Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(37)

He was silent, his weight pinning her against the chaise longue. The hard pressure of his arousal seemed to burn through the layers of their clothes. Uncomfortably Sara moved beneath him.

“Stay still!” Derek swallowed hard, his gaze traveling to the lush display of her br**sts. “You and your…research.” He said the word as if it were obscene. His hand covered her breast, his palm rubbing over the nipple until it formed a tight bud. He tried to let her go, but his body wouldn’t obey. Every nerve screamed rebelliously. He wanted her. He would have given everything he owned just to grind himself inside her. Breathing harshly through his teeth, he fought to contain his desire.

“I wanted to be someone other than myself,” Sara said in defiant misery. “The kind of woman that you would…dance with…and desire. And even now…I don’t regret what I’ve done. You may not feel any attraction for Sara Fielding, but at least you felt something for the woman I pretended to be, and that—”

“You don’t think I want you?” he asked hoarsely.

“I knew when you refused to kiss me this morning—”

“That’s what this is about? You wanted revenge because I didn’t…” Craven seemed to choke on the words. When he managed to speak again, his voice was tainted with a cockney twang. “It wasn’t enow for you that I’ve ached like a drawn dog ever since you came ’ere—”

“Drawn dog?” she repeated in confusion.

“Pulled away before the rutting’s finished.” He clenched his hands on either side of her face, glaring at her. “I wanted you this morning, you little tease. I’ve wanted to do you over since the first time I…Be still!” He snarled the last two words with a roughness that made her cringe. She stopped squirming at once. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to continue. “Don’t move, or I won’t be able to stop myself. Listen to me. I’m going to let go of you…and you’re going to leave. For good. Don’t come back to the club.”

“Never?”

“That’s right. Go back to your village.”

“But why?” Sara asked. Humiliating tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

“Because I can’t—” He stopped, his breath rattling in his throat. “Jesus, don’t cry!”

Don’t move. Don’t cry. Don’t come back. Sara stared at him with glittering blue eyes. She felt wild, drugged, drunk with emotion. “I don’t want to leave,” she said thickly.

Derek’s muscles trembled with the effort of holding still. He did not want to ruin or hurt her, and he was close, so close, to throwing away the few meager scraps of honor he possessed. “What do you want, Sara? This?” He taunted her with his body, urging himself against her in a crude thrust. “This is what you’ll get from me. I’ll do you over right now, and send you back to Kingswood a soiled dove. Is that what you want, to be covered by the likes of me?” He pushed again, expecting her to beg for her freedom. Instead she gasped and lifted her knees, instinctively making a cradle for him. He wiped at a fallen tear with his fingers. A guttural sound came from his throat, and he lowered his mouth to her face, licking at the silken trail of salt. It was going to happen. He couldn’t stop it.

Pushing his hand beneath her skirt, he found the waist of her drawers and delved beneath them. He spread covetous kisses over her pale br**sts and throat. She was everything he’d ever wanted, beauty and fire arching against his despoiling hands. His fingers wandered across the smooth skin of her belly, the white tops of her thighs. She started in fear, but he held her down and sifted through the patch of delicate curling hair until the soft core of her body became swollen and wet. Fondling her gently, he covered her mouth with kisses, while his breath rushed in rhythmic bursts. She writhed uncontrollably, making small, wanton groans that heated his senses to full boil.

Sara dug her fingers into the thick layer of his coat as she realized he was opening his pantaloons. Time stopped, like a whirling top snatched up in an unyielding fist. Pleasure unfurled and billowed in ever-widening waves as she yielded to the man intent on claiming her, the hard weight of his body poised to drive inside her. “Sara,” he said over and over, his breath scalding her ear. “Sara—”

“Mr. Craven?” A quiet male voice broke the spell.

Sara gave a start of fright as she realized someone was in the doorway. She struggled to sit up, but Derek held her down, concealing her with his own body. He groped for his sanity. Finally he gave a savage groan.

“What is it?”

Worthy’s voice was strained. Keeping his face turned away, he spoke with great care. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you, Mr. Craven, but there is a rumor that Ivo Jenner has been seen in the club. Knowing his wont to make trouble, I thought you should be informed.”

Derek was silent for nearly half a minute. “Leave. I’ll see to Jenner…if he’s here.” The last words were invested with heavy sarcasm, making it clear that he suspected the factotum had invented a ruse merely to rescue Sara.

“Sir, shall I have a carriage brought for…?” Worthy paused, unwilling to voice Sara’s name.

“Yes,” Derek said tersely. “Get out, Worthy.”

The factotum closed the door.

Sara couldn’t seem to stop trembling. She clenched her arms around Craven’s shoulders and buried her face against the humid skin of his throat. She had never experienced the pain of unsatisfied desire before. It hurt. It hurt like nothing she’d ever felt, and there seemed to be no remedy. Although she expected Craven to be cruel, he was kind at first, holding her tightly against his body and rubbing her back. “Dogdrawn,” he said with a humorless laugh. “A few minutes and you’ll be all right.”