Page 46 of When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord
“You claimed your fortune. Isn’t that what you set out to do?”
He nodded slowly. “But at what cost?”
“That is all in the past. There is nothing we can do to change it.”
“But what of the future, Alexandra?” He cupped his palm against her cheek. “Perhaps there is some hope…for the future. Hope for us.”
“There is no going back. What’s done is done.”
“And if I disagree?”
“I am not so foolish as to think we can return to what we once had. We were young. Less set in our ways. Now, we have our own lives, our own path. There’s nothing to be done about it.”
“You may be right,” he said. “But then again, I’d like to prove you wrong.” He traced the outline of her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “I’d like to taste your kiss.”
Dipping his head, he brushed his mouth over hers. A gentle possession. Light as a butterfly’s wing.
“I’ve missed you, Alexandra,” he whispered against her lips. “So damned much.”
With a low, throaty groan, he kissed her again. Notes of good Scotch flavored the caress, earthy and tantalizing. She drank him with a thirst she’d long denied.
Kissing him was a heady pleasure. Sensual and tempting as a fine, rich chocolate, the feel of his lips against hers was a delicacy beyond compare.
How she wanted this!
She needed his kiss. His touch. The heat of his body against hers.
As if they had a will of their own, her arms curved around his neck. She melted into him. He was lean and strong and powerful.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips, gently parting them. Deepening the gentle contact, his tongue explored her mouth, teasing her, tempting her, conjuring a hunger for him unlike any she’d experienced.
When they’d been so very young, love had been new. Every kiss, every touch, had seemed urgent. Hurried. Frantic. But now, his kiss was a seduction, a pleasure that stirred her senses and brought her closer to his essence. He expressed his very soul to her in that tender caress.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her lips. “I want you, darling. Your kiss. Your touch. Your pleasure as you lay in my arms.”
She sighed, arching her back to intensify the contact between them. He edged her back a step, then another, until the backs of her legs touched the wall. Lifting her gaze, she drank him in. What was it about this man above all others that melted her resolve, that made her want to cast aside her reservations and delight in the earthy pleasures to be found in his arms?
His hands spanned her middle, lingering over her waist, settling at her hips. With one hand, he skimmed a light path over her ribs. His hand grazed her clothed breast, cupping the sensitive flesh against his palm. His nimble fingers made short work of the fasteners at her bodice, and he peeled away the fabric, baring her to her chemise.
And then, his lips pressed light caresses to the swell of her breasts. Each touch of his mouth to her flesh rippled pleasure through her body, from the bud of her nipple to the toes that curled with delight inside her slippers.
He slid her chemise lower, baring her to his eyes.
“You’re even more beautiful now,” he whispered, then kissed her again.
His irises had transformed from hazel to a deep, mossy hue. Dark brows framed his expressive eyes. What would it be like to look into those eyes every night of her life, to lie in his arms…in his bed…and warm her heart with the passion he could not hide?
He dipped his head. She gasped with pleasure as his lips closed over the bud of her breast. His tongue traced intimate little circles around the sensitive flesh. Tenderness infused every touch, every sensual flick of his tongue against her skin. Pure bliss filled her senses, and she heard a little moan, realizing through the haze of desire that it was her own voice.
As the delicious sensation surged through her, she writhed against him. A sweet, hot ache kindled between her thighs, and she canted her hips. Pressed to his lean body, she cradled the hard ridge of his shaft against her softness. He was hard with wanting, straining against his trousers. And yet, he held back, taking nothing for himself. Giving her bliss with his tongue and his touch.
He lifted his head, claiming her mouth once again. She savored the feel of him. Sleek muscle sheathed his broad shoulders. Beneath the linen of his shirt, his muscles tensed. She slid her fingers beneath the fabric, drawing in the warmth of his skin. His biceps flexed beneath her touch, strong and powerful and lean as a panther on the prowl.
With a grin, he scooped her into his arms, with as little effort as if she weighed no more than a child. He carried her to the settee and placed her there.
Dropping to his knees beside her, he kissed her again. His hand glided over her skirt, slipping beneath her petticoat.
“I want to touch you,” he whispered against her lips.
