Page 40 of Seductive Reprise
She could not help it; a sound akin to a kitten’s mewl escaped her. Oh, she hoped it didn’t sound as ridiculous as that. Trying not to dwell on it, Rose’s breaths deepened, and she shut her eyes without thought.
Joseph continued, murmuring against her sensitive skin, interspersing a kiss between each word. On her fingers, then her palm, her wrist. “Renown. Respect. Riches.”
Her eyes shot open.
“Respect?” she scoffed. When his eyes met hers, they were cold and impassive. His whole face was that damned aristocratic mask, empty and elusive. She frowned. “Riches?” Now her heart raced again, but not from anticipation. From anger. She attempted to pull her hand away, but he held fast. It infuriated her. Her face was hot; some invisible vise gripped her, tightening around her body. Oh, but she’d been afool.
“I thought perhaps it might be different—thatyoumight be different. When Dr. Collier said—”
“I don’t give adamnwhat he told you,” Joseph snarled, the mask now gone. He yanked her toward him, and before she could mark what was happening she fell against him in a tumble, hands splayed on his chest. He pressed her closer, and she gasped.
“I don’t want fucking Collier paying you court all night. I don’t want you begging for scraps at the table of someone who buys their own furniture like Hartley.” His voice was low and hard, reverberating inside her in such a fascinating and sensual manner that she held her tongue and just watched him instead. “I cannotbearseeing you cast aside, ignored, selling your work for a few measly pounds to that sodding gallery.”
Now she frowned in confusion. “How do you mean that… sodding gallery?”
“It doesn’t matter. None of it does.” He swallowed. “What matters is that…” He looked down at her lips. “Is what we do, henceforth.”
A firm hand slid up her back, slowing as it came to a stop on her bare neck. She shivered.
“You should be worshiped. Spoiled.” His fingers dug into the remains of her smart hairstyle, gentle as they wove their way into her locks. Already it had been falling apart; Rose felt the remaining pins give way and silently apologized to Ruth for allowing her handiwork to be so carelessly wrecked.
“Rose,” he murmured, pulling her face to his. “If only you’d permit me.”
Up so close, she could scarcely believe what was happening. Joseph had her nearly on his lap, his dark eyes searching her face. For what? Permission? Absolution?
And then he kissed her, and she forgot everything she was supposed to resent about him, every offense he’d done her. All she knew was the heat of his mouth as it took hers. His fingers tightening about her hair, pulling her head back. His other hand rhythmically sliding up and down her side. Every kiss brought with it a new burst of need—to be closer, to have more of him. She moaned into his mouth and was rewarded with his tongue, deepening their kiss. He tasted of alcohol, and in her frenzy she couldn’t place what exactly he’d been drinking, but she liked it. She liked him looser, relaxed. The memory of young Joseph filled her mind, golden and glowing, with his keen eyes and Roman nose like he was some damn Joshua Reynolds sitter.
His thumb brushed upwards, just at the underside of her breast, testing. Without the levees of bitterness and hard feelings holding her back, desire surged forth, flooding her body. Rose allowed it to take her, and she moved without thinking. She broke from the kiss with a gasp and grabbed his shoulders, hauling herself atop him, hiking her skirts up, unaffected by thesound of rending fabric. Once she’d seated herself, she reached for his hand and placed it atop the breast he’d teased.
“Rose,” he murmured, his hand moving against her dress with a delicious languor. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?” His thumb lightly grazed her nipple.
She groaned, digging her nails into his shoulders. The feel of the fine wool twill under her fingers was immensely unsatisfying.
“Don’t be daft. Of course I haven’t,” she breathed, and caught his lips once more, kissing him ravenously. “It’s…” she panted, unwilling to pause long enough to say it all in one breath, “it’s only… only that I’ve been… it’s been so…”
With a gasp she fell to one side. Joseph caught her by the waist with little effort.
“It’s okay—we’re turning,” he murmured, holding her firm. “I’ve got you.”
She looked deep into his eyes, her body heaving gently.
Finally the carriage shifted back to a reasonable center of gravity, but still they held one another’s gaze. Rose felt the heavy thud of her heart, its rhythm that of mounting anticipation.
“Go on,” Joseph said, his voice as steady as his stare.
“Go on?” Rose wondered, not sure what he was asking.
“You were saying? That you hadn’t forgiven me but… that it’s been…”
“Oh,” she said, chasing the memory of the last few moments until she recalled the thread of conversation. A flush burned her cheeks as she remembered what she’d been about to say. Only now, without the frenzied grinding of their bodies, it felt too true, too honest to give voice to.
He cupped her cheek, the same thumb that had tormented her minutes ago now brushing a gentle line across her cheekbone. For some reason she felt tears building. She shut her eyes. Perhaps she could do this.
“It’s been… so lonely. Without you, all these years.” She released a shaky breath.
His thumb stilled. Rose opened her eyes.
The rattle of the carriage and the crunching of the wheels against the macadam road were the only sounds. Rose barely breathed.
