Lost Lady by Jude Deveraux Page A

little Wainwright? Tell me, how many men have you gotten to know? How many times have you been in love?”
    He wasn’t prepared for her answer.
    â€œOne man,” she said quietly. “I’ve been in love once, and I can’t imagine it ever happening again.”
    Travis studied her expression for a moment, the way her eyes softened with a faraway look, the gentle way her mouth curved up at the corners.
    One moment Regan was thinking of Farrell, how he’d asked her to marry him, and the next she was sputtering as Travis tossed the soap into the water in front of her eyes.
    â€œFinish it yourself, or wait for your lover to come and do it,” he growled before slamming from the cabin.
    Smiling, feeling she’d at last made him jealous, she left the tub and began to dry herself. She thought that perhaps it was good for Travis to realize that he wasn’t the only person in her life, that maybe other people existed in the world. When she got to America and they parted ways, perhaps he’d not be so sure she couldn’t make it on her own, maybe even find a man like Farrell, someone who would love her and not think she was an ignorant child.
    Climbing into bed, she suddenly felt very lonely. Farrell didn’t love her; he’d wanted her for her money. Her uncle didn’t want her either, and Travis, this strange, arrogant, kind man, made it clear he only wanted her for the moment. Alone, tired, hungry, miserable, she began to cry.
    When Travis pulled her into his arms, she clutched at him, scared that he’d leave her too. “Hush, sweet, be quiet. You’re safe now,” he whispered, trying to soothe her, but when her lips fastened to his, he no longer thought of comfort.
    She had no idea if it was being close to the illness all day or her thoughts of being alone, but she was ravenous for Travis. She didn’t think about the fact that she was a prisoner or that she should at least be a reluctant lover. Her only thought was that she needed him desperately, needed for him to hold her, to love her, to make her feel as if she were part of the world and not a useless, unneeded appendage.
    Boldly, she put her fingers into his shirt opening, sending a button flying across the room. The hair on his chest was so masculine, reminding her of his maleness. Her fingertips explored, not gently but firmly, roughly even, rubbing the texture of his skin, feeling it grow hot beneath her touch.
    Tossing her to the bed, he pulled back to remove the rest of his clothes. His eyes were ablaze, his mouth full and hot. As he turned to sit on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots, Regan was left with his broad, muscular back to her mercies. Her teeth nipped his shoulders while the tips of her breasts lightly and electrifyingly grazed across his spine. Lips soon followed down the deep curve of the bone, kissing, caressing, tasting his flesh. Thumbs digging into his sides, fingertips on his ribs, she stroked the back of him with the front of her. The deep indentations of muscle, his strength, now so quiet under her touch, were heady, making her surge with her own sense of power.
    She kissed his earlobe, nipping it sharply, then gave a low, purring laugh. In one swift movement, Travis turned, pulled her into his arms, and was on top of her. She was as eager as he was and more than ready for him.
    Travis was blinded by her forwardness, for once not holding back in consideration of her delicate sensibilities. He treated her with all the fire and passion he felt, thrusting hard, massaging her buttocks with his hands, holding her closer and closer.
    When at last their release came in a tempest of rapture, they slowly, slowly began to give way to a mass of exhausted, shaking, weak flesh.
    â€œWhat have you done to me?” Travis gasped, holding her so close he threatened to smother her.
    Regan only clutched at him, too tired to think. As she easily fell into a deep sleep, she was unaware of Travis