “I’ll make love to you on one condition.” He brushed a kiss to her temple. Madeleine’s brows knitted in puzzlement. He smiled and said, “If you’ll stop calling me Mr. de Chevalier. Say ‘Armand, make love to me.”’
Aroused by his stirring kiss and the granite hardness and awesome heat of his lean body, Lady Madeleine eagerly said, “Armand, make love to me.”
“With pleasure, Countess.”
Five
For a long, tense moment, Armand de Chevalier did nothing, didn’t move a muscle. He simply held Madeleine in his arms and looked into her eyes. Unable to look away or even to breathe properly, Madeleine felt as if she were being pulled into the fathomless depths of his unforgettable black eyes.
The winds howled and the cabin plunged sharply into the sea, then rose again. Madeleine hardly noticed. She was totally mesmerized by this dark stranger with whom she wanted desperately to be intimate.
She drew a sharp intake of air as Armand slowly lowered his face to hers. Expecting another of those instantly ardent, breath-stealing kisses, she was surprised when he brushed his smooth, warm lips ever so lightly against hers. For several sweet, unhurried moments, he kissed her softly, undemandingly, as if she were actually his treasured love.
Madeleine found it incredibly moving. Stirring. Exciting. Each gentle, unhurried kiss became more thrilling than the last. His mouth seemed to fit so perfectly with hers. As if their lips were made solely for each other’s kisses.
Pressing one last feathery kiss to her slightly parted lips, Armand flipped open the buckle to the restraints holding her in place. He lifted her and sat her on his right knee and both were almost dumped to the floor when a great gust of wind hit the ship. Armand gripped the bunk’s frame with one hand and held Madeleine with the other. Then quickly drew the restraints around both of them, buckling them loosely behind her back.
Clutching his neck, Madeleine was both astonished and thrilled when he took her hand, placed it directly over his heart and said in a low, husky voice, “Touch me. Feel me, sweetheart.”
She immediately complied. Her fingers spread, palm flush against him, she eagerly explored the perfect symmetry of his naked bronzed torso. She stroked and rubbed and examined him thoroughly, letting her fingertips circle the flat brown nipples almost hidden in the dense black chest hair. She felt a small tremor surge through him at her touch and was excited by the knowledge that she had so titillated him. Her eyes focused on the broad expanse of bare flesh before her, she popped her finger into her mouth and sucked it briefly. She then circled his left nipple with her wet fingertip before looking up to get his reaction.
Incredible heat radiated from his dark eyes and he wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, drew her to him and kissed her hungrily. As he kissed her, Madeleine continued to toy with him, raking her nails down his chest, fanning her hand over his hot skin, tangling her fingertips in the crisp, springy hair.
When their heated lips finally separated, Madeleine was surprised to find that Armand had managed—during the prolonged kiss—to completely unbutton the jacket of her peach traveling suit. When he pushed it apart, she suffered a mild twinge of doubt. But when he bent his head and placed the gentlest of kisses in the valley between her breasts, all misgivings fled. She felt her nipples tighten and her stomach contract. And she made no move to stop him when he pushed the open jacket down her arms and tossed it aside.
“God, you are so sweet, so beautiful,” he said, placing the tip of his little finger under the lacy strap of her camisole.
Madeleine felt the strap being slipped off her shoulder and sliding down her upper arm. She took a quick excited breath through her mouth and heard him say, “Look at me, chérie.”
Her eyes met his and again she experienced the feeling of being pulled into him.
“Trust me. I won’t hurt you,” he promised and as her gaze stayed locked with his, he raised her damp skirts and ran a hand up her stockinged left leg. When his fingers encountered the ruffled border of her knee-length pantalets, he gave the lacy trim a playful tug, then urged her knees apart.
Madeleine inhaled anxiously as his warm fingers moved steadily upward along the inside of her thigh.
“Kiss me,” he coaxed and she eagerly obeyed.
Wildly she kissed him, cupping his lean cheeks in her hands, anxiously moving her questing lips against his and thrusting her tongue deep into his mouth. During the fervent kiss she felt his lean fingers move all the way up between her legs to touch her in that most intimate spot.
Through the soft cotton of her pantalets he slowly, expertly caressed her until the fabric, which was the only barrier between his moving fingers and her tingling flesh, was damp from her body’s response.
Sucking anxiously at his lips, she sighed and squirmed and became more aroused with each passing second.
“Feel good, sweetheart?” Armand murmured against her lips.
“Mmm,” was all she could manage in reply.
“I want you to feel even better,” Armand told her, and with the speed and wizardry of a trained magician, he deftly relieved her of her pantelets.
Naked
