Page 31 of The Lady Confesses
“I am highly motivated,” he replied, the whispered words skittering along the sensitive skin of her neck. “You are a feast for the eyes, Hettie.”
“And is that all you’ll be doing? Just looking at me?” she challenged.
She felt the rumbling of his chest as a soft chuckle escaped him. “Oh, no,” he answered. “It’s a time for action, I think. Even if looking was my only intent, the flesh is far too willing and my resolve far too weak.”
Before Hettie could respond, he simply lifted her in his arms and bore her to the bed. When he’d placed her gently against the pillows, he stretched out beside her and his hands continued their exploration. He touched her everywhere. There were parts of her body that she had never imagined were so sensitive. There were certainly parts of her that she had never imagined could offer such pleasure. When he kissed the inside of her wrist, goosebumps erupted on her skin. And after, when he pressed a tender kiss to the center of her open palm, the tenderness of that gesture rocked her in a way that she had not expected.
Wanting Joss was bad enough. But having more tender feelings for him, having feelings for him at all, might well destroy her. But she didn’t protest. It was as he had said. The flesh was willing and her resolve far too weak. She lacked the fortitude to deny herself pleasure in the moment to spare her pain in the future.
He sat up long enough to shrug out of his coat. Then he unbuttoned his waistcoat before discarding it and his shirt. Then it was only his broad chest with his lightly bronzed skin and the massive shoulders that she had placed her burdens upon.
Thought fled altogether when he returned to her side and pressed his mouth to hers. The rasp of his whiskers, the hunger in his kiss, and the intoxicating taste of him flooded her senses, rendering her mindless. She clung to him, straining against himin an effort to get closer still, even when there was not even air between them.
Hettie wanted to beg him to hurry. To beg him to end the misery of wanting that she had suffered since their first night together. But she lacked the words. Instead, she simply kissed him back with all the desire that she felt for him, all the desperation and hunger that had been her constant companion since then.
*
She kissed himlike she was starved for him. And he supposed that was true enough. He’d certainly starved for her. From the first moment he had touched her, he hadn’t looked at another woman. Not a single woman that he encountered had even tempted him to look twice. Because no woman would ever be all that she was. In one night she had altered him forever.
Having another opportunity to touch her, to feel her silken skin that was far too fine for someone like him to ever touch, and to taste the sweetness of her lips—that was something he hadn’t accounted for. She wasn’t for him. He’d thought it then, and he still believed it. But nothing he’d achieved in life had been for him. He was a street rat from the rookeries. He shouldn’t have survived, much less thrived. He shouldn’t have learned to read and write and then be able to parlay those skills into a career. Nothing that he had was something that, based on the way his ignoble existence had begun, should be his. But he would claim her anyway. And even if the devil unleashed hell itself on him, he would not let her go. If that meant seduction, if that meant locking them away somewhere together, sheltered from the rest of the world, he’d do it.
Her hands moved over him, exploring, tracing the lines of muscles and the more than occasional scar. But if she continued, it would all be over before it had begun.
Taking both her hands in his, Joss lifted them above her head, holding them imprisoned in one of his. “Don’t rush me. Not tonight. I can’t think when you touch me—and I need to think tonight. I need to make this perfect for you.”
“I don’t need perfect. I just need you.”
All his carefully laid plans of seduction, of using pleasure to bind her to him, those faded. Washed away by the naked hunger in her gaze and the vulnerability she had shown him in uttering that confession. If any woman had her reasons to be guarded, it was Hettie. That she chose not to be so with him... that humbled him.
Joss slid his free hand along her body, over her ribs and the swell of her hip, then along the supple flesh of her stocking-clad legs. All just to reach the hem of her chemise, to draw it up to her waist and reveal the dark curls nestled between her thighs. It was an irresistible sight.
“Open for me, Hettie. Let me please you,” he urged her, pressing his lips against her ear.
She drew in a deep shuddering breath, then parted her thighs, opening herself to him in blatant invitation.
Joss kissed her once more, taking her mouth even as he slipped his hand between her parted thighs and stroked her fevered flesh. And all the while, he savored every sound she made. Every whimper and cry was a victory for him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hettie lay awakewith him sleeping beside her. All the while she thought of all the things she’d heard people say about lovemaking. And she thought of all the things she’d heard from the women she encountered through her charities and their much more realistic, if crude, understanding of physical intimacy. Not a single one of those conversations had prepared her for him. For how he’d made her feel.
The passion and pleasure of their first night together had not been an aberration. If their activities from earlier in the evening had proven one thing to her, it was that Josiah Ettinger knew her body perhaps better than she did herself. It left her feeling disadvantaged in some way. She didn’t have the same level of experience to draw from. She didn’t know all the things to do that would even the field of play between them. Right now, it felt as if he held all the cards and she was simply being buoyed along by the current he created.
There was one undeniable truth that she would admit, at least to herself if not yet to him. No other man would ever be the perfect combination of dangerous and protective that he was. No other man would ever make her feel safe without also making her feel smothered. That was only him. The man who had fathered her child and whom she was once more counting on to save her life.
He turned over in bed, one heavily muscled thigh draped over her and his arms tightening about her, pulling her back against his chest. And yet he slept on. His deep, even breathing was proof enough of that.
Rather than try to extricate herself from his slumberous embrace, Hettie settled into it, allowing the warmth of his body to seep into her own. It calmed her racing thoughts and eased the grip of fear that held her so firmly in its sway. And that bit of relaxation allowed her to both accept and admit one undeniable truth: There was a sort of inevitability about them. It felt as though they’d been moving in concentric circles about one another, caught up in the currents of their own lives until they were finally brought together. Was that enough?
She had wanted love. Having married once for position and rank, only to suffer terribly for it, she’d clung to the notion that one day she might marry again—and marry a man who cherished her. She wasn’t certain that Joss could ever give her that. He could offer her protection. Heaven knew he could offer her pleasure and passion.
“Your thoughts are troublesome enough to keep the whole house awake,” he murmured against her ear.
“I thought you were sleeping.”
“I was,” he said. “But instead of holding a warm and pliant woman in my arms, I find myself holding a tense one—your body is all but rigid with whatever turmoil is brewing in your thoughts.”
“I can’t help it. There are so many things happening—and I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water. And you know how I feel about water!”
