Page 33 of Nothing But a Rakehell
This one. She was clever and somehow both innocent and wise. Everything about her was unexpected. Delicate. Entirely too good to be throwing herself at a wastrel like him.
His mind knew it—but the rest of him didn’t care.
She kissed him softly. Almost chastely. It was a sweet kiss of closed eyes and pursed lips.
He pulled away and she made a sound of protest.
“I thought you wanted a proper kiss?” he rasped, his voice gone husky and his heart leaping at the thought. He threw up metaphorical hands. It was too late now, he might as well do the thing right.
She nodded.
“Then I’ll show youproper.”
Her amber eyes darkened and she leaned toward him again, but he stopped. “A moment. Let us take our time.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth. A gentle, tiny brush of his lips. Then the other. He kissed her upper lip and drew it between his own, then answered the plump beckoning of her lower lip. Slow. Soft.
He gathered her close again and took her mouth, taking possession, luring her down the path of growing sensation, of spreading desire, becoming more demanding by degrees.
She gave him what he asked for, surrendering bit by bit, until he swept her with his tongue and nudged her lips apart.
Her eyes flew open again. Clearly, she hadn’t expected it, but she accepted the invasion and entered into the spirit of it, opening wide and moving her fingers up along his neck and into his hair.
He deepened the kiss again, with bold strokes of his tongue and a tightening grip on her. Her bosom pressed into his chest. He raised a hand to stroke the side of her breast, entranced by her curves, frustrated by layers of linen and wool.
She pressed against him, shifting her bottom as the growing ridge of his cock pushed back.
God, but she was sweet. So warm in his arms while the cool wind blew from the water—
He went still, remembered abruptly where they were. Open. Exposed. Vulnerable.
In one smooth move he lifted her away, stood, rotated, and settled her down into the spot he’d just left. Breathing heavily, he turned and walked to the water’s edge, where he sucked in air like a bellows and waited for his cockstand to get the message that this was going no further.
Gad, what was he—a green boy? Letting an innocent girl make him forget—their surroundings, her vulnerability, his extreme unsuitability?
He whirled around, intent on making her understand, and found her still looking a little dazed, her breath coming quicker than normal.
His agitation eased a little.
“That didn’t feel proper at all,” she remarked.
He couldn’t help it. He threw back his head and laughed. His anger dissipated, but not his alarm. She had no idea how dangerous she was.
“That, Miss Critical, was exactly what it was—exactly what a kiss should be. And now you’ve had it. You’ve been kissed and have no need to worry further.”
She started to speak but he held up a hand. “And no reason to discuss it further, either. We’ve already stretched the limits of our pact quite far enough.”
She frowned. “Are there limits on friendship?”
“Of course there are. Especially on this one.”
She deflated. “Well, it does seem a shame. I enjoy your company.”
He drew a deep breath. “As I enjoy yours. Tremendously.” More than he should. More than was safe. He didn’t want to hurt her. “I hate to be blunt about it, but I’ll be gone in a few days. As I’m a friend rather than a relation, we cannot correspond. It seems our friendship has its own end date.”
“You mentioned going about . . . in London . . .”
“Yes! If you come to London I will be happy to ride with you in the park and to take you to Astley’s just as we discussed. We might see each other about in Society. But there can be no more than that. I wouldn’t dream of subjecting you to more than that.”
