Page 26 of A Tempest of Desire
With no warning whatsoever its tail had struck out with such swiftness that the poor spider hadn’t a chance.
She was left with the impression that Langdon wasdeliberating when and exactly how to strike. What sort of books did he enjoy reading that he would need to contemplate what to share or prepare himself to do so?
“I favor... long, slow kisses that last for days, the weight of a plump breast against my palm, and the sultry heat of a woman’s tight core enveloping me.”
Feeling as though the sofa had magically moved too close to the fireplace, she wanted to toss aside the blanket she’d wrapped around herself earlier. He had to have known she was asking about books, but he had chosen to respond with something else entirely. Something titillating, something he believed appropriate to say to her, a courtesan. He’d certainly never say anything like that to one of the ladies he swept around a London ballroom. And most certainly not in that low, seductive voice that confirmed for a woman that rewards for her were to be found on the other end of all those things he favored. Her lips had begun to tingle, her damned nipples had puckered, and dew had gathered between her thighs.
“Are you attempting to shock me, my lord, with such blatant sexual imagery?”Or seduce me?She dared not ask the latter because if he was, she feared she’d be unable to resist.Damn Hollie for even giving her leave to entertain the idea of a night spent in the company of this man.“It can’t be done. Although I do find myself wondering... if you swapped out your cards that night because you were being offered a warm, moist kiss that would last only hours rather than your preferred days. Nor were you guaranteed either a plump breast—although mineare, which you probably discovered last night—or a tight core, which I also may lay claim to possessing. Perhaps you feared you weren’t up to the challenge of gaining those when they weren’t handed to you.”
She thought he’d been still before. She wasn’t certain he was even breathing now, although his eyes had jumped from her lips to her breasts to her lap and back up. If he’d been hoping to intimidate her with such raw words that created tawdry images, he was going to discover that she gave as good as she got.
Then she very deliberately and slowly returned her attention to her book.
Damnation. He had been hoping to shock her... or perhaps seduce her. She didn’t blush. She wasn’t easily flustered. She teased. And she was so damned sultry. Every movement and pose calculated to entice.
Well, it was as she’d said that night. She wasn’t a whore. She didn’t give a man a single hour or even a night. She expected a commitment. Deserved that consideration. She wouldn’t come cheap. With his squiring her about, Hollingsworth had ensured she could be demanding and particular when it came to her next lover.
He watched as she slowly turned a page and kept her focus on the words written by another. He considered confessing the reason he’d swapped out his cards...
Instead he turned his attention back to his own reading. Or tried to, but even when they weren’tengaged in sparring words, he couldn’t seem to focus on the material before him.
A hushed intimacy settled in around them, disturbed only by the crackling fire, pattering raindrops, and occasional thunder.Shemade not a sound. No occasional sigh. No whisper of movement beneath the blanket that he suspected wasn’t soft enough for her skin. No sniffle, sneeze, or cough—it appeared she was not going to fall ill from her dunking in the sea.
Most of the ladies he knew would have decided the horrifying experience warranted some pampering, and yet she seemed to be taking it in stride. He’d done the same thing following the railway accident, carrying on as though it had been perfectly routine. Until the night he’d awoken drenched and shivering, as if he was back in that storm, comforting the dying and pleading with the living not to give up. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with that aspect, being alone as she’d been, but he suspected that brought with it its own trauma. As much as he wished otherwise, he assumed eventually it would hit her full on as a force to be reckoned with. And all the sinuous moves, flirtatious glances, and tart words wouldn’t lessen its impact.
Would Hollingsworth hold her, comfort her? Would he even be there if the nightmares came? Did he stay the night or only long enough to see to his purpose in arriving there to begin with?
His jaw began to ache, and he realized the thoughts had made him clench his teeth to such a degree he was surprised they didn’t crack. The lastthing he wanted was to envision the earl with her. What he wanted was to read his bloody book.
Half an hour later, he decided it was a damned good thing he’d already readThe Man in the Iron Mask, because he was having a hell of a time concentrating on the passage resting before his eyes. Probably because his gaze kept shifting over to Marlowe as he sought to gauge her reaction to what she was reading—to what he had chosen for her to read. Why the devil he should care two figs whether she was enjoying it was beyond his comprehension. What did it matter if he’d selected a book that would be to her liking? He should have just told her to wander around until she found something that looked appealing. Or read a few pages and if it didn’t draw her in, move on to another.
He’d expected her to favor reading matter that was tawdry, naughty. But then he supposed she encountered enough of those elements in her daily—nightly—life. Last night he’d assumed by the way she was moving about freely before him while wearing his shirt, not at all self-conscious about revealing those shapely legs, that she’d been attempting to seduce him, but watching the manner in which she turned pages, he was beginning to suspect that moving sensually was second nature to her. Whether it had come from practice or a natural inclination was open to speculation.
“Does Hollingsworth gift you with books?”
Why the devil had he disturbed the quiet with such an inane question?
As though coming out of a trance, slowly she lifted her head and turned it toward him. “No.”
“Don’t you like books?” He couldn’t imagine anyone not treasuring them.
“Of course, I do.”
“But you prefer fancy baubles or trinkets.”
He suspected if her nose wasn’t bruised and still slightly swollen that she would have wrinkled it in disgust at his statement. “I prefer giving to receiving but I have no preference when it comes to what sort of gifts I should be given. Which is good because Hollie is atrocious at determining what I might favor. He once gave me some jewelry to clamp onto my nipples.”
He didn’t know whether to be stunned by the gift or her casual use ofnipples, a word most ladies would cut out their tongues before uttering.
She gave a little laugh. “Based on the set of your features, I’d say you were scandalized. My face was no doubt similarly arranged when I learned what they were for. I was wearing them as earbobs at the time.”
Her eyes held a wicked gleam, and he fought not to laugh. He was not going to be like every other man in London and fall victim to her charms. He imagined her proudly strutting about, showing off the gift that was designed to be shared with a private audience of one. “How long have you and Hollingsworth been together?”
“Three years come May. You’d think he’d know my tastes by now. But he favors unusual objects, takes joy in purchasing them. And giving them. So I always make a point of reassuring him the gift is unlike anything I’ve received and thanking him profusely.”
“How can he learn your tastes if you’re dishonest with him?”
She angled her head to the side. “Am I being dishonest?”
