Page 63 of The Mad Baron's Bride
“So it is good that you decline to marry me,” he said, his voice hoarse with the burn of the sauce. “I made my wife’s lifea misery. I should no doubt do the same for you, and make you loathe my touch.”
“Jack Burnham. My lord Brancaster.” Leda set down her fork, tapping it against her porcelain plate, and the clatter rang like a shot through the quiet room. “I do not loathe your touch. I crave it.”
He raised his goblet, saw his hand shaking, set it upon the table again. “I see no evidence of that. You hide it well.”
She watched him, a level look, that calm consideration he had seen in her as she watched the ball in the Upper Assembly rooms when he had first come upon her. A woman of remarkable poise and elegance, who looked upon the field before her as if she were assessing each of the actors. Deliberating where the danger to herself might arise, and how to defend herself if it did.
She glanced toward the door, which stood open to admit the servants. She rose and walked across the room with the deliberation she always showed, the edges of her long tunic fluttering against her gown like wings she kept tucked to her sides. She shut the wooden portal, and he saw that her hand trembled slightly, as his had done.
Then she returned, circling the table, rounding her chair to his. He half rose, finally conscious that a lady was standing. His heartbeat rang in his ears. She drew a deep breath and held his eyes, as if she were asking something. Whatever she wanted, his answer wasyes.
She pushed him into his chair and settled her beautiful rump into his lap, and Jack’s vision blanked for a stunned moment. She slid her fingers through the curls clinging to the nape of his neck, and his mind started to gallop—he would have to ask Mrs. Leech for a trim. The contact unleashed something feral in him, a fierce, hot rush of triumph, of possession, of need.
She whispered the words against the side of his mouth. “Touch me, Jack.”
Her mouth was warm and sweet from the lobster sauce, her tongue as silky soft as the violets in her hair. He fell upon her like a man arriving at a pool of cool, fresh water after months, after years of drought. He stroked her jaw to tilt her chin so he might plunge his tongue into her mouth, and she shivered. She met his invasion with a soft probe of her tongue, tasting him, and he was lost, drowning. She smelled of almonds and her hair was spun silk and her body was as soft and firm as a ripe summer plum. He wanted to take every part of her into his mouth and consume her. Possess her utterly.
He splayed a hand across her collarbone, exposed by the gown. A pulse drummed at the base of her neck, that smooth, proud column. She didn’t flinch as he trailed his roughened fingertips over the damask of her skin.
“I can touch you here.”
“Yes.” She breathed hard, kissing him back, kissing him with a hunger that matched his.She wanted him.
He slid his hand to her bosom and cupped one breast, feeling where her softness met the firm slope of her stays. He traced the skin along the edge. “I can touch you here.”
“Yes.” She shifted position, throwing one leg over his to straddle him, turning her body toward him, pushing her breast into his hand. Shewantedhim. “Oh, yes.”
He dove into her softness, putting his mouth everywhere he could reach. She shuddered when he kissed along her jawline, nipped the shell of her ear. The soft hollow below, that was where she dabbed the almonds. He nuzzled his face into her neck. Her short, fast breaths pushed her breast against his hand and he cupped its mate with his other, glorying in her surrender. He found a tiny mole on the side of her neck, as if the artist had marked his glorious canvas. She gasped as he kissed along the ridge of her collarbones, moved lower.
“I can kiss you here.”
She tipped her chin back. A coil of hair fell from its pin, brushing his shoulder, the back of his hand at her breast. “Please do.”
“I can kiss you here?” He brushed his mouth over the tops of her breasts, swells of softness. She had dabbed almond water here, too, and the scent nearly drove him to frenzy.
Her eyes flew open. “There?”
Had no man ever kissed her properly? Had her husband had this splendid body before him, all these luscious curves, and never feasted, as was his right? Jack growled at the waste.
“These aremadeto be kissed.” He kneaded his fingers, and her shoulders melted, pushing her breasts toward him. He swallowed another growl of satisfaction.
“If you don’t like it, tell me, and I’ll stop.” He would stop, though it would kill him if he failed her. Right now she was completely with him, soft clay in his hands, yielding to his touch. She looked dazed and heated, tossed on the same wave devouring him, and he wanted to push her further, to the brink of passion.
The drawstring neckline untied easily, and he simply shoved down her stays. Two beautiful breasts spilled forth, her beige skin slightly marked by the stays, her nipples like the brown pebbles he found on the beach. He wrapped one arm around her back to lift her and gorged on the banquet before him.
“Jack.” She tossed her head, another lock of hair sliding free, as he curled his tongue around a nipple and pulled it into his mouth. Her pulse raced like a deer over a field. “Oh.”
“You don’t want me to stop,” he growled, the words muffled by his tongue against her skin.
“Oh,pleasedon’t.”
She was so responsive. Her short catches of breath, her fingers digging into his shoulders, the way she arched her back over his arm as he licked and nipped. He caught her wildness,fed on it. She thrashed in his arms as he shaped a soft breast and sucked, hard. She whimpered and bucked against his leg, her thighs clenching. His groin hardened, the ache its own pleasure, spurred by his awareness of her desire.
“Will you come for me, Leda?” he murmured, pursing his lips around a nipple, wine-sweet. “Will you give me that?”
She tossed her head to the side, clinging to his shoulders as he moved to the other breast, the nipple taut and begging. She whimpered as he suckled. “I don’t—I can’t?—”
“You like this.” His growl was guttural. He felt like a wolf homing in on its prey. Here,here, this woman in his arms, she was all that mattered in the world.
