Page 65 of One Dangerous Desire
He licked his lips as his gaze took in the expanse of her corset and sodden chemise between the lapels of his jacket.
“Would you put this in front of the fire?” she asked, hating the warble in her voice as she lifted her bodice out to him. She’d place the garment herself if he wasn’t so determined to block her way.
When he grasped the wet fabric, their fingers met, and his gaze caught hers, holding her balanced on a knife’s edge of uncertainty. Whatever he’d said, however he’d denied their future, his eyes were filled with hope. Need and desire, yes. She was certain the same emotions were reflected in her own eyes too. But in his gaze, there was something more. A fragile, tentative look, the same he’d offered her the first day they met. As if he wanted her but wasn’t certain he should, wasn’t sure she’d welcome his desire.
She did. She wanted every bit of it. “Help me with my corset.” She shrugged his jacket from her shoulders, letting it slide to the floor. “And my chemise. It’s wet too.”
His mouth fell open, and his chest began to rise and fall, as if he was as breathless as she.
When he didn’t reach for her, she started on the hooks and eyes of her corset herself, pushing the fabric together to set herself free.
“May.” His hands grasped hers as he said her name, but she wasn’t sure if he meant to stop her or assist her. The backs of his hands were inside her corset, only the thin, drenched fabric of her chemise separating his skin from hers.
He licked his lips again and then began to pull, forcing the hooks to slip free, lower and lower until her breasts were loosed, and she could expand her chest on a deep breath. Now there was no hiding how he affected her, how her nipples tautened the more he touched her. He made it worse, sliding a hand up to the neck of her chemise, tugging the fabric down until the tip of his finger crested the edge of her breast. Just the slide of his finger made her moan.
Slipping a hand around her waist, he eased her chemise from the skirt of her gown and then pulled the fabric lower in front, until she was fully exposed to his gaze. He only looked a moment before dipping his head and kissing her neck. “You should tell me to stop.”
“I won’t.” Hands sliding up into his hair, she pulled his head down.
He kissed a damp, hot trail along her chest, laving the skin of her cleavage. “You make the brandy taste sweeter.”
If a response was needed, she couldn’t manage it. Nothing made sense, except his mouth on her body, his tongue on her skin. Then he closed his lips over her breast. “Please,” she cried, knowing only that she needed more of him. Now.
Tugging at the collar of his shirt, she moved her hands lower and started on buttons, luxuriating in every inch of his feverish flesh exposed against the backs of her fingers.
“Not here, love.” Somehow he managed words, several of them, and pulled away from her long enough to bend and scoop her up under her knees. He lifted her in his arms.
“Where are you taking me?” In some fearful corner of her mind, she imagined him putting her in a carriage and sending her back to her father, thinking he’d done the proper, gentlemanly thing.
But he was already striding toward the threshold of his office, out the door, and up the carpeted stairs. Finally, his gold-blue eyes met hers. Hope had turned to determination, desire matched with certainty. “I’m taking you to bed.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
DECLARING HE WAStaking her to bed earned him the most erotic grin he’d ever seen in his life. A victorious cat-in-the-cream expression mixed with sensuality and desire. He knew with absolute certainty that May wanted him as he much as he needed her.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a weak, nagging voice reminded him that nothing had changed. George Cross still wished him ill. Associating with Rex could put her in danger. But she was soft and warm in his arms, not some delicate miss. She was a woman with a will as forceful as his own. A woman who’d chosen him. Chosen this moment.
By the time he reached his bedroom door, he could no longer hear that inner voice of warning and doubt. Her scent was all he could smell, her breath was all he could hear, and the heat of her body against his was all he wanted.
“It’s lovely.”
Rex thought the deep purple wallpaper was a bit much, but May seemed enthralled. The wonder in her voice made him smile. Leave it to May to notice the furnishings when he was aching to have her beneath him. Or on top of him. Or any way he could get her body next to his.
“I can only take credit for the bed.” A stately, dark carved piece the antique dealer assured him had belonged to a wealthy Tudor explorer. “The house’s previous owner did the rest.”
He placed her gently on the bed as he spoke, though she seemed loathed to let go of him. She kept her arm around his neck a moment before trailing it down his shirt front, lower across his belly, and then down to his cock. He’d never been so hard, never ached like May made him ache.
“It’s so big,” she purred, as she stroked him, tracing his length with her fingers. Then she twisted her head, glancing on either side of her. “The bed, I mean.” She emitted a soft, breathy laugh.
He touched her breasts and turned her laughter to a moan. She was lush and ripe, filling his palms and making his mouth water. Ducking his head, he took one dusky pink tip in his mouth. She tasted of brandy and rose-scented woman. He nudged her back until she lay on the bed, and she gathered her skirts up and opened her legs to cradle him between them. She offered herself to him like a gift, the sweetest he’d ever received. The desire to claim it, the gift of her love, her trust, and the future she offered him, caused an erratic thumping in his chest. Nothing mattered as much as the need to make love to her, to give her pleasure, to make her his, once and for all.
“I want your clothes off,” she commanded, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.
“We should dispense with your skirts too.” Lifting off of her, he tugged his half-open shirt over his head and felt her fingers working the buttons of his fly. The notion of getting off the bed, even to shuck his trousers, was an unappealing one, but May was already tugging them down his hips, biting her lip in determination.
Standing long enough to free himself of the rest of his clothing, he swallowed hard at the sight of May lifting the still-damp chemise over her head and then reaching back to unclasp her skirt.
“Let me help you.” But she was already scooting the fabric over her hips, layers of what seemed like a half dozen underskirts. Only her lacy drawers remained in place, the fabric so thin he could see the dark curls between her thighs.
