Page 42 of Desperate Proposals
She tilted her face upward, squeezed her eyes shut. And waited.
And waited. And waited.
Then she heard him laugh. Her eyes flew open. That seemed to set him off more, for now he was looking away, chortling into the back of his hand.
“That is awfully rude.” Her cheeks heated as she fought to keep her composure.
“I’m sorry, I’m—” He shook his head, clearing his throat.
Never before had Evelyn felt so set down, so indignant. Weighing what level of disdain to mete out, her thoughts scattered in an instant. For without warning, he dropped to his knees before her and caught her hands in his. They felt incredibly warm.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hartley.”
His face was so close to hers.
“I…” He paused, looking down at his hands clasped around hers. “I know this is not what most ladies fancy, an arrangement like this. Or, blimey, eventhisarrangement, withthisparty.”
He looked back to her with heat in his eyes. One hand slid up her arm, snaking around to the back of her neck. Evelyn’s heartbeat took off at a frenetic pace.
“But,” he murmured, “as you have promised to fulfill your wifely duties, I vow to fulfill mine in turn.”
His eyes were on her mouth now.
Did he expect her to respond? Evelyn could not. She could barely manage to hold still. For his scent was the only thing she could think of, the heat in her center all she could feel. It made her want to throw herself onto the bed and writhe about, as if she could somehow rub off this anticipation building within.
“I shall be gentle.” He pulled her head closer, his lips nearly brushing hers. “Unless you give me the word, that is.”
Her eyelashes fluttered.
And then he kissed her.
Chapter Eleven
Not knowing what wasexpected of her in this instance, Evelyn allowed him to kiss her, to take her lips with his.
She’d never been kissed before. Not even when Rowland had pressed her, all those years ago.
And then her own lips parted, yielding to his gentle pressure and the heat rising low in her middle. She had read that the act of intercourse could be pleasurable, but kissing? Evelyn supposed she’d never given it much thought.
She liked it.
She liked the smell of him up close, the feel of his fingers at the back of her neck, the way she could somehow feel his entire body before her, even as he held himself back.
His other hand came to her shoulder, as if he read her thoughts, and eased her toward him, bringing them together in an embrace. How easily he enveloped her, the strength of his form hard against the plump softness of hers.
It was so warm, so heady, that she felt emboldened enough to attempt to kiss him back. Her overtures were awkward at first, but he slowed patiently, allowing her to take charge.
Before she knew it, she found herself reaching tentatively for him.
Mr. Hartley broke away. He looked at her hand resting lightly upon his shoulder, his eyes dark.
Evelyn’s breath caught. She started to pull back, but he caught her by the wrist.
“I like you like this,” he said, his voice barely loud enough to hear.
“Oh?” she breathed, wondering what exactly he meant by “this.” Forward? Flustered? Promiscuous?
But he didn’t answer, and instead drew her to his mouth, kissing the heel of her hand, her wrist. Leaving a trail of slow, sensual kisses up her arm.
