Read Online One Wicked Night by Shelley Bradley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shelley Bradley
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tightened around her hips, grasping her, tilting her up with need. His whole body tense, he groaned, flooded her with something hot and thrilling, then fell against her, spent.
Serena lay beneath him, torn between wonder and the fervent wish he would say something. As he drew in long breaths, she felt the slick perspiration between their bodies and the heat of his skin touching her everywhere.
When his breathing slowed, he stroked her hair away from her forehead. His eyes, an even darker green by the mesmerizing firelight, lay open to her, stripped of all artifice. She saw the emotion churning within him, compelling him to speak.
“You are . . . unbelievable.”
The awe in his voice, coupled with the raw emotion in his eyes, opened a path to her heart, connecting her to him on a level that went beyond mere physical joining. Something profound and elemental moved inside her, misting her eyes with tears. Quickly, she averted her gaze, praying he would not see her reaction or guess that, until tonight, she had known neither completion nor ecstasy.
His arms winding around her shoulders, Lucien held her close. Further touched by his intimate gesture, Serena fought a new onslaught of tears.
Wordlessly, he held her against his chest, sheltering her in the solace of his embrace. He dusted her face with soft kisses while she listened to his breathing, felt his heartbeat against hers. Closing her eyes, she sighed, feeling the tension ebb from her body. Lucien’s fingers feathered up and down the naked length of her back. And soon, she slept.
****
Lucien rolled away from the slumbering beauty in his arms and tucked the covers around her. As he rose and donned his pants, he marveled at her placid expression. Hell, he was still shaking from a climax so stunning, it surpassed anything in memory, recent or otherwise.
Kneeling, he brought his face level with hers. Her hair was by far her most magnificent feature. The white-gold length streamed about her in a straight, silken cloud. But that wasn’t what fascinated him. It was her face.
Both oval and angelic, it showcased her honey skin and raspberry red mouth to perfection. His eyes traced the firm, sloping line of her jaw and her round, stubborn chin. Next to one platinum brow lay a tiny mole, but rather than detracting from her striking beauty, it enhanced. With her as temptation, how could he resist?
Lucien smoothed a curl from her cheek, rosy from the rub of his whiskers, and turned away. Despite the relaxation curling through his body, his mind was in turmoil.
The last time he’d had a woman in his bed was three months ago. That night, he had left his daughter in the care of servants, writing off her tears as a child’s antics for attention. He had spent the evening with his former mistress, indulging in mindless, emotionless sex. When he had arrived home in the wee morning hours, Chelsea was dead.
Closing his eyes with a pained grimace, Lucien reached past the decanter of wine he had poured from only an hour ago, and instead grabbed the Irish whiskey. He drew it to his lips, gulping in long swallows. As the liquor scorched its way down his throat, he felt satisfaction and a certain safety that, if he consumed enough, he could eventually drown his guilt.
But the images haunted him: her tiny body trampled by the carriage, the white nightgown reddened by her blood. That next morning had been a shock of disbelief and questions—and astonishment to learn that Chelsea had left the house determined to find her mummy and bring her back home to her daddy so they could all be happy.
He brought the bottle to his mouth once more for a long swallow. Bloody hell . His self-induced celibacy had been torture, but he had not weakened from his penance—until tonight. He should never have listened to Niles. True, the man was his only friend at the moment, but the pup was wrong. All his aloneness was not unhealthy; it was deserved. But no, Niles had insisted just this
Serena lay beneath him, torn between wonder and the fervent wish he would say something. As he drew in long breaths, she felt the slick perspiration between their bodies and the heat of his skin touching her everywhere.
When his breathing slowed, he stroked her hair away from her forehead. His eyes, an even darker green by the mesmerizing firelight, lay open to her, stripped of all artifice. She saw the emotion churning within him, compelling him to speak.
“You are . . . unbelievable.”
The awe in his voice, coupled with the raw emotion in his eyes, opened a path to her heart, connecting her to him on a level that went beyond mere physical joining. Something profound and elemental moved inside her, misting her eyes with tears. Quickly, she averted her gaze, praying he would not see her reaction or guess that, until tonight, she had known neither completion nor ecstasy.
His arms winding around her shoulders, Lucien held her close. Further touched by his intimate gesture, Serena fought a new onslaught of tears.
Wordlessly, he held her against his chest, sheltering her in the solace of his embrace. He dusted her face with soft kisses while she listened to his breathing, felt his heartbeat against hers. Closing her eyes, she sighed, feeling the tension ebb from her body. Lucien’s fingers feathered up and down the naked length of her back. And soon, she slept.
****
Lucien rolled away from the slumbering beauty in his arms and tucked the covers around her. As he rose and donned his pants, he marveled at her placid expression. Hell, he was still shaking from a climax so stunning, it surpassed anything in memory, recent or otherwise.
Kneeling, he brought his face level with hers. Her hair was by far her most magnificent feature. The white-gold length streamed about her in a straight, silken cloud. But that wasn’t what fascinated him. It was her face.
Both oval and angelic, it showcased her honey skin and raspberry red mouth to perfection. His eyes traced the firm, sloping line of her jaw and her round, stubborn chin. Next to one platinum brow lay a tiny mole, but rather than detracting from her striking beauty, it enhanced. With her as temptation, how could he resist?
Lucien smoothed a curl from her cheek, rosy from the rub of his whiskers, and turned away. Despite the relaxation curling through his body, his mind was in turmoil.
The last time he’d had a woman in his bed was three months ago. That night, he had left his daughter in the care of servants, writing off her tears as a child’s antics for attention. He had spent the evening with his former mistress, indulging in mindless, emotionless sex. When he had arrived home in the wee morning hours, Chelsea was dead.
Closing his eyes with a pained grimace, Lucien reached past the decanter of wine he had poured from only an hour ago, and instead grabbed the Irish whiskey. He drew it to his lips, gulping in long swallows. As the liquor scorched its way down his throat, he felt satisfaction and a certain safety that, if he consumed enough, he could eventually drown his guilt.
But the images haunted him: her tiny body trampled by the carriage, the white nightgown reddened by her blood. That next morning had been a shock of disbelief and questions—and astonishment to learn that Chelsea had left the house determined to find her mummy and bring her back home to her daddy so they could all be happy.
He brought the bottle to his mouth once more for a long swallow. Bloody hell . His self-induced celibacy had been torture, but he had not weakened from his penance—until tonight. He should never have listened to Niles. True, the man was his only friend at the moment, but the pup was wrong. All his aloneness was not unhealthy; it was deserved. But no, Niles had insisted just this
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