Page 50 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
Her expression stark, still smarting from her confrontation with her aunt, she turned to face him. “I welcome it. For many reasons.”
“I hope you will tell me what they are.”
Tears pooled on her lashes. “I will confide in you.”
“Thank you. Trust is necessary for what we do.” He brushed the wool of his breeches, then told himselfthe hell with itand switched to sit beside her. He drew her to him, and she came, pliant in his embrace. His thigh along hers, she nestled into the crook of his neck. “My darling, we can talk and flirt, or we can be done with this charade and you can kiss me now.”
She lifted her face and ran her gaze over him with a desire he only glimpsed. She cupped his jaw and lifted to take his lips. This time was different from those others. This kiss held charm and madness, fear, and a search for rapture.
He gave it. Gave her all he had. Kisses, countless and sweet, lingering and delicious. Her lips were what he had savored from the instant he first tasted her. What she gave him of herself these past few days were morsels of the banquet he wished to share with her. In fact, he would never have enough. But he had to let her reach that reality by herself. And so he let her go.
Dazed, she stared at him. A shadow of regret crossed her lovely face. “Now you don’t have to pretend to want me anymore.”
He brushed soft black curls from her cheeks and smiled with the same sorrow wrenching his guts. “Now you don’t have to kiss me anymore.”
He sat back, glancing out at the gawking passersby, then quickly back to her. “But from this moment on, let us be honest. My actions were no pretense. Neither were your kisses.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dawn had brokeninto their carriage and the sun’s rays on her face had awakened her. The past few hours in their coach had not been comfortable. She rubbed her eyes. Ashley’s sleep was so deep, he snored.
She did not awaken him. He was quite beautiful, really. For a large man, he moved with grace. He also kissed like a satyr. Since yesterday in Paris when he called her bluff, she’d admitted to herself how she wanted more of him than kisses. He was her self-proclaimed protector and confidant, her fellow conspirator. Would not the ultimate expression of union be the mating of his body with hers?
She blinked at that astonishing desire, and writhed at the urgent heat in her body. For two years now she had avoided men. Ignored their advances. Discouraged any signs of sexual interest in her. The brutal Pascal Moreau had set her away from any man.
But this one was unique. Kane had not rushed her, or manhandled her. Had not sweet-talked her or promised erotic fantasies. On the contrary, he had accepted, even welcomed, her friendship—and accepted her own offer to help him.
Friendship in Paris of the French Consulate was a rare flower that grew only in secluded, well-tended soil. Their friendship had budded in need and blossomed in an attraction that held the enticement of more. And with him, she had to confess to herself,she wanted all there was to enjoy. Despite her past, despite her aunt’s injunctions. She wanted this man and she would, if he agreed, have all of him. She knew how to avoid pregnancy. Knew how to brave Society’s murmurs and ignore them. For once in her life, she would take what she wanted. Him, if he truly desired her. Him.
She grinned to herself and regarded him and his reptilian snores. She was pinned to him, molded to him, breast to belly to groin. She loved it all.
She chuckled and tried to move. But his arm was an iron pillar that pinned her to him. She gave herself over to finding some new position that did not require her to wake him. Beside her, he had reclined as best he could. The stack of pillows did nothing for his large frame—and beneath his embrace, she would not complain about the way he clamped her to him.
She snuffled, quelling her delight at the feel of his very healthy set of maleaccoutrements. Even unaroused, he was formidable—and his proportions conjured fantasies that made her drool.
She had to get away and fidgeted, but how could she move with him draped all over her?
“Stop that,” he warned in a growl.
“I can’t get comfortable.”
“Neither can I. You’re rubbing your nipples against my private parts.” He rolled her away from him, pulling her back against him with her derriere tucked into his crotch. “Now go to sleep.”
“I’m hungry,” she whined like a pesky child.
“Later,” he said as he dropped a heavy bicep over her and planted a sensuous kiss against her neck.
“And I have to wee.” She bit her lips to keep from laughing.
He tightened his grip. But his thumb brushed the swell of her breast—and she wiggled in response. He clamped her close, hiswhole hand covering her breast. “Witch. One thing we don’t have in this coach is a bourdalou.”
“But Kane…” she pleaded.
“Weeeeell, hell.” He sat up, ran a hand through his tousled hair, and banged on the roof. “The woods it is, my sweet.”
“You’ll come with me.”
“To guard you, yes.”
