Page 13 of The Duke's Christmas Scandal
“I think your hair is beautiful, Tavi.” A small smile tucked the corner of his mouth, popping a dimple. “I hope your former intended is pleased with his bargain, because he certainly lost out when he didn’t choose you.”
Tears burned Tavi’s eyes. No one ever told her she was beautiful. No one looked at her with desire the way Ian was now. She couldn’t imagine walking away from him tomorrow morning without trying.
Twining one hand up behind his neck, she pulled him down and pressed her lips to his.
CHAPTER6
IAN
Tavi was one Christmas indulgence Ian couldn’t afford. Which meant he shouldn’t let this go on one single second longer.
And yet, he couldn’t stop. She tasted of warm whisky and willing woman, and Ian couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt more than a fleeting connection with…anyone, come to think of it.
Gently, he broke the kiss. He couldn’t resist cupping her face as he said, “I meant it when I said your virtue was safe with me.”
“What virtue?” Tavi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The apples of her cheeks flushed charmingly, visible even in the low light. Ian wasn’t so drunk on whisky and the heady touch of a woman that he missed the flicker of shame over her expression. “My betrothed and I anticipated our wedding vows on a few occasions.”
Inwardly, he groaned. Anticipation surged.
“Why tell me?”
“I feel I can trust you with the truth. After all, the chances that we’ll meet again after tonight are slim.”
There was no mistaking the sadness in her voice. She had no expectations of him—which was usually how Ian preferred his assignations.
Not this one.
He liked Tavi, what little he’d seen of her. Their attraction was unmistakable.
As a duke, he would be expected to marry into the aristocracy, a class he’d had little occasion to interact with until very recently. His bride would likely be a shy virgin. Ladylike ignorance might appeal to men who relied upon it to conceal the fact that they were selfish in bed, but the thought left Ian cold. To him, there was nothing appealing about the prospect of fumbling around trying to figure out how a woman wanted to be touched while she lay there like a dead fish.
Ian shuddered at the thought. He preferred a woman who knew what she wanted. Like Tavi.
“You can trust me,” he murmured. “Should our paths cross—and I hope one day they do, Mrs. Dawson”—she swatted his arm, laughing—“I won’t whisper a single syllable to anyone about what transpired here tonight.”
“Good, for my sister has—” Tavi bit off. “Never mind. Shall we continue this?”
She stretched up to kiss his jaw. Ian dared to brush his thumb along the underside of her breast over the wool of her gown. She arched into his touch, so he rolled her nipple beneath the pad of his thumb.
“Tavi.”
“Mmm?”
“You’re wearing too many clothes.”
“I am rather warm.” She grinned, flashing even white teeth between kiss-swollen lips. “Warmer than I have been all day, in fact.”
Ian just grinned and hiked up the hem of her gown. She helped him, stripping the woolen garment over her head with a staticky crackle and tossing it on the floor.
Tavi lay with her head propped on one hand, the dying fire illuminating her lush hips, in a nigh-transparent chemise. His mouth went dry. He knew she had a mouthwatering shape, but her nipples, barely visible through the thin lawn, sent a shudder of need coursing through him.
Tavi tossed her auburn hair over her shoulder. “Mr. Harkness, have you considered making yourself more comfortable?”
“Come to think of it, I am blazing hot.”
Had woolen trousers ever taken this long to unfasten and kick away? He tugged off his shirt and the layer beneath, too, leaving him in his visibly tented smallclothes.
Tavi’s gaze flicked to them, then back to his face. She brought her hand to his chin and stroked her thumb along his lower lip.
