Page 49 of An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
“Four minutes.”
“You were counting?”
“Wouldn’t you be disappointed if I hadn’t?”
“But I didn’t sign the note. You couldn’t have known who sent it, couldn’t have known who you were waiting on.” She suddenly hated that he was here, that he had shown, that he hadn’t cared who had sent it. She was a fool to think he wanted anything other than a tumble. It didn’t matter to him who the lady was. He had lust that needed to be slaked.
He leaned in, his lips brushing over her ear, his breath stirring the strands of her hair that she’d left unbound. Everything within her stilled, waited, as though she were the prey, and he the hunter about to pounce. “I’m anxious to know if I guessed correctly.”
How silly she was to think he would be able to see through the mask, that her eyes, hair, form would give her away. He hadn’t paid nearly as much attention to her as she’d thought. Perhaps she’d misjudged his interest. Perhaps in the end, he’d dismiss her out of hand, and she’d be left feeling foolish.
“I’ve secured a room,” he said, in a lower, throatier voice. “Shall we make use of it?” When he drew back, his eyes held a challenge as he extended his hand. His bared hand. His large, bare hand.
Her own was equally bare. Skin to skin. She wanted to spin on her heel and simply lead the way, wanted him to follow like a lapdog, but he wasn’t one to be subservient. She needed something from him and that required she stay on his good side. She placed her hand in his, watched as his long, thick fingers slowly closed in a way that spoke of absolute possession. Anyone watching could not doubt that he had just claimed her for his own.
She’d expected him to drag her from the room like some Neanderthal. Instead, he set a leisurely pace, shortening his strides so she could keep up easily, giving the impression they were equals in this endeavor. But they weren’t, and he’d soon realize it. He had more experience, more knowledge, more confidence.
When they reached the stairs, he swept her up into his arms. She hated the tiny squeak that escaped. She was grateful he was close as she latched on to his lapel with one hand, her other arm curling around his broad shoulders. She could feel the strength in his arms. He carried her up to the landing as though she weighed no more than a summer cloud. Down one hallway, then another. She could hear moans and cries escaping through the closed doors.
When they reached a room at the end of a hallway, he set her on her feet, removed a key from his jacket pocket, unlocked the door, and swung it open. Easing past him, she walked quickly inside, stopping short at the sight of the bed—the reason people came here. She didn’t turn when she heard the door close with a hushedsnick, didn’t move as his soft footfalls brought him nearer, hardly dared to breathe when she felt his fingers at the lacings that secured the mask to her face. It loosened, began to fall. He caught it, then tossed it onto a nearby chair.
Gathering up her resolve, she spun around, caught unawares by the heat and want she saw reflected in his eyes.
“Thank God, it is you,” he rasped before taking her face between his hands and lowering his mouth to hers.
He sounded truly grateful. Her feminine side told her to luxuriate in it, but too much was at stake. She would allow him to have this, but only this. They needed to come to an understanding before things went further. Her marriage had been on Downie’s terms. This, whateverthiswith Rexton turned out to be, was going to be on hers.
Although for a fleeting moment, she feared it might turn out to be on his. How could she think, plot, scheme when his tongue was tenderly coaxing her lips to part, when they obeyed his insistent command without even asking her permission. When he was then stroking that very same tongue over hers, parrying with it as though they were engaged in a fencing match, coming in for the touch, retreating, encouraging her to take a stab. He tasted of something dark and rich, whisky probably. He tasted of wickedness, desire, and untold passions. He was an intrepid explorer, leaving no aspect of her mouth unsurveyed, encouraging her to return the favor.
She did so gladly. Running her hands up into his hair, smiling inwardly as the curls wrapped around her fingers, holding her as he eventually would. For the briefest of moments, she felt young and innocent again, untouched, with her life unfolding before her and all her dreams waiting to be realized.
He drew her in close, so close it didn’t matter that he wore clothes and she wore naught but flimsy silk. She could feel the hard length of his cock against her belly, could feel the rumble of his chest against her breasts as he growled, could feel the power in his hands as he skimmed them up her back and down, cupping her buttocks, and pressing her harder against him.
She had an insane urge to scramble up his body, to wrap her legs around his waist, to unfasten his trousers, set him free, and slide down over him. Right here, right now, standing in the center of this room. She was close to exploding, just as she was every night when she thought of him touching her. What was it about him that brought out such extreme wantonness? He made her yearn to be exactly what all of London whispered she was: notorious, scandalous, indecent, disgraceful.
But in spite of everything, in spite of the way he called to her, she wasn’t here for this. She was here for something far more important. With a great deal of effort, and regret, she tore her mouth from his. They were both breathing heavily and harshly.
His eyes boring into hers, he waited, as though conceding the next move was hers, that she was the one who would set the pace. He was accepting her as an equal. It was an odd realization, seeing the need etched so clearly on his features, to feel it thrumming through his tense body, and to know he recognized she required more than lust satisfied.
“You need to court Gina again,” she forced out on a rush.
The stunned expression on his face was almost comical, made her want to laugh, only there was nothing humorous in this situation. “I beg your pardon?”
His hold on her had loosened, and she used the opportunity to step away from him, beyond reach of those magnificent hands and talented lips. She didn’t want to consider how truly incredible it might be to tear off his clothes and allow his entire body to have its way with hers.
“At least pretend to be courting her, as you were. The gentlemen have ceased to give her attention. I fear they believe you found fault with her.”
He plowed his hands through his hair and stared at her as though she’d gone mad. “You set up a meetinghereto discuss my courting your sister?”
“I wanted someplace neutral, someplace where our coming together wouldn’t be observed. I’m willing to honor your original bargain with my uncle and ensure you have Black Diamond for stud.”
His laughter was harsh, dark, a little frightening in its intensity. Turning on his heel, he walked over to a table, splashed whisky into two glasses, and brought her one. She did hope he didn’t notice how her hand was trembling when she took it. His gaze never leaving hers, he dropped into a chair. She eased over to the one opposite him and settled into it.
“How many times have you visited here?” he asked.
Not exactly the question she’d been expecting. “Three.”
“Twice before tonight then.”
