Awakening the Ravensdale Heiress (The Ravensdale Scandals) Read online

  Miranda sucked in a breath as he slid his hands up under her top, the warmth of his palms against her skin sending her senses reeling. His hand came to the sensitive underside of her breast, stilling there as if to give her time to prepare for a more intimate touch. She moved against him, silently urging him to touch her.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said.

  Miranda had always felt a little on the small side, especially since her mother was so well-endowed. But Leandro’s touch made her feel as if she was the most gorgeously proportioned woman he had ever touched.

  He brought his mouth down to her right breast in a gentle caress that made her spine tingle from top to bottom. He circled her tight nipple with his tongue before he swept it over the underside of her breast where every nerve fizzed and leapt in response.

  He came back to take her nipple in his mouth, drawing on her with just the right amount of suction. A frisson of excitement shot down between her legs, pooling in the warm, moist heart of her body. She had never felt desire like it. Her body had developed cravings and capabilities she’d had no idea it possessed. Never had she felt such intense ripples of delight go through her flesh.

  He switched his attention to her other breast, leaving no part of it unexplored by his lips and tongue. The electric sensations ricocheted through her body, making her utter little gasping cries as he came back to cover her mouth.

  His kiss was purposeful, passionate, consuming. His tongue came in search of hers, stroking, caressing and conquering, delighting her senses, stirring her passion to an even higher level.

  Miranda threaded her fingers through his hair, stroking the back of his neck, going lower to his shoulders and back. She brought her hands around to the front of his shirt, undoing his buttons with more haste than efficiency. He shrugged himself out of it before helping her with her pyjama top. She watched as his eyes feasted on her naked form but, instead of feeling shy and inadequate, she felt feminine and beautiful.

  He brought his mouth down to each of her breasts, subjecting them to another passionate exploration that made her insides shudder with longing. She made breathless little sounds of approval, her lower body on fire as it sought the intimate invasion of his.

  Her hands glided down his chest, exploring the sculpted perfection of his toned body. She came to the waistband of his jeans, shyly skating her hand over the potent bulge below. He reached down and unfastened his jeans so her hand could go lower. Miranda took up the invitation with new-found boldness, delighting in the feel of his tautly stretched skin, thrilled by the way his body responded to her with every glide and stroke of her fingers. Moisture oozed from him as her thumb moved over the head of his penis, that most primal signal of the readiness to mate. She could feel her own moisture gathering between her legs, the deep, low ache of need throbbing with relentless urgency.

  He gently eased her out of her pyjama bottoms, sliding them down her thighs with reverent care. She snatched in a hitching breath when his fingertip traced the seam of her body. His touch was so light, so careful, yet it stirred every nerve in her body into a riotous happy dance.

  ‘I don’t want to rush you,’ he said.

  Rush me! Rush me! Miranda silently pleaded. ‘You’re not... It’s just...been a while.’

  Leandro meshed his gaze with hers. ‘I want to make it good for you. Tell me what you like.’

  Anything you do will be just fine, Miranda thought. Even the way he looked at her was enough to send her senses into the stratosphere. ‘I’m not very good at this...’

  His brows came together. ‘You have had sex, haven’t you?’

  She moved her gaze out of reach of his. ‘Yes, of course...’

  He gently inched up her chin so her eyes came back to his. ‘But?’

  Miranda moistened her lips, suddenly feeling shy and hopelessly inadequate again. What a pariah he would think her. So inexperienced she didn’t know what worked for her and what didn’t. How could she tell him she hadn’t had an orgasm other than on her own? That she had found sex a bit one-sided? He would think her a prude, an unsophisticated Victorian throwback. She bet the women he dated—the Nicoles—would know exactly what worked for them and what didn’t. They would be totally comfortable with their bodies and its needs. They would know what to say and what to do. They wouldn’t be feeling gauche and stupid and useless because they had never had satisfying sex with a partner.

  ‘Miranda?’ Leandro prompted softly, his dark eyes holding hers.

  Miranda drew her lower lip into her mouth, pressing down on it with her top one. ‘It wasn’t always good for me with Mark,’ she said at last. ‘It wasn’t his fault. We were both inexperienced. I should’ve said something earlier. But then he got sick and I just let him do what he needed.’

  Leandro’s frown was a solid bar across his eyes. ‘Did you ever come with him?’

  She could feel her cheeks heating up like a radiator. ‘No...’

  He cupped the side of her face in one of his broad but gentle hands, his thumb moving back and forth in a slow, measured way. ‘So you’re practically a virgin,’ he said.

  Miranda lowered her gaze. ‘I know you probably think that’s ridiculous...that I’m ridiculous.’

  He continued to stroke her hot cheek, his gaze soft as it held hers. ‘I don’t think that at all,’ he said. ‘It’s not always easy for young women to get their needs met. Men can be insensitive and ignorant and selfish. That’s why communication is so important.’

  Miranda looked into the warmth of his coal-black gaze and wondered how she was going to keep her heart secure. He was so considerate, so understanding and so deeply insightful. Hadn’t she always sensed he was a cut above other men? Why was he wasting himself on shallow relationships when he had so much to offer? He was ‘life partner’ material. The sort of man who would stand by his partner through thick and thin. He would be dependable, loyal and trustworthy. He would put his partner’s needs before his own. Like he was doing now. He was taking the time to understand her. Treating her with the utmost respect and consideration.

  She put her hand against his jaw, her skin tingling at the contact of his stubble. ‘Make love to me,’ she said in a soft whisper.

  He leaned down to kiss her in a lingering exchange that made her body tremble in anticipation. His hands moved over her with tenderness but with the undercurrent of passion. Excitement coursed through her from head to toe, her breathing becoming faster, more urgent, as he stoked the fire of her desire. Sensations flooded her being, showers of them, cascades of them, great, spilling fountains of them that made her feel she had been sleepwalking through life until now.

  He kissed his way from her mouth to her belly button, dipping his tongue into its tiny cave before going lower. She forgot to breathe when he came to her folds. His tongue moved down the seam of her body, tracing her without separating her. Fireworks erupted under her skin at the feel of his warm breath skating over her.

  He gently separated her with his fingers, waiting for her to take a steadying breath before he put his mouth to her. A host of insecurities rushed through her brain. Was she fresh enough? Was she waxed enough? Did she look normal? Was he comparing her to his other lovers?

  Leandro placed his hand on her belly in a stabilising manner. ‘Relax for me, cara,’ he said. ‘Stop fretting. You’re beautiful. Perfect.’

  How could he read her mind as well as her body? Miranda wondered. But then she stopped thinking altogether as he put his mouth to her again. His tongue tasted and tantalised her, stroking and caressing her into spine-loosening delight. The tension inside her body built to a breaking point. It was like climbing a mountain only to be suspended at the edge of the precipice. Hovering there. Wavering. Teetering at that one tight, breath-robbing point, every cell in her body straining, pulling and contracting until finally she was pitched into the unknown. She felt like she was exploding into a thousand tiny fragments, like a party balloon full of glitter. Waves of pleasure washed over her, through her, tossing and
tumbling her until she was spinning in a whirlpool of physical rapture.

  Leandro came back over her to press a tender kiss to the side of her mouth. ‘Good?’

  Miranda could smell her own female scent on him. Such raw intimacy shocked her and yet somehow it felt right. She looked at him in a combination of wonder and residual shyness. ‘You know it was.’

  He kissed her on the lips, on the chin, on each of her eyelids and then back on her mouth. ‘It’ll get better when you feel more comfortable with me,’ he said.

  You’d better not get too comfortable, a little voice piped up inside her head.

  Miranda ignored it as she moved underneath the delicious weight of his body, her senses stirring all over again at the thought of him possessing her fully. She reached down to caress him, stroking his turgid length with increasing confidence, watching as he showed his pleasure at her touch on his features and in the way he gave deep, growly groans in his throat.

  He pulled back from her with a sucked-in breath. ‘I’d better put on a condom.’

  Miranda waited while he got one out of his wallet where it was sitting on the bedside chest-of-drawers. He sheathed himself before coming back over her, making sure she was comfortable with his weight by angling his body over hers. She stroked her hands down his back from the tops of his shoulders to the base of his spine, drawing him closer to the deep ache in her core.

  He couldn’t have been gentler as he entered her but even so her breath caught at the sensation of him filling her. ‘Am I hurting you?’ he said, holding still.

  She released a long, slow breath to help herself relax. ‘No...’

  ‘Sure?’

  She smiled and stroked his lean, tanned jaw as she looked into his concerned gaze. ‘You worry too much.’

  He brushed her hair back from her forehead in a tender action. ‘You’re so tiny I feel like I’m going to break you.’

  Something hot and liquid spilled and flowed in Miranda’s belly. Could there be a man more in tune with a woman’s sense of vulnerability? ‘I’m tougher than I look,’ she said, reaching up to kiss him on the lips.

  He deepened the kiss as he moved within her, going in stages so she could have time to adjust to his length and width. He began to move in slow, rhythmic strokes, the gentle friction tantalising her senses, driving up her need until she was making soft little noises of encouragement in case he took it upon himself to stop. Miranda felt she would die if he stopped. The craving of her body rose to fever pitch. She felt it clawing at her, frantically trying to attain assuagement. She was almost there...poised to go over the edge but frustratingly unable to let go.

  Leandro reached between their bodies, used his fingers to coax her and suddenly she was there, falling, falling, falling. Coming apart in a bigger and more intense way than before. Her body contracted around his, each spasm of her orgasm taking her to new even more exciting heights of pleasure.

  She felt the exact moment he let go. He gave a low, deep groan and surged, his breath coming out in a hot gust against the side of her neck as he shuddered and emptied.

  Miranda held him close, her hands moving over his muscled back and shoulders, massaging him, stroking and caressing him in that rare moment of male vulnerability.

  She didn’t know what to say so said nothing. Her senses were so dazed by the power of their physical connection it was impossible to articulate how she felt. She wondered why she didn’t feel ashamed. She had broken her promise to Mark but how could she regret something so...so magical as Leandro’s love-making? He had shown her what her body was capable of feeling. He had opened up a world of pleasure she hadn’t known existed. Not like that. Not so powerfully consuming it had made her disconnect from her mind. Her body had taken over. Her primitive nature had driven her. Controlled her. Surprised her. Shocked her.

  Leandro shifted his weight to his elbows to look at her. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey.’ Her voice came out husky, whisper-soft.

  He stroked his fingertip in a circle over her chin, his look rueful. ‘I’ve given you beard rash.’

  Miranda’s breath caught on something. ‘Just as well we’re not around anyone we know,’ she said lightly. ‘Jaz would spot it in a heartbeat. I’d never hear the end of it.’

  A frown created two pleats over his dark, serious eyes. ‘You think she’d disapprove?’

  Miranda recalled her conversation with her friend at Jaz’s bridal boutique. ‘No,’ she said. ‘She thinks you’ve been interested in me for a while.’

  Something flickered over his face like a wind rippling across sand. He moved away from her to dispose of the condom. It was a long moment before he met her gaze. ‘I don’t want you to think this is more than it is.’

  She did her best to ignore the little jab of disappointment his words evoked. ‘I know what this is, Leandro.’

  He moved his tongue around the inside of his cheek as if he was rehearsing something before he said it. ‘It’s not that I don’t care about you. I do. You’re an incredibly special person to me. As are all of your family. But this is as far as it goes.’

  Miranda got off the bed, dragging the sheet with her to cover her nakedness. ‘Do we really need to have this conversation?’ she said. ‘We both know the rules. No one’s going to suddenly move the goal posts.’

  His expression was as inscrutable as that of one of the marble statues downstairs. ‘You deserve more,’ he said. ‘You’re young. Beautiful. Talented. You’d make someone a wonderful wife and mother.’

  ‘I don’t want those things any more,’ she said. ‘That dream was taken away. I don’t want it with anyone else.’ Even as she said the words Miranda wondered why they didn’t sound as convincing as they once had. She had made that heartfelt promise just moments before Mark had died. There will be no one else for me. Ever. I will always be yours.

  Mark’s parents had been there with her at his bedside in ICU. The heart-wrenching emotion of saying goodbye, of watching as someone she loved took their last breaths, had made Miranda all the more determined to stay true to her promise. But now, as an adult, she wondered more and more if she had truly loved Mark enough to sign away her life. Or had his illness given her a purpose—a mission to follow that gave her life meaning, direction and significance?

  She didn’t know who she was without that mission. That purpose. It was too frightening to live without it. It had defined her, shaped her and motivated her for the last seven years.

  Leandro made a sound of derision that scraped at her raw nerves. ‘You’re a fool to throw your life away for a selfish teenager who should’ve known better than to play with your emotions like that. For God’s sake, Miranda, he didn’t even have the decency to satisfy you in bed and yet you persist with this nonsense he was the love of your life.’

  Miranda didn’t want to hear Leandro vocalise what she was too frightened to think, to confront—to deal with. She drew in a scalding breath as she turned for the door. ‘I don’t have to listen to this. I know what I felt—feel.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Leandro said. ‘Run away. That’s what you do when things cut a little close to the bone.’

  She swung back to glare at him. ‘Isn’t that what you do, Leandro? You haven’t been back here since you were a child. Your father died without you saying a proper goodbye to him. Doesn’t that tell you something?’

  His jaw clamped so tightly two spots of white appeared either side of his mouth. ‘I wasn’t welcome here. My father made that perfectly clear.’

  Miranda dropped her shoulders on a frustrated sigh. How could he be so blind about his father? Couldn’t he see what was right in front of his eyes? He was surrounded by everything his father had treasured the most: rooms and rooms full of wonderful, priceless pieces, paintings worth millions of pounds. Not to mention Rosie’s things—her clothes and toys, the life-like statue in the garden—all left to Leandro’s care. ‘And yet he left you everything,’ she said. ‘Everything he valued he left to you. He could have donated it all to chari
ty as you’re threatening to do but he didn’t. He left it all to you because you meant something to him. You were his only son. I don’t believe he would’ve left you a thing if he didn’t love you. He did love you. He just didn’t know how to show it. Maybe his grief over Rosie got in the way.’

  Leandro’s throat rose and fell. He turned away to plough his fingers through his hair, the silence so acute she heard the scrape of his fingers against his scalp.

  It seemed a decade before he spoke. ‘I’d like to be alone.’

  Miranda’s heart gave a painful spasm at the rawness of his tone. What had made her speak so out of turn? She knew nothing of the heartbreak he had been through. She didn’t know his father. She had never met him. She had no idea of how Leandro’s relationship with him had operated. She was an armchair survivor. Leandro had every right to be furious with her. What right did she have to criticise his decision to stay away from his childhood home? He had suffered cruelly for his part in his sister’s disappearance. A part he wasn’t even responsible for, given he had been so young. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should never have said what I said. It was insensitive and...’

  ‘Please.’ His voice was curt. ‘Just leave.’

  Miranda went over to him, undaunted by his terse tone. She didn’t want to be dismissed. Pushed away. Rejected. She didn’t want their wonderful physical connection to be overshadowed by an argument that should never have happened. What they had shared was too important. Too special to be tainted by a misunderstanding. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, looking up at his tautly set features. ‘Please don’t push me away,’ she said. ‘Not now. Not after what we shared.’

  He looked at her for a beat or two before he placed his hand over hers where it was resting on his arm. He gave her hand a light squeeze, the line of his mouth rueful. ‘You’re right,’ he said on the back end of a sigh. ‘I should’ve come back before now.’