Page 469 of From Rakes to Riches

She made some strangled sound at the back of her throat, and then a soft, whimpering sigh that heated his blood to a boil. His nostrils flared, reveling in the scent of her… an impossibly familiar scent. How was it possible that he could remember her scent so perfectly?

More than anything, he longed to taste her soft, luscious body... every inch… inhale the scent of her into his long-deprived lungs. He growled—a fierce sound of unrepentant triumph—as she allowed his lips to descend at long last to the mouth he’d only dreamt about much too long—and Lord help him, he was lost the moment he tasted her essence on his tongue. In all his days, he couldn’t have expected how sweet she’d taste… how supple her lips would feel beneath the play of his own. In fact, nothing could have prepared him for the silky warmth of her mouth, and the glorious mysteries held within.

And he didn’t think he could stop with a single kiss…

No more could he do so than he’d been able to forget those bewitching eyes, or her brilliant smile, or her laughter, or the impertinent tilt of her head, and the stubborn lift of her chin.

But even more than her kisses, he craved her sweet, sweet laughter…

One kiss…just one.

So easily Margaret was undone.

She moaned softly as his lips coaxed hers—velvet steel against her pliant mouth, insistent and sleek, tempting her to open for him, like the petals of a flower to a hungry bee.

Instinctively, she slid her hands about his neck, entwining her arms there, and he groaned savagely, sending another delicious shiver down her spine.

That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. He swept Margaret into his arms, lifting her as though she weighed no more than a child.

No time for protests, no time to think. She found herself seated quite scandalously perched upon his lap, his arms bracing her for the onslaught of his mouth.

After a moment, he lifted his head and said, “You cannot know how much I have longed for this, Maggie. From the moment I laid eyes upon you.”

He bent again, closing his mouth over hers, and Margaret whimpered.

“Open for me,” he said, as he slid his tongue across her lips, persuading her with the soft caresses. Margaret swallowed and did as he bade her, her body thrilling to his declaration… to the intimate way he said her name. She thrilled as his tongue slid into her mouth, liquid fire between her lips, exploring...

Moaning, she tilted her head while his hands held her face in an intimate embrace that made her heart cry out for more—and more, and more, and more!

Never in her life had she been held so tenderly. Never had she perceived a mere touch could be so exhilarating. Never had she been kissed. Nor, in truth, had she ever imagined she would yearn to give her soul to the first man who dared to hold her.

“Give me your tongue, Margaret,” he whispered, and Margaret could do nothing but obey, offering it tentatively atfirst, then more boldly. But he might have asked her for anything in that instant, and she would have given it to him willingly.

He made some sound, part groan, part chuckle, when she thrust her tongue at him, and then ever-so-gently, he suckled... until Margaret thought she might die with the soul-stirring pleasure that spiraled through her body.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, abandoning her tongue to suckle at her lips. Shiver upon shiver rippled down her spine as he nibbled at her lips, nipping and tugging with his teeth, and then suckling again to soothe the erotic sting. A poppet in his arms, Margaret clung to him, afraid she might tumble backward into the undiscovered abyss of her own desire.

Wrappinghis arms about Margaret’s waist and folding his hands at the small of her back, Gabriel attempted to reign in his lust... for her sake.

His heart pounded like cannon fire against his ribs. She was making this too easy… not that he wouldn’t normally appreciate such enthusiasm, he acknowledged to himself, but he wanted her with no regrets.

He should stop now, he realized.

He should drag her away and set her neatly upon her own seat, well out of his reach, but he couldn’t seem to make himself obey. The fingers curled about his nape clutched at him too desperately... those combing through his hair teased a bit too unmercifully.

Bloody hell, he didn’t want to stop.

Reason began to fade. His vision blurred. His mouth grew parched, and he sipped urgently from her mouth to quench his ungodly thirst. Try as he might to disengage, his hands took on a will of their own, unclenching at her back, and sliding to her waist... such a deliciously small waist. He tested thecircumference with his hands, then danced his fingers back up along her ribs, discovering each one by turn, stopping only when his thumbs reached the curve of her breasts. For a long, torturous moment, he envisioned himself bending low, ripping her bodice with his teeth, tasting her passion on her skin… and then lowering to her belly... ripping at her clothes, until she lay naked… and purely by those thoughts, he was nearly undone. Burying his face against her soft throat, he groaned aloud, commanding himself to stop.

Margaret sighed, oblivious to his torment, and curled up like a wee-kitten in his lap, saved by the many, many layers of her skirts from discovering his lascivious intent.

After all, she trusted him to keep his word—to kiss her and do no more. He held her for a long while, stroking her cheek with a thumb, and finally, he cleared his throat. “Are you sleepy?”

“A little,” she confessed, sounding sated, though he was anything but.

He needed something to take his mind off his baser thoughts, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. Giving himself a mental shake, he asked, “How about we play a game to pass the time?”

Perhaps he could jog her memory.

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