Page 64 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
He reached across the carriage and pulled her into his lap. As he cupped her cheek and nestled his very erect, very large cock to her derriere, he growled. “I have watched you attempt that purple bit for days. Give over, my sweet. You cannot knit.”
She inhaled the fragrance of him. This morning, he’d ordered baths for both of them in the little carriage inn where they’d stopped for the night. He used his signature cologne, and she loved the gentleness of it and of him. “It could be a blanket.”
“For an owl with one wing?” he asked in such a mellow bass that she was lured closer to his lips.
She chortled, but stopped abruptly. “I want you, despite what I said in Paris.”
He picked her up and shifted so that he put her down to the squabs, flat on her back. “All my defenses about not becoming entangled are drowning.”
She caught her breath. “How?”
“I need to have you near me.”
“Oh, good.”
He rolled his eyes. “Good?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Is that all it is, ‘good’?”
“Well, what would be better?”
“If you kiss me, Gus. Kiss me like you did in the carriage outside the Louvre. Kiss me without thought. Hell, just kiss me any way you like.”
She rolled her lips in. “And if I do it more than once, you won’t laugh?”
“No.”
“Or walk away.”
“God, no.”
“I can kiss you all I like?”
“All you want.”
“And you’ll allow me…this?” She arched against him.
He sank his head into the hollow of her shoulder and laughed. “Yes.”
“Raise your head, then.”
And when he did, she did what she’d wanted to do since the Malmaison road, in her days since she’d seen him in the Tuileries, and in all her hours since they’d come together with one fine goal. She put her mouth to his and enjoyed the welcome. The firm response of his lips on hers, the dart of his tongue, the play of hers with his, how he took her up and made her gasp and want and thrill. No kisses of any man, all three whom she kissed before, equaled his ecstasy.
“Gus,” he murmured, and nibbled at her lower lip. “Gus,” he called to her, and his legs tangled in her skirts. “Gus,” he praised her, and his hands were beneath her head and he was kissing her cheeks, her eyes, her throat, and her skin above her bodice. And oh my, she wanted to be free of all her layers and lie with him naked for the splendor of it all.
And then the coach bounced.
The horse neighed.
The coachman yelled and the groom echoed his cry.
Suddenly, she and Kane were sliding down toward one side of the cab.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, bewildered, catching at him and the handle of the door, not a little angry that their tryst was at once ended by this lopsided business.
Kane struggled up, looked out, and asked their groom the problem. The man answered in a few words that made no sense to Gus. “That does it. We broke a wheel.”
