Free The Prize by Brenda Joyce Page A

but he
didn't bother to say so. The countess loved to chat idly after their various
bouts of lovemaking. She had been the source of much of his information about
Eastleigh for the past six years, so he usually encouraged her chatter.
    Now she murmured,
"I have missed you, Dev."
    There was simply
nothing to be said; he took her hand and placed it firmly on his swollen shaft.
"Show me," he said.
    "Spoken like a
true commander," she said hoarsely, lowering her head.
    He hadn't meant to
give an order, but it was his nature now. He didn't move, waiting patiently for
her to nibble and lick him, watching her dispassionately as she did so. One day
Eastleigh would learn of their affair—he had only to decide which moment to
choose.
    Suddenly she lifted
her head and smiled up at him. "Will you ever tell me that you have missed
me, too?"
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    Devlin tensed.
"Elizabeth, there is a better time for discussion."
    "Is there? The
only time we are together is in moments like these. I wonder what beats beneath
your chest? Sometimes, Dev, I do think your heart is cast of stone."
    His erection had been
complete for some time, and talking was actually painful. But he said,
"Have I ever made you any promises, Elizabeth?"
    "No, you have
not." She sat up, facing him. "But it's been six years, and oddly, I
have become quite fond of you."
    He did not respond.
He did not know what to say, for once in his life at a loss.
    "I may be in
love with you, Dev," she said, her gaze riveted to his.
    Devlin stared at her
attractive face, a face as enticing as her body. He carefully considered his
words. He felt nothing for her, not even friendship; she was a means to an end.
But he didn't dislike her—it was her husband whom he hated, not Elizabeth
Hughes. He preferred for things to remain exactly as they were—he did not wish
for her to be hurt, and not out of compassion. He was not a compassionate man.
The world was a battlefield, and in battle, compassion was a prelude to death.
He did not want to hurt Elizabeth only because she remained so useful to him;
he wanted her at his disposal, on his terms, not hurt and angry and spiteful.
    "That would not
be wise," he finally said.
    "Can't you just
pretend?" she asked wistfully. "Lie to me, just once?"
    He didn't hesitate.
He rubbed his thumb over her lips, ignoring the tear he had just glimpsed
forming in her eye, and then he rubbed it lower, over her throat, her chest
and, finally, a swelling nipple. His mouth followed in the path of his finger.
Several moments later, they were once again entwined in frenzy, with Devlin
pounding deeply and forcefully inside her.
    Several hours later,
Devlin tested the water in his hip bath and found it warm enough. Elizabeth was
dressing; he climbed into the claw-footed tub and sank down into the tepid
water. After months at sea, the temperature was very pleasant. He'd had enough
climaxes so that now, finally, his mind remained a blessed blank and there were
no monsters to defeat.
    "Darling?"
    Devlin jerked—he had
dozed off hi his bath. Elizabeth smiled at him, elegantly dressed in a
sapphire-blue gown with black velvet trim. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have
awoken you!" she exclaimed. "Devlin, you look so enticing in that
bath, I could jump right in with you."
    He raised a brow.
"Isn't Eastleigh expecting you?"
    She frowned. "We
have supper plans, so yes, he is. I just wanted to tell you that I will be in
town for another two weeks."
    He understood. She
wished to see him again before he shipped out, but that was perfectly fine with
him. "I haven't received my official orders yet," he said carefully,
"so I do not know when my next tour begins."
    Her eyes brightened.
"Tomorrow? Tomorrow afternoon?"
    He smiled a little at
her. "That would be fine, Elizabeth. Will Eastleigh also remain in
town?" he asked. The question would seem innocent enough to her. After
all, any lover would ask such a question.
    "Fortunately,
the answer to that