Page 29 of Captivating the Countess
Her fantasy tasted of soap, his skin still damp from his ablutions. His chest was so broad that she could see nothing beyond those taut muscles, so she kissed him there. That felt safe. She pushed away the cloth disguising his shoulders—just how wide was he?
Astonishingly, a heavy hand pressed her back into her pillows, a real one? Before her sleep-confused brain could work this out, hot lips closed over hers, and the dream became one of longing and need. She’d learned to satisfy those urges on her own, but this...
Her overstimulated mind accepted this new dimension to her dream. She opened her mouth when his tongue pressed along the seam. The invasion of his tongue stole away her breath. She lifted into him, not certain whether to fight or succumb.
Her gown tautened across her breasts and a flick of pressure pinched an aroused nipple. She moaned with a rush of desire and succumbed to the need to kiss back in the same hungry manner. She would devour him if she could.
She clutched at powerful arms when the brush of linen over her breasts became the rub of flesh against flesh. Electricity coursed from her nipples, through her middle, to the place where she needed to put her hands...
But a heavy weight held her hips to the bed and her hands only found muscle straining with tension and covered in linen when she reached his lower back. It was the oddest dream she’d ever experienced. Curiosity allowed her hands to return to the naked chest she’d seen in a bath and then—down his front. Men were made so differently...
A ragged curse tore from the mouth that had just begun to kiss her shoulder. An instant later, imprisoning arms rolled her over until she lay on top of—
Lord Rainford!
Startled from her dream, she couldn’t fight the faintness.
The nag instantly invaded and cried—Save my son! You have the power, use it! He will waste away unless you heal him. Fornicate. Let me enter your womb. I’ll show you what to do.
Instead of falling comatose, Bell responded to the desperation. She sat up, her legs spread open over male hips, her gown around her waist. Rain’s... maleness... stirred of its own accord over her belly and the place that pulsed with need.
Hearingthe countess speak in a strange voice, Rain strained not to touch her, not to lift supple, sweet-smelling thighs to where he pulsed with need and do just exactly as commanded. He didn’t know whether the lady was awake, dreaming, or unconscious and speaking with the tongue of spirits. He had a horrible suspicion it was the latter.
He had never taken an unconscious woman, although the compulsion was there, driven by that ragged frantic voice and his own desire and hope.
The primal desire to couple fueled a strong need to plant his seed as instructed. He was only inches away...
He clutched the sheets, not daring to remove the countess from temptation, for fear he would do the opposite. Instead, he waited in agony to see what she would do.
Her frozen stillness finally released him from the compulsion. Still not daring to touch, he yanked the blanket around her slender frame and rolled her back to the mattress. She moaned again, in that delicious manner that aroused him to the point of pain. If he kissed her again... would she wake and participate?
Not like this. He couldn’t take her if she didn’t know what she did.
He couldn’t take her if this was all some pretense to trap him into vows, his cynical self added. That had happened often enough to keep him wary, even though he feared marriage was the last thing the lady wanted.
Steeling himself, Rain left the bed, wrapping his robe as best as he could over his arousal, hoping the cold drafts would relieve the ache of desire. He still couldn’t tell if the countess slept or was unconscious. He wasn’t entirely certain there was a difference, except she apparently spoke in tongues when she fainted—like the fake mediums she scorned. Did she talk in her sleep as well? No wonder she found marriage unappealing.
But he didn’t think she found the marriagebedunappealing. She had responded with an unvirginal hunger to match his own.
Should he believe that voice had come from the spirit world? He shuddered a little at the message conveyed:Save my son! You have the power, use it! He will waste away unless you heal him. Fornicate. Let me enter your womb. I’ll show you what to do.
Could a woman as quiet and proper as the countess actually say anything so raw? It went against all he knew of her. But to believe the alternative...
You have the power...Did that meanBellhad the power to heal his father? Did he even know whether it was his grandmother or mother speaking? Or someone entirely unrelated? Butwaste awaycertainly sounded like the duke.
Bell... as his sisters called her... stirred. He could hardly call her Lady Craigmore after this evening.
His tension was probably sufficient to wake every ghost in the castle. He could leave now and let them both believe this had been a dream.
He didn’t.
The cold was doing its work, so when she opened her eyes, Rain was decently covered by robe and drawers. He held her curtains back so she could see him. She didn’t react, just blinked sleepily. He tried not to do anything that would startle her but let her wake slowly. She had to be a magnificent actress if she faked this.
Finally, she struggled to sit up, gold ringlets sticking to her cheeks and brow, enhancing her fey appearance. He didn’t offer to touch her but sat on the foot of the bed. She was so achingly beautiful like this, innocent and young and confused, without the shield of indifference and cynicism. He felt like an ogre doubting her.
“You are really real?” she whispered uncertainly.
Rain held out his hand. “Pinch me, if you like.”
