Page 79 of The Art of Sinning
“As what? Edwin’s hostess? Clarissa’s friend?”
“You’re young still.”
“As are you!” She fisted her hands at her sides. “Do you really expect me to believe that you’re perfectly happy being alone, flitting from place to place, never settling, never knowing the joy of steady companionship?”
That she had delved beneath everything to find the hard knot of loneliness inside him struck terror in his soul. “Not happy, no, but content. It’s better than making another wife miserable.”
Frustration lit her features. “Then don’t marry me. Give me what we both want. You want me in your bed, and I want one blessed night with a man who likes what he sees when he looks at me, who doesn’t think me shrewish or ungainly or too bold.”
Thunderation. “You’re being too bold now,” he pointed out, though it fired his blood as nothing else could.
She moved so close that her mouth was a breath from his. “That’s what happens when a woman craves fire and life and the thrill of the night for too long. She gets tired of waiting for it to come to her, and she goes out to grab it for herself. I’ve followed the rules my whole life, and what has it gained me? For once, I want to know what I’m missing. And you’re the only man I want to show me.”
The words stiffened his prick to pain. “If I show you any more than I have, I’ll ruin you.”
“I know. And I don’t care.”
He caught her head in his hands, needing to touch her, if only to shake some sense into her. “You’ll care a great deal if you find yourself big with my child.”
Though that seemed to give her pause, she didn’t pull away. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“But not oneI’mwilling to take. I won’t leave you with a babe on the way. Which means I’ll have to marry you, and I—”
“Don’t want to marry, yes, I know.” She raised an eyebrow. “So much for your claim to selfishness. A selfish man wouldn’t care if he ruined me. A selfish man wouldn’t care if I were left enceinte.”
“You don’t know a damned thing about what a selfish man wants.”
It was time to demonstrate exactly how unwise this was. He hauled her against his fully aroused body. “You want to see what a selfish man does when confronted with a woman he desires? Fine. I’ll show you.” Then he took her mouth with all the savage hunger roiling up inside him.
He wasn’t gentle or tender or kind. He manacled her to him with one arm while gripping her chin with the other, so he could plunder and devour to his heart’s content. He gave her no time to breathe, allowed her no space to retreat.
But she didn’t seem to want to retreat. She rose to his rough kiss like an eagle to the sky. It was heaven.
It was hell.
He told himself that once she saw the fierceness of his need, she would balk. Then when she withdrew, he’d finally be able to let her go, before he took what he wanted.
The trouble was, he wanted so very much. He wanted her mouth opening and her clothes opening and her lush body opening to let his raging prick inside...
With a growl, he tore off her wrapper and tossed it aside, then filled his hands with her breasts. As long as she kept her night rail on, he might be safe. And he could touch and caress and still enjoy some part of her.
But then she uttered a soft mew of satisfaction that sent his blood into wild riot, and she began working to loosenhisclothes, too. God help him. He would destroy every painting he’d ever created just to have her hands on his naked body.
Before he could even make a conscious choice, he was shedding his coat and waistcoat and helping her untie his cravat.
Angry with himself for his easy acquiescence, he stopped her when she reached for the buttons of his shirt. “You first,” he ordered. “Take off your night rail.”
If there was one thing his Juno didn’t like, it was being ordered about.
So the minute she began to unbutton her frilly linen gown, he groaned. She wasn’t retreating or balking, damn it.
At least he would get to see those lovely full breasts hanging free, so one day he could paint them from memory and have them forever, just for him. Besides, surely she still had on her drawers and he would still be safe.
Althoughshewouldn’t, if anyone stumbled in on them.
Keeping his eyes on her shaky fingers and the flesh exposed with each undone button, he strode to the main door into the hall and latched it, then leaned back against it to watch her. And to steady himself. Because just the sight of her unfastening her clothing was getting him hard as a pike.
By the time she finished, her cheeks were the pink of peonies. But being the stubborn minx she was, she soldiered on, pulling the night rail off over her head and dropping it on the floor.
