To Romance a Charming Rogue

beside her, on his back. But he remained rigid, as if he still didn't trust her.

Eleanor knew she would have to win back his trust. She wanted his arms around her, flesh on flesh, touching, but she settled for moving closer and pressing light kisses against the side of his throat, his bare shoulder, his collarbone, his chest.

Finally, when it seemed right, she rose up on her knees and began a tender exploration of his body with her hands, sculpting the hard lines of bone and muscle and burning skin with her palms, her fingertips, until she reached his loins.

He tensed even more when she closed her fingers over his thick arousal, and she could see his jaw tighten, but he lay still while she teased the heavy sacs beneath his erection, pulling lightly. When she took him into her warm hand again, his eyes turned even darker. Then bending, she pressed her lips against the swollen head of his shaft. He sucked in a breath at the first touch of her mouth.

Eleanor continued her tender ministrations, though, plying him with delicate caresses of her tongue. Damon squeezed his eyes shut, while his hands clenched at his sides, his features taut with desire and pain as she softly ran her tongue around the swollen head… the sensitive ridge below… the pulsing, velvet-smooth length…

Following her instincts then, she closed her lips around his engorged member to take him more fully in her mouth, enveloping him, welcoming him.

His whole body began to tremble, making her feel both precious and powerful, so she drew him even deeper, suckling, absorbing his scent and taste.

When her lips slowly slid down over his fullness once more, his hands moved to curl in her hair and he strained against her mouth, his breathing harsh and ragged. She heard her name hoarsely whispered, felt him shaking.

Then abruptly he grasped her shoulders and compelled Eleanor to raise her head.

His jaw was knotted tightly, his voice hoarse when he ground out one word: “Enough.”

Still clutching her shoulders, he rolled her onto her back and mounted her, encountering no resistance. She kept her thighs spread, soft and welcoming, and threaded her fingers in his dark hair.

His face was hard with need, his eyes alight with dark fire as he sank into the cradle she made for him. The desire she saw there made her chest feel tight… and then he buried his face in the curve of her neck as he buried his flesh in her wet warmth.

Eleanor arched her back in response and rocked against him, which made Damon drive upward again, and then again with more urgency.

Not protesting his ferocity, Eleanor wrapped herself around him. She felt surrounded by him, invaded by him, fulfilled by him as he ignited a burst of fire inside her. Her hips rose up to meet him as he went on withdrawing, then sinking deep, plunging his hardness into the recesses of her body until he couldn't get any closer.

Her moan turned to a sob of need, a plea that seemed to inflame him. When he grated out her name, the hoarse sound reverberated through her and sent her spiraling over the edge of passion. Every part of her clenched; her inner muscles clutched at him, holding him fast, as shuddering tremors began to ripple remorselessly through her.

At her fierce climax, Damon let himself surrender. His strong body arched helplessly above her as he reached his own harsh explosion deep within her. He threw back his head as he shattered, his teeth bared in primal pleasure while guttural groans of release ripped from his throat.

Afterward, his arms came around her as he collapsed upon her. His breathing ragged, he lay there, hot and heavy, still joined to her, and held her close, almost desperately so.

When Eleanor eventually recovered her own fragmented senses, her hands slid up his back, stroking gently, soothing him. In response, Damon buried his face in the curve of her neck, as if absorbing the warmth and strength of her.

Eleanor had to swallow against the tender rush of feeling his need evoked. When finally he eased his weight off her, onto his side, she searched his face in the dim light. He looked exhausted, vulnerable, but his eyes were not as haunted as they had been before.

Feeling hopeful, she caught his hand and laced her fingers with his. “Go to sleep, Damon. I will stay with you tonight.”

To her relief, he didn't argue but merely closed his eyes, his lashes forming black crescents on his cheeks.

Her heart full of emotions, Eleanor kept their fingers entwined. She intended to watch over him through the night, to keep the tormenting nightmares away.

Yet it was the privilege of a wife to hold and comfort her husband, she reflected. And for the first time since their hasty marriage, she actually felt as if she truly was his wife.

Damon's wife.

The words felt strange and yet wonderful at the same time. She cherished that feeling of belonging to him.

And while Damon might not want to be her true husband, she knew he felt something for her. She hadn't mistaken the fierce intensity of his caresses just now.

Nor had she misjudged his exhaustion. From the sound of his slow even breathing, Eleanor realized he had fallen asleep.

She smiled faintly as she lay there in the darkness and gently placed a palm against his chest, measuring the beat of his heart with her fingertips.

Her own heart warmed when unconsciously he moved closer to her, seeking comfort and heat.

She had comforted tonight. He was still gravely reluctant to talk about his brother, but at least she had made a start.

She knew why Damon was guarding his heart so closely, why he refused to let love into his life. He couldn't bear to lose anyone else. She wondered how far his fear would drive him.

Of course she was guilty of her own fear. That he would break her heart again.

Could she believe Damon's promises? Could she trust the devil lure of precious happiness? He could easily betray her as he had two years ago.

And yet for the first time since their betrothal ended, she was beginning to hope that her dreams of true love with Damon might someday become a reality.

Still, if he was going to lower his defenses, it best happen soon, a warning voice prodded Eleanor. She had hoped to protect herself from being hurt, but the more she learned about Damon, the more she loved him.

Once you are his wife, you should strive to encourage his physical desire for you. And happily, you may take your own pleasure as well. -An Anonymous Lady, Advice…

Damon woke to bright sunlight streaming into his bedchamber. Evidently Cornby had decided it was time he arose and so had drawn the draperies wide open.

Damon winced at the bright light and rolled over to bury his beard-stubbled face in the pillows. His head was throbbing from his overindulgence of potent brandy and from his even more potent memories.

He didn't want to remember last night-how raw and exposed he'd felt with Elle, what he'd said to her, how he had made love to her like a frenzied savage, the tender way she had held him through the night… But the sheets smelled of her, and with her scent, vivid images of Elle floated into his mind.

Despite his fierce reluctance to admit it, he had needed her comforting last night. And despite his determination to drive her away, Eleanor had refused to give up. She had stayed beside him, determined to help him battle his demons.

How many women would have done the same for their drunken husbands-?

A familiar masculine throat being cleared told Damon he wasn't alone. When he pried one eye open, he saw that Cornby stood respectfully at one side of the room, waiting for acknowledgment.

A further perusal of his bedchamber showed Damon that his wife was no longer there.

“I have brought your breakfast, my lord,” Cornby said with far too much cheer.

“Not hungry,” Damon mumbled, wishing the servant would go away.