Lucky Stars Page 5

  “Interesting life for a child,” James muttered. “What did your father think of this?”

  Belle’s hand came out from under the jacket and she waved it in front of her. “Oh, he didn’t mind. He was a wanderer too. I never saw much of him, really.”

  “You don’t sound like you find that upsetting,” he observed.

  Belle shook her head. “I didn’t have much of him but he’s a big personality. When I did have him, I had all of him and that was better than most kids have.”

  She felt his heat and knew he’d drawn closer.

  She tried to pretend that didn’t happen too.

  “I hear Lila Cavendish is a bit of a character as well.”

  She knew what he meant.

  If her father was a big personality and Gram was a character, what happened to her?

  She didn’t know why she said what she said next. Maybe it was the sea, the puppies, the several glasses of champagne she had at the party.

  Or maybe it was just him.

  But she said it.

  “I used to wish I was like her,” Belle confided softly. “She and my Mom are cut from the same cloth. They light up a room.”

  Forgetting her fear of heights, she walked to the edge and leaned her shoulder against the door, losing herself in the view and kept talking.

  “Once when I was young, we visited my great-grandmother in a retirement home. It was the first time Gram and I visited her after Gram moved her in there. We walked in and it was dreary. Depressing.” Her voice dropped even lower. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

  Belle shut her eyes against the memory, opened them and forged on.

  “I remember Gram taking one look at all those old people in their bleak rec room and muttering, ‘This will not do.’ Then she dug in her purse and pulled out her bag of lemon drops. To this day, she always carries a bag of lemon drops.” This last came out in a barely there whisper.

  She twisted her head to look at him and saw he was watching her, his arms crossed on his chest, his face so gentle and striking she had to look away so she’d have the courage to continue.

  Belle pulled in a breath and watched a wave break against the jagged rocks of the shore before she went on.

  “Anyway,” she said in a brighter voice, “she went around the whole room offering the old folks lemon drops, telling jokes, laughing and talking and livening up the room. That’s all it took. Gram and a bag of lemon drops.”

  When he spoke, his voice was closer and her body jerked in surprise as she turned to see he was again at her side.

  “There are many ways to light up a room.”

  He would, she thought, know all about that. His magnetic beam probably entered a room ten minutes before he got to the door.

  “Some women,” he continued, “light up a room just wearing an extraordinary dress.”

  She looked away and nodded in agreement. “Like Yasmin.”

  “Yes, like Yasmin. Though Yasmin’s dress tonight doesn’t come close to the one you’re wearing.”

  Belle’s body jerked again and her head twisted around to look at him. It did this so quickly she thought she might have pulled something.

  Before she could assess if she needed medical attention, he finished softly, “And she didn’t design hers.”

  Something was happening.

  She knew this because he was getting even closer.

  Panic ensued, quickly chased by hysteria. She moved back but her shoulders were against the door and one side fell away to nothing so she froze in sheer terror.

  His hands came to her waist and he moved directly into her space. So into it, her space evaporated and their space took its place.

  “James –” she began in a warning protest, her voice trembling.

  “Jack,” he muttered as his head bent, his hands sliding around her waist to her back, his fingers putting pressure there so her body touched his.

  And then he kissed her.

  Kissed her.

  Belle couldn’t believe it.

  His mouth on hers was firm and warm and his hands at her back were burning into her flesh. She felt the trill up her spine, the tingle along her scalp, her belly flipping then warming.

  All this felt good. It felt thrilling. It felt like something she wanted more of (a lot more).

  Still, she put her hands to his arms, gave a good shove and pulled her mouth away from his.

  “We can’t,” she told him but her voice was oddly breathy.

  “We can,” he replied instantly.

  “No,” she said.

  “Yes,” he returned then his arms tightened around her so her body wasn’t touching his. It was plastered against it. His head slanted and his mouth came down on hers again this time harder, warmer, insistent.

  She opened her mouth to protest, her fingers curling at his arms and his tongue slid inside.

  The minute his tongue touched hers, her entire body responded. Heat shot through it and her knees went weak then buckled. She felt her belly plummet, a quiver of excitement shot between her legs and her body melted into his.

  Without thought to anything, not Miles, Joy, good manners or her own sanity, Belle kissed him back. Her hands slid up and around his neck and she pressed closer to the heat of his hard body.

  He felt her response immediately (he couldn’t exactly miss it) and he pushed his advantage, deepening the kiss, tightening his arms, one hand sliding up her side and stopping then his fingers began to stroke the side of her breast.

  That, Belle thought hazily, felt good.

  Very good.

  So good, Belle felt her breasts swell, her nipples harden and she moaned right into his mouth.

  It was then she realised that he’d been controlling the kiss.

  She knew this because it was also then when he lost control of it.

  His head came up and before she could think, he stepped back twice, dragging her with him.

  When he stopped them, his head came back down, their mouths collided and this kiss was wild. It was coupled with bodies pressing closer, hands gliding. His jacket fell from her shoulders and Belle didn’t even notice.

  The world had dissolved.

  Nothing existed but James, his mouth, his hands, his body and all the unbelievable things he was making her feel.

  Things she’d never felt in her whole life, not with Calvin, not with Miles, not ever.

  She was not Belle “Meek and Mild” Abbot.

  She was another being entirely.

  A being who would neck in the hayloft with a rich, famous, entirely too handsome man, even when she was dating his brother.

  She was Wicked Belle. Risk Taker Belle. A Heretofore Unknown Belle who jumped into shark-infested waters with both feet, her eyes open because she knew something rich and rewarding would come of it.

  She tugged at his shirt at the back, pulling it out of his trousers and her hands went up, gliding across his hot skin, feeling the hard muscle of his back and she loved it.

  No.

  She adored it.

  She pressed in, wanting him closer, wanting him to absorb her.

  Suddenly, his mouth tore from hers and his body was gone. Belle felt a rush of cold and a sense of confusion but before she could gather her thoughts and return to her shy, timid reality, his hand grabbed hers in a vicelike grip

  Then he dragged her to the ladder.

  “Down,” he growled, his voice strangely rough.

  “What?” she whispered, her eyes flitting to his, her mind in a turmoil, her body on fire.

  “Go down,” he repeated.

  She looked stupidly at the ladder. Then she was forced to look back at him.

  She was forced because his hand wrapped around her neck and he yanked her to him, their bodies crashing together and his mouth crushed down on hers in another wet, wild, open-mouthed kiss that sent her senses reeling.

  He lifted his head and demanded in a voice now so beyond rough it was hoarse and just the sound of it sent a luscious quiver shootin
g between her legs, “Poppet, climb down.”

  Without hesitation, Belle climbed down.

  James came after her.

  Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the stables not even bothering to turn out the light.

  She had no time to think mainly because her mind was occupied with keeping up with him and not tripping. He was walking quickly, his long legs eating the distance, dragging her by the hand in a half run behind him.

  “James,” she called, feeling the need to take a moment, take a breath and get her head together.

  “Jack,” he clipped.

  She saw they were quickly approaching the castle.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, rushing behind him.

  “My room.”

  “Your what?” she cried, reality crashing in, her mind asking her what in the holy heck was she doing and her hand pulled at his.

  The instant she did this, he stopped, turned and Belle ran right into him.

  His arms went around her and he hauled her to his body.

  “My room, Belle,” he told her. “I’m taking you to my room.”

  She stared up at him in stupefaction. “I can’t go to your room.”

  “Not only can you, you’re going to,” he declared.

  Belle blinked, beyond stupefied, straight to staggered.

  “I –” she started but he cut her off.

  “You can go with me or I can carry you. Choose. Now.”

  “James –” she started to protest but stopped when his fingers wrapped around the back of her head at the same time his arm grew tight, moulding her to his body.

  “I’m not going to say it again, Belle. I want you to call me Jack,” he demanded and then his mouth came down on hers. He gave her another kiss. Meek and Mild Belle disappeared and when he lifted his head, she walked or, more accurately ran to keep up with his long strides, with him to his room.

  Chapter Three

  Jack’s Promise

  Jack

  Jack woke to a dark room.

  In the moonlight he saw beside him a vast expanse of white sheeted bed with Belle’s naked body not occupying it.

  Instantly alert, he came up on an elbow thinking she’d gone to her room or even left the house.

  Instead he saw her sitting in the window seat, knees to her chest, her glorious hair falling down her back. She was wearing his dress shirt and gazing out to sea.

  Baron was sitting at her side and Belle’s hand was absentmindedly stroking the dog’s head.

  Jack settled, his eyes never leaving her and he gave himself a moment to consider his behaviour of earlier that night.

  After he’d dragged her to his room like a Neanderthal, he’d not taken her to his bed. He’d not disrobed her or himself. He’d not even let her kick off her shoes.

  Instead, he’d pinned her against the wall, captured her mouth with his, yanked up the skirt of her dress and pulled down her panties. Hands to her ass, their lips still locked, tongues sparring, he’d lifted her and without hesitation she’d wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him.

  Then he’d taken her against the wall, rough, fierce and completely uncontrolled.

  She came within minutes, hard and intense, the soft, sexy noises she made quickening his own need. For a moment, with a deep satisfaction that felt almost primal, he’d watched her face in climax before his own staggering orgasm wiped everything from his mind.

  It had been utterly magnificent.

  He’d never experienced anything like it.

  Nothing even came close.

  After they’d finished, she kept her tight hold on him, her face pressed to his neck, the fingers of one of her hands in his hair.

  And, holding Belle against the wall, Jack memorised every inch of her that he could feel, her breath on his neck, legs around his hips, fingers in his hair and the sweet, wet tightness between her legs.

  She moved her head, put her mouth to his ear and whispered in her soft, honeyed voice, “Jack.”

  He knew what she was thinking.

  Therefore he turned his own head and kissed her.

  Jack didn’t want her thinking and questioning.

  He wanted her focussed solely on him.

  He pulled out of her gently, catching her gasp in his mouth as he did so and carried her to the side of the bed, kissing her the entire way. There he set her on her feet, took off their clothes and fell with her on the bed.

  The second time, he savoured her and her delectable body, using his mouth and hands, patiently coaxing her out of her timidity, urging her to do the same to him.

  She did, shyly at first, becoming bolder and finally, with a mixture of the two, she achieved wildly successful results.

  The second time ended like the first. Rough, fierce and completely uncontrolled.

  Although his orgasm was not as staggering as the first, he did have the delightful opportunity to watch hers from start to finish.

  Without a word and definitely not allowing Belle to utter one, he’d shifted their bodies under the covers, pulled her in his arms and held her tight with one arm while stroking her spine with the tips of his fingers.

  Shortly after, he felt her weight settle into him and he knew she was asleep.

  Shortly after that, he allowed himself to sleep as well.

  Now, watching her study the sea, Jack considered his actions.

  He had no idea why he behaved the way he behaved. He’d never done anything of the like in his life.

  He also had no idea why Belle brought this out in him.

  Although it likely had something to do with the fact that she was the first woman he’d encountered who made it clear she’d rather be anywhere but with him.

  It also likely had something to do with Baron’s acceptance of her. Jack’s dog was usually wary and protective, especially when Jack was close. Baron didn’t give his trust or affection easily. One sniff at her hand and her soft coo was all it took for Belle to win Jack’s dog which, to Jack, spoke volumes.

  Further, it likely had something to do with watching her open, unguarded delight when she was with the animals.

  And probably it had something to do with the sound of her sweet, soft laughter.

  It also could have to do with her story about her grandmother and the lemon drops.

  Undoubtedly, it had to do with the depth in her eyes that said there was something there. Something he wanted, even so far as needed but he wasn’t allowed to see. Something he couldn’t have nor could he take. Something he’d have to earn.

  Lastly, it most assuredly had something to do with that lock of thick, shining hair that fell against her neck, adorably revealing her imperfection.

  Jack, however, was not the kind of man who spent a great deal of time considering his actions.

  So he didn’t.

  She simply was who she was, all of who she was.

  And Jack liked it, all of it.

  And he wanted it.

  So he took it.

  But also, he was going to keep it because now it was his.

  On that thought, he threw the bedclothes aside. He went to his dresser, pulled out a pair of pyjama bottoms and tugged them on. Baron trotted to him while he did this and Jack lifted his head to see Belle was watching him, head twisted to look over her shoulder, her arms wrapped around her calves.

  Jack walked across the room to join her.

  As he walked, she moved jerkily as if she’d been torn from a trance or had a layer of ice wrapped around her which had been shattered.

  She released her legs and stood, her head tilting back, her hand coming up as if to ward him off and she whispered, “Jack –”

  His chest came up against her hand, his hands went to her waist and he turned her so her back was to his front, his movements cutting off whatever she intended to say. He moved and sat in the window seat, taking her with him, lifting his legs bent at the knees and positioning her between them. He rested his back against the wall, Belle’s back against his chest and he
wrapped his arms around her, one about her stomach, the other about her chest.

  Instinctively Jack felt containment was key. Given the opportunity, Belle would retreat either physically or emotionally and after what they’d just shared, he wasn’t going to allow that.

  Even so, she held her body stiffly in his arms.

  “Jack –” she began again.

  “Belle,” he interrupted her with a squeeze, his voice low and quiet. “Not tonight. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  Although he would not have thought it was possible, he felt her body grow even stiffer.

  Baron settled in beside them, resting his head on the window seat by Jack’s hip as Belle turned in his arms so she was facing him.

  At the same time she tried to pull away.

  Jack’s arms tensed and she was forced to put her hands on his chest to push back but he kept her close, not allowing escape.

  She gave up pushing and her eyes lifted to look in his.

  He could see her face in the moonlight but he couldn’t read her eyes and he wished he’d thought to turn on a light.

  She hesitated before speaking and with embarrassment dripping from her voice, she whispered. “I’ve never done anything like that before in my life.”

  “I know,” he replied softly and understood he’d scored a point when her stiff body relaxed somewhat in his arms.

  “I don’t want you to think –” she started, he gave her a gentle shake and his head bent so his face was closer to hers.

  “Poppet, get that out of your head. I don’t think anything except what we shared earlier was unbelievably, fucking magnificent.”

  Even in the dark, he could see her lips part in surprise and her eyes widened in wonder seconds before she found something else to be embarrassed about. “Your Mum –”

  There was no way Jack was going to explain the intricate history of competition between the Bennett brothers, Miles’s taking sibling rivalry to a compulsive extreme and Joy’s total understanding of it (and incessant worry about it) when Belle was in his shirt, in his arms, in his room, in the moonlight.