Ecstasy

Chapter Twelve

“Thank you, O’Malley,” Raven murmured when the groom had assisted her into the sidesaddle.

After arranging her skirts, she drew her cloak tight against the frigid morning air and took up the reins, eager to be off for her daily ride in the park. The moment O’Malley had mounted his own hack, Raven set out at a brisk trot, with the groom following close behind.

She didn’t expect to meet Brynn since her friend had another engagement this morning. But she hoped to find Dare, for she had an alarming report to discuss with him: an ugly rumor that concerned her husband.

She hadn’t spoken much to Kell during the past week, not since the night he had come to her bedchamber to discuss his brother. Except for passing him on the stairs, she hadn’t even seen him. The duty of providing her escort to various social functions had fallen to her friends.

Unaccountably Raven found Kell’s deliberate absence bothersome. Restlessness was nothing new to her, but she’d felt an unusual despondency of late. She tried to explain her feelings away, telling herself that her low spirits had nothing to do with her husband’s pointed neglect. After all, Kell was only adhering to the bargain they had struck.

There were countless other possible reasons for her melancholy, the most logical being that with the scandal, she now found herself on the fringes of the high society that she’d been such an integral part of until now.

Or perhaps her blueness could be attributed to the winter weather, which was remarkably cold, even for late November.

Or it was her apprehension over Sean Lasseter. Raven frequently found herself glancing nervously over her shoulder, seeing threats in the shadows, fearful that he would assault her again, even though Kell had assured her otherwise.

Or it could simply be due to loneliness. Admittedly she felt more alone than at any time since her arrival in England. Her grandfather had departed London for his own estate in East Sussex, while Raven remained in town for appearance’s sake. She planned to join her grandfather for Christmas, but that was still several weeks away.

At least she had O’Malley. It was comforting to have him nearby, just as it was a solace to have Brynn and Lucian and Dare-her stalwart champions and dearest friends-stand by her. But still Raven couldn’t deny her stark feeling of isolation. The nights were the worst, when she lay staring restlessly at the canopy above her bed. Not even her pirate lover could console her, for oddly, she had trouble summoning him. When she closed her eyes to imagine him, all she saw was Kell.

With her uncertain future stretching out before her, empty, pointless, without any goal to strive toward, she felt keenly alone and at a loss, regardless of how fiercely she scolded herself for falling victim to self-pity.

She should be counting her blessings, Raven knew. While her dreams of making a titled match were crushed, while the scandal had resulted in a great many closed doors, she had survived. And compared to many of her peers, she was actually well off. She had contracted a marriage in name only, with no dire risk of overwhelming love or obsessive passion to threaten her. And as the wife of a wealthy, indifferent husband, she had complete freedom to do as she pleased.

But still she found herself missing Kell. He had startled her the night he came to her room, especially when he bent to give her an unexpected kiss.

“Sleep well, vixen,” he’d said.

But she hadn’t slept. She had tossed and turned for hours, remembering the way his eyes had darkened when they scrutinized her concealing nightdress; remembering his sudden interest when he had spied the journal and her acute embarrassment at being caught reading it.

She had put away the journal after his visit, for the erotic passages only aroused her and reminded her of the physical relations that were missing in her marriage. But once or twice when she had heard Kell come in late at night, she lay there in bed, aware that she had a husband in the very next room, her body throbbing shamelessly for him… She pictured his magnificent nudity when she’d surprised him at his bath… Wondered how she would react if he returned to her bedchamber to claim his marital rights.

But he never came to her room again.

No doubt Kell was occupied with his club, but Raven couldn’t even be certain of that. She had shared some of her most private secrets with him-about the journal, about her fantasy lover-and still she knew so little about him.

Moreover, yesterday she was forcibly reminded of her obligations to Kell when she learned of a worrisome development.

According to Brynn, someone had begun spreading unsavory rumors about the honesty of Kell’s gaming club. Raven could only suspect the gossip was the work of the Duke of Halford, since he had threatened to ruin the blackguard who’d stolen his bride.

When she reached Hyde Park, however, there was no sign of Dare, so she enjoyed an easy gallop along Rotten Row. It was perhaps a half hour later when she spied the marquess riding toward her. She barely waited for his charming greeting before she brought up the matter of her former betrothed’s possible vindictiveness.

To Raven’s dismay, Dare only confirmed her fears.

“Yes, I’m afraid Halford has been disparaging your husband’s club. He has persuaded a number of his acquaintances to shun it, claiming the Golden Fleece is living up to its name-fleecing its customers.”

“Does he have the slightest bit of proof?”

Dare gave her an arch look. “Proof isn’t necessary to paint a man as dishonorable. The mere accusation from someone of influence can be just as lethal. I wouldn’t be surprised if Halford has never stepped foot inside the Fleece.”

Raven frowned in dismay. “Surely something can be done to stop him.”

“Well, I can help Lasseter make up for lost business by patronizing his hell more often. And I could ensure that my fellow Hellfire League members do the same.”

“Would you, Dare, please?”

“Of course. But no amount of patronage can repair a club’s tarnished reputation. It’s much like a lady’s good name. Once lost, it is almost impossible to regain.” Dare pursed his sensual lips thoughtfully. “It would no doubt help if Lasseter made an effort to become better known to his more celebrated clientele-give them the opportunity to size up his honor and character. As it stands now, he’s merely a notorious enigma.”

“But how is that to be accomplished?”

“He could start by getting about in society more. I would be perfectly happy to sponsor him, as I’m sure would Lucian, but your husband must be willing to take part.”

“I don’t think he would,” Raven said ruefully. “He despises society.”

“Even to save his club?”

“I don’t know. I will have to ask him.”

She visited the club that afternoon but was informed by the hulking doorman that Mr. Lasseter was away. Emma Walsh, however, came down the stairs at just that moment and greeted Raven with a graciousness that seemed unfeigned.

Raven felt herself flush with embarrassment. She had not seen the beautiful hostess since her abduction and wasn’t quite certain how to act.

But Emma seemed determined to put her at ease. “Kell is at a fencing match, but he should return within the hour. Would you care to wait for him?”

Absurdly, it irked Raven that she knew less about her husband’s whereabouts than this woman did. Surprised by the invitation, though, she accepted readily. When Emma had directed the doorman to have a tea tray sent into the bookroom, Raven surrendered her cloak and followed the hostess, gazing about her covertly.

Everywhere she looked, she saw evidence of tasteful richness: the sheen of waxed wood, the sparkle of crystal chandeliers, the sumptuousness of velvet and brocade furnishings.

Emma evidently noticed her interested glances. “Have you ever seen the inner workings of a gaming club?”

“No, but I admit to a vast curiosity.”

“After tea I would be happy to show you about if you wish.”

“I would like that very much.”

“This is the most comfortable room in the place,” Emma said, leading Raven into the library. “It is designed to give the club an air of refinement and remind our patrons of their libraries at home. Here they may enjoy a cheroot or a short respite from the gaming tables.”

When they were seated around the tea table, Emma gave her an assessing glance. “Perhaps you might be interested to know that Sean has left for an extended stay in Ireland.”

Raven drew a hopeful breath. “Truly? He is gone?”

“Yes. Kell persuaded him to go.”

“I wonder how he accomplished that?”

“I am not quite certain, but Kell is the only one who can influence Sean when he turns wild. They are very close, even for brothers. I expect you must be relieved.”

Pressing a hand to her temple, Raven managed a smile. “You cannot imagine how much.”

Emma’s own smile was sympathetic. “I am truly sorry for your ordeal. I tried to stop Sean that day, but all I could do was send for Kell.”

Remembering, Raven shuddered.

“If I may be of any assistance to you,” Emma offered, “you need only ask.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Actually…” She leaned forward. “There is a way you could help me. I find myself in…an awkward situation, wed to a stranger. I don’t doubt you know far more about my husband than I do. It would be helpful if you could tell me more about him. I have only heard bits and pieces regarding his past, and some of those were ugly rumors.”

Emma hesitated a moment before answering. “I suppose you mean the rumors about him murdering his uncle.”

“Yes. Sean intimated to me that they were true.”

Anger filled Emma’s eyes, while her mouth pressed together in a tight line. “I don’t know how their uncle came to die, but I would stake my life on it-Kell Lasseter is not a murderer. And Sean is an ungrateful wretch to imply otherwise after all Kell has done for him!”

Her vehement defense of Kell pleased Raven and only strengthened her own belief in his innocence. “I didn’t think Kell guilty,” she observed. “But he wouldn’t confirm or deny the rumors. All he would say was that his uncle sent his mother to an early grave after taking her sons from her. And that his scar was the result of a blow from his uncle’s signet ring.”

Emma nodded. “I don’t think I would be betraying Kell’s confidence to share what is common knowledge. You know his mother was Irish?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she was not of the gentry, merely the daughter of an Irish physician, and the Lasseters despised her for it. When she was widowed, William Lasseter became her sons’ guardian and threatened to withhold every cent of their inheritance unless Fiona gave up all claim to them.”

“And did she?”

“Yes. From what Sean told me, she couldn’t bear to deprive her sons of their birthright. And she didn’t have the means to fight so powerful a family. She returned to Ireland and died there of an ague, alone and penniless. William refused even to let her sons go to visit her grave.”

“Then it is understandable why Kell would loathe his uncle.”

“Yes, but that isn’t the only reason. According to Sean, William was a tyrant. And someone with Kell’s rebellious nature wouldn’t take kindly to such dictatorial control. Some years later, he became involved in a violent dispute with his uncle, which is when Kell received his scar. He escaped with Sean to Ireland and hid out on the streets of Dublin, barely managing to survive. Sean told me that more than once they had to resort to eating rats-although he might have made that story up simply to unsettle me.”

Raven felt herself shudder. “So what happened next?”

“That isn’t so clear. Eventually William pursued them to Dublin, where he took up lodgings and spent weeks searching for his nephews. But one day he simply disappeared. His body was discovered on a road outside Dublin. Apparently he’d been set upon by highwaymen and killed for his purse.”

“Then why was Kell suspected of his murder?”

“Because William had been run through with a sword blade-an unusual choice of weapons for road agents, who normally use pistols. And Kell was a skilled swordsman. Sean says Kell learned the sport so he could hold his own with his uncle, who was a champion fencer. The theory was that Kell killed William in a duel and then disposed of the body.”

“That seems flimsy evidence on which to base charges so serious as murder.”

“Well, the charges actually came a bit later, from William’s family. They were outraged by his death and felt certain Kell was to blame, but they could never prove it. And it didn’t help that Kell never expressed any grief over his uncle’s demise, or that he refused to return to England. He wanted nothing to do with the Lasseters or their wealth, even though he had to turn to gaming to scrape out a living. He was determined to raise Sean on his own, away from their influence. Kell even refused to accept the inheritance that was rightfully his. Everything you see here, he earned through his own efforts.”

Raven glanced around the lavish room, feeling a touch of guilt. Despite the trials of her childhood, she’d had an easy life compared to Kell’s. She had to admire a man who would make such a sacrifice for his brother. And even though his past was shadowed in secrets, she thought she knew Kell well enough by now to be certain he couldn’t be guilty of cold-blooded murder.

Emma started to speak again but was interrupted when a boy of perhaps ten entered the library, unsteadily carrying a tea tray. He was followed by the majordomo whom Raven had met before.

Under Timmons’s watchful regard, the boy carefully set the tray on the tea table, then looked up at the servant, seeking approval with a hint of fear in his eyes.

Raven could scarcely contain her dismay at the boy’s appearance. Even though he was clean and well-groomed, he was thin to the point of emaciation. Worse, his face and hands sported numerous bruises and open sores that looked suspiciously like burns.

“Thank you, Nate,” Emma said gently. “That was well done of you.”

“Oi, mum.” His coarse accent suggested his lower class origins.

When both the butler and boy had gone, Emma took up the teapot to pour, but she evidently saw Raven’s troubled frown and hastened to explain. “Nate was a climbing boy until last week. Kell discovered him in an alleyway being beaten by his master and forcibly purchased him.”

Raven winced at the image. Climbing boys were little more than slaves and so often ill-treated-by being prodded up chimneys with knives and flaming torches-that they sometimes died.

“I know.” Emma agreed with her unspoken thought. “A life of hell. But at least he has a future now. When his wounds heal, he will go to the foundling home that Kell supports.”

“Foundling home?”

“For orphaned boys.” Emma smiled. “Nate makes the thirteenth street urchin that Kell has rescued. A baker’s dozen. Kell feeds and clothes them, provides for their education, and sees they learn an occupation.”

“How admirable,” Raven murmured, thinking how few true good deeds she had rendered in her own life.

“Yes,” Emma replied. “I owe Kell a great deal myself. He saved me from a…a difficult situation with my former protector.”

And me as well, Raven thought. Kell had saved her from a life as an outcast. “He seems to make a habit of rescuing people.”

“Indeed,” Emma said softly. “He claims not to care, but he continues to protect the innocent and the abused.”

Hearing the note of tenderness in Emma’s voice, Raven couldn’t help but wonder if more than admiration was its cause. Not for the first time, it occurred to her that Emma could be Kell’s mistress. It was even possible she might be in love with him.

The thought sent an uncomfortable pang to the depths of Raven’s stomach. This woman knew her husband far more intimately than she herself ever was likely to. And she could well understand if he was attracted to the golden-haired woman in return. The hostess was older than Kell, perhaps nearing forty, but still incredibly beautiful.

Yet in spite of her instinctive jealousy, Raven found herself liking Emma and feeling ashamed of her ungrateful thoughts. Thus far Emma had proven a firm ally. Admittedly her cordiality surprised Raven. She would have thought a mistress wouldn’t relish having an unexpected wife for a rival. But then, perhaps Emma didn’t consider her a rival for Kell’s affections, since he wasn’t sharing her bed.

Raven was glad, however, when the talk turned to less serious matters, namely how a gaming hell was run. She was extremely curious about the notorious male world that had always been denied to her, and asked numerous questions, which Emma patiently answered.

Her fascination was piqued further after tea during her guided tour of the club, when she was shown the large, richly paneled gaming room where the hazard table stood. O’Malley had taught her how to shoot dice, but she knew the game of hazard involved far more than tossing bits of ivory. It was a complex betting game where players wagered on the combinations thrown.

The oval-shaped mahogany table was indented on either side-to provide a place for the croupier to stand, Raven presumed. The surface was covered with a fine green cloth marked with single and double yellow lines. Completing the table were chairs for the gamesters, boxes, bowls, and small hand rakes.

“What are these used for?” Raven asked, indicating the accessories.

“Those are dice boxes,” Emma explained. “The bowls are for holding counters-worth differing amounts of money-and the rakes are for drawing them in.”

“And one player casts the dice?”

“Yes. His initial throws establish what are called the main and the chance. How subsequent throws match those determines who wins and loses. The most successful players are able to calculate the odds of various casts. Shall I show you?”

Raven started to reply that she would enjoy a demonstration, but just then a masculine voice sounded from behind her.

“Would you care to explain what you’re doing in my gaming room?” her husband asked in a disapproving tone.

Her pulse quickening, Raven glanced over her shoulder to find Kell moving toward her. Awareness shivered down her spine as she met his unsettling gaze. The physical effect he had on her never failed to startle her. The mere sound of his voice stirred her senses, while her blood seemed to thicken at his nearness.

Disciplining her thoughts, however, she fished in her reticule and withdrew the dice she had brought with her, but kept them hidden in her closed fingers.

“I was just showing Raven around,” Emma answered for her.

“Thank you, but I will take over from here.”

For a moment Emma looked as if she might argue, but then she offered Raven a smile and took her leave.

“What are you doing here?” Kell repeated when the hostess had gone.

“I was curious,” Raven replied. “I have never seen a game of hazard played.”

“This is no place for a lady.”

Raven arched an eyebrow. “You sound remarkably like my aunt. Do you really mean to suggest my presence here offends your sense of propriety?”

Did it? Kell asked himself. It would be hypocritical to claim he didn’t want his wife at his gaming hell because it was improper. Some men, even rakes and libertines, became excessively conservative about their wives upon marriage, but it was absurd to be entertaining proprietary notions or feelings of possessiveness toward Raven. She wasn’t his wife in the true sense of the word-or even his woman.

Yet he didn’t want her here. His club was his one haven from her. Ever since Raven had begun sharing his house, he’d found it impossible to shed his awareness of her. He didn’t want her invading his sole refuge. Not that he intended to let her know how profoundly she affected him.

“Besides,” she was pointing out, “I understand from Emma that several ladies frequent your club.”

“Perhaps, but they don’t have a scandal hanging over their heads. Or they don’t give a fig about their reputations. And you haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”

“Actually, I wished to speak to you. I wanted to thank you, for one thing. I am profoundly grateful that you sent Sean away.”

Kell nodded. “Very well, I’ll consider myself thanked. Now you can go.”

Raven made a face. “You can’t evict me without undermining our pretense of being happily married.”

Kell’s gaze narrowed. “I believe we had an agreement. If I escorted you to the Wycliffs’ ball, you pledged never to ask me for another favor, remember?”

“This has nothing to do with favors. This concerns the fate of your club.” She hesitated. “Have you heard what Halford has been saying about you?”

His lips thinned in a hard line. “I’ve heard,” he replied grimly.

“Well, we must do something. We have to try to stem those terrible rumors.”

“I doubt anything I could do would have an effect.”

“Lord Wolverton has offered to sponsor you in society. Dare believes that if you would only ingratiate yourself with the ton’s leaders, you might be able to weather Halford’s accusations.”

Kell shook his head. It rubbed painfully against the grain to accept help from anyone; most certainly he didn’t want to be beholden to Raven for her friends’ intervention. “I’m not about to accept charity from the Marquess of Wolverton.”

“It wouldn’t be charity in the least. He would be doing it for my sake. Besides, you are always aiding others. Emma told me about all the street urchins you’ve rescued. It is only fair that you be the recipient for a change.”

Kell grimaced. He didn’t like having his secrets probed any more than he liked having to deal with his beautiful wife’s nearness. “You are much too interested in my affairs,” he observed.

She didn’t respond to that charge but took another tack. “Kell…I can understand why you scorn society, but this is another matter altogether. Your club is in danger.”

“It isn’t your concern.”

“But it is.” Raven gave him an imploring look. “I am the reason your reputation is being maligned. I cannot simply meekly return home and forget the trouble you are in. I won’t stand idly by while you are ruined.”

“I’m not giving you a choice. I don’t need or want your help.”

Frustration shone in her blue eyes. “I don’t understand why you must be so stubborn!”

Kell steeled himself against his own frustration, wishing Raven would just go away and leave him in peace. Her very nearness was a temptation. Yet if he wanted her gone, he would have to drive her away. But how, other than physical threats…?

Assessing her, he responded to the devil prompting him. “There is only one thing I might want from you, vixen.”

She looked taken aback. “Oh? And what is that?”

“Perhaps you can guess.” He reached out to brush her breast through her gown, making her start in alarm. “Carnal relations. You can fulfill my carnal needs.”

Her sharp intake of breath was supremely satisfying.

“I see I have shocked you,” Kell murmured. “How entertaining to render you speechless.”

Raven ignored his baiting, however, and searched his face, her gaze both serious and wary. “Do you truly want relations between us?”

Kell felt his loins pulse at the prospect. Too clearly he remembered the tight, glorious fit of his hard flesh in the hot, wet softness of hers. “No,” he denied swiftly. “I’m perfectly satisfied with our mock marriage, with neither of us demanding or expecting anything from the other.”

“But will you at least consider taking Dare up on his offer? I know it wounds your pride to consider accepting help-”

“My pride is none of your concern.”

Her lips pressed together for a moment, but then she narrowed her eyes, the picture of determination. “Very well, then. I have a proposition for you.”

Kell gave her a measuring look. “Why would I be interested in any proposition of yours?”

“Because you are a gamester, and you can’t resist a wager. I will gamble with you for your agreement, Kell. A few throws of the dice. If I can roll seven or eleven three times in a row, you will allow Wolverton to help you.”

“And if not?”

“Then I will never bother you about the subject again. I will stand back and let your good name be ruined and your club destroyed with my blessing.”

Kell eyed her in speculation, wondering what she was up to.

“Are you afraid I might win?” Raven taunted, a bright challenge in her eyes.

He wanted to tell her to go to the devil, but curiosity got the better of him. He pushed the dice box toward her, then leaned indolently against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go ahead then, roll.”

Shaking her head, she opened her fist, showing a pair of dice. With a smug look, she juggled them a time or two and tossed the bits of ivory on the table, rolling a combination of eleven.

When Kell raised an eyebrow, Raven smiled serenely.

The second throw was just as successful. A seven. She gathered the dice and started to throw again.

His hand reached out to close over hers, staying her. Prying open her fingers, Kell captured the dice, hefting them in his hand.

Understanding dawned, as did anger. “These are weighted,” he said harshly.

“I never claimed they weren’t,” Raven responded, her own tone dulcet. “You merely assumed I would use your dice.”

Kell took a step toward her, reaching up to wrap his fingers around her throat in a gentle vise. “I don’t tolerate cheating in my establishment.”

A fleeting smile wreathed her mouth. “I never doubted it for a moment. But we must make everyone else see that.”

Praying for patience, Kell shut his eyes. “I’ve been gulled like the veriest greenhorn, haven’t I?”

“I’m afraid so.” Pulling his fingers from her throat, Raven eased from his grasp. “But I cheated for a good cause.”

Seeing the mirth trembling on her lips, Kell choked back his own bark of laughter and cursed instead. “Where in hell did you get a pair of loaded dice? No, don’t tell me. O’Malley.”

“Yes. He taught me to play cards and shoot dice.”

“And pistols as well,” Kell said darkly, remembering.

“Well, yes. He contributed a great deal to my education.”

“Your education was damned peculiar for a young lady.”

“I won’t argue with you on that point. My mother would have been appalled had she known.”

She took the dice from him and threw again. Another seven. “I believe I just won,” she said, her tone unwisely triumphant.

But Kell wasn’t willing to let her escape so easily. Grasping her arm, he turned Raven to face him and, with his body, crowded her against the hazard table, bracing his arms on either side of her to prevent her escape.

“Do you know what I do to cheats?” he asked, his voice a silken menace.

“No, what?” she said breathlessly.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her and wipe that knowing gleam from her incredible blue eyes. “I throw them out on their ears.”

“Would you really be so cruel to me?”

At the laughter in her question, a dozen thoughts rushed through his mind; foremost was how badly he wanted her. It would be so simple to lift her onto the table and drive himself home between her parted thighs…

Without volition, he reached up to trail his knuckles along the delicate curve of Raven’s jaw. Instantly he heard her breath catch, saw her lips part in surprise at the heated tension that suddenly sizzled between them.

Riveted, Raven stared back at him. Kell’s unexpected caress had made her stomach muscles contract, made her nipples stiffen. The feel of his hard, powerful body pressing against her own aroused a yearning ache between her thighs…

He bent closer, his eyes dark as polished onyx, his lips hovering above hers. She trembled at the warm breath dazing her senses, fearing how she would respond if Kell decided to kiss her, wondering if she could possibly deny him.

But she wasn’t required to make a decision, for suddenly he gritted his teeth and stepped back, putting a safe distance between them, his features totally shuttered.

“Go. Now,” Kell demanded. “Get out before I think of something even more cruel to do to you.”

Raven wisely decided to take his advice. Shakily she picked up her dice and fled the room.

Emma was in the entry hall, apparently waiting to say farewell. Raven exerted herself to respond calmly as she accepted her cloak from the doorman.

She had turned to go when she felt Kell’s presence. When she glanced back, she saw he had moved to stand beside Emma, one hand resting lightly on the blond-haired woman’s shoulder.

Raven felt her stomach twist with a different kind of awareness; that intimate gesture was one of a man toward his lover.

She drew a painful breath. It stung to think that the beautiful hostess was the one claiming Kell’s attentions at night while she lay alone in her bed.

Pasting a frigid smile on her mouth, though, she made a dignified exit, her head held high.

She stirred restlessly in the twilight between waking and sleeping, seeking release from the growing wildness inside her. Her pirate’s worshiping mouth was on her naked breast, roughly tender, his lips suckling her taut, straining nipple. She quivered with her quickened breathing as his rasping tongue laved in a fiery circling.

Below she felt the brush of his fingers stroking possessively against her moist cleft, rimming the slick, honeyed entrance to her body. She arched, wanting him, aching for him.

In response, his caressing lips left off tormenting her bare breasts and moved lower, his open mouth seeking her sex, his breath hot on her exposed, sensitive flesh. She released a choked moan of pleasure as he probed the swollen, aching folds with his tongue.

When she began to writhe, he pressed his face harder between her legs, both hands gripping the curves of her buttocks to hold her to him while his tongue licked and stabbed her with fire, making her burn with desire.

Her body clenched unbearably, her fingers clutching in his hair.

Yet he refused to satisfy her. Pressing one last tantalizing kiss to the core of her, he rose above her. His face was shadowed, but she could feel his intensity, his burning sensuality as he stroked the velvet hardness of his arousal against her.

Then he lowered himself upon her, the sleek heavy weight of his body pressing her shivering thighs wide.

“You are my passion and my pain,” he whispered, his voice rough.

The restlessness inside her stirred harder, hotter.

When his rigid flesh sank into her, she gasped and held him closer, drawing him even more deeply, sheathing him tightly. And when he began to move, she wound her legs around him and lifted herself to match his fierce thrusting.

It was a short, almost violent mating, her soft whimpers turning to cries as her senses erupted in climax. She shuddered as the spasms convulsed through her.

Yet when the throbbing of her body finally ebbed, when the heated pulses faded away, she still felt unsated.

Raven stirred to wakefulness, feeling the sharp lash of disappointment. She had let her mind slip into her dream world of illusion where she usually found fulfillment, but this time the usual pleasure had been missing. Even now the hungry yearning was still there, clamoring inside her. The wildness still pulled at her, along with a strange emptiness…

Rolling over, Raven drew the sheet to her naked breasts. What had gone wrong? Her fantasy lover had never before failed her like this.

She had created him to fulfill her ideals. He was all she could ask for in a lover-tender, commanding, passionate, sharp-witted. A nameless, faceless soul mate who stirred her blood and calmed her restless spirit. He rarely spoke except to challenge her, seeing her as his equal, not a conquest to be dominated or subjugated.

With him she found the tenderness she craved, the love she dared not seek from any real man. Her pirate was her protection from heartache. She could surrender to him without fear of losing herself.

But he had never seemed so insubstantial as now.

Raven shut her eyes, envisioning her pirate lover. The hard, virile face. The thick, dark lashes. The eyes that were hot, intense, passionate…

Oh, God…Kell.

She groaned softly, trying to shut out his powerful image. He bore too damningly close a resemblance to her imaginary lover.

A twinge of panic coursed through Raven as she tried to rationalize this disquieting turn of events. There was a logical reason she’d found her fantasy so disappointing. She now had a standard to compare to.

For the first time in her life, she knew what real passion was. She knew the touch of a flesh and blood man, his taste, his scent, his fiery heat… She knew Kell.

She groaned again, remembering how he had aroused her passion on her wedding night.

Murmuring a low oath, Raven buried her face in the pillow, determined to crush her vivid memories of that night. Of him.

She couldn’t deny the distressing realization, though. Her fantasy lover was no longer as satisfying as her very real husband.

The elusive husband who wanted nothing to do with her.