Page 96 of Scandalous Heiress
He planted a quick hard kiss on her lips.“Ada, darling, marry me next week and I will kiss you every day so much better than that.”
She laughed.Then went still.“Show me.”
He nestled her close, his fingers sinking into her hair.In the thin muslin dressing gown and nightgown, her breasts flattened against his chest and her nipples hardened in the warmth.Tingles of desire flooded her veins and she sighed as he took her lips with his own.He was soft, his mouth a sweet caress, his body taut.But his kiss was a claim greater than the others they had shared and she welcomed his possession.Rejoiced in it.And he broke away, breathless, searching her gaze for her reaction.
“Sweetheart,” he called her, and she yearned for the sound of it and the taste of him again.Her hands fisting in his hair, she kissed him back and he bent over her to take her in a bold and sensuous kiss.He nipped her lower lip and she held his face and laughed.He rained kisses down her throat across her shoulders and down between her breasts.She arched, her head thrown back and he took her invitation, cupped a breast and through the delicate cotton, he savored her nipple with the hot wet draw of his mouth.She moaned, wanting more.
But he drew up, his turquoise eyes glazed with a passion she felt in every inch of her body.“We’ll save the rest for the night we’re wed.We’ll be proper.”
She rolled her eyes at him.
He laughed, his cheeks red, his hair on end from her rough embraces.But he stood, returned to her room and summarily deposited her in her bed.By the door, he bid heradieu.“Get well quickly.You’ve a gown to choose, a trousseau.”
“On such short notice, those will be difficult to acquire, dear sir.”She was teasing him, of course.Her own modiste in Half Moon Street would devote herself night and day to work her fingers to the bone to claim she finished a wedding dress for the American heiress, Ada Hanniford.
He threw her a tolerant look.“I want you to have everything you want.Always.”
“You.I want only you, my darling man.”
He seemed to weave, deciding whether to stay or go.“You test me, my dear.”
“Never.I am yours.I have been from that first day.”
“And I yours, only yours.”He left her with a wicked grin promising more erotic delights they would share.
That helped to salve the wound of his failure to declare his love for her.His passion for her restored her confidence.If she could not have his love, if he could not surrender his soul to another woman, if he waited to conclude his political future or abandon her here for China, before he left her, she’d take all his desire for her.She’d revel in it.She’d have his lust for her—and hope one day he could declare he’d always loved her.Never another.
