Page 45 of Real Earls Break the Rules

He pushed back his chair and approached. “Give me your hand.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

“Let me try something,” he insisted.

She stiffened as he took her hand in his. The feel of his strong fingers holding her hand made her pulse skitter as he ran his thumb deliciously up and down her palm. The pressure was light at first, then firmer as he kneaded the soft flesh and relaxed the cramped muscles.

She sighed at the blissful relief. He explored the soft lines of her hand—his touch innocent and intimate at once.

“Ice would be helpful, but a massage is best to ease a spasm,” he said.

No one had ever taken such care of her. The smooth bold strokes of his thumb were a purely sensual experience. The heat of his touch sank into her skin. She longed to lean into him and rest her head on his shoulder, to absorb his strength, and have his masculine scent coil around her.

If the touch of his fingers on her palm felt so good, what would it feel like to have him massage her shoulders, her neck, or—heaven forbid—elsewhere?

The erotic image made her cheeks grow warm. She needed to reach deep and summon her resistance, to battle the drowning attraction she felt for him.

“I can feel the muscles relaxing,” he said.

“Thank you. My hand feels much better now.” She attempted to pull her hand from his, but he resisted. His fingers twined with hers and held her close.

“Amelia,” he said hoarsely.

She tingled all over as he said her name. Her gaze met his, and his eyes shone with desire and the promise of pleasure. The tight muscles in her hand had eased, only to have the muscles throughout her body taut and aching, fighting to maintain a semblance of self-control.

He wasn’t for her, couldn’t be for her. His title and situation demanded he look elsewhere.

“I know what you’re thinking. You suspect I plan to pursue Lady Minerva after her musical ensemble, but you’re mistaken. The thought of spending a lifetime shackled to her fills me with dread. I’ll find another way out of my debt. I know I can make the mill a success. And I’ll do it without any lady’s dowry,” he insisted.

Her breath caught at his admission and the firm determination in his voice. She felt a thrill of satisfaction that he didn’t want Lady Minerva. She knew it was an unwise emotion. She had no right to him, either. If the duke’s daughter didn’t appeal to him, he could easily find another heiress in London. One he was attracted to.

Myriad confused thoughts tumbled in her mind. Uncomfortable with her emotions, she turned back to the unfinished portrait to avoid his eye.

“No more work. Not tonight,” he said softly.

He studied her face unhurriedly, feature by feature. “I’ve never told anyone the extent of my burdens. Not even Huntingdon. I seem to break all the rules with you.”

She stared up at him, a little breathless. “All of them?”

“I’m about to break another one.”

“Which one?”

He pulled her into his arms and drew her body flush against his solid, muscular chest. “My vow not to seduce you.”

Chapter Fifteen

Brandon’s mouth swooped down to covers Amelia’s so hungrily, her will dissolved beneath his urgent kiss. She opened to him like a delicate flower unfurling beneath the sunlight. Her lips eagerly parted and his tongue swept inside, exploring deep. She met him equally, pressing her open mouth against his. A groan of male satisfaction tore from his throat as she leaned into his embrace and pressed closer.

Lifting his head, he traced a sensuous path down her neck to the sensitive lobe of her ear. His hot breath lingered, and she shivered in anticipation until he sucked the delicate shell into his mouth. Amelia’s breath caught at the heady sensations that coursed through her.

She grasped his shoulders, his muscles hard slabs beneath his shirt. Succumbing to an overwhelming impulse to touch him elsewhere, her fingers grazed over the tightly coiled power in his arms. Her roaming hands moved to his chest, and she reveled in the strength and warmth of his flesh and the pounding of his heart through the linen fabric. A sense of urgency pierced her haze of desire. She turned her mouth to his, desperately seeking his kiss. She heard rapid breathing and was surprised to realize it was her own. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she sank her fingers into his hair.

He groaned. His mouth possessed her deeply, and he pulled her close. Her heart fluttered wildly and pumped blood fiercely through her veins. She arched toward him, wanting to feel more of his heat and strength. She was vaguely aware of his hands caressing their way up her back and his nimble fingers working the hooks of her gown. The top hook came undone. Any thought of protest melted beneath the onslaught of his passionate kisses. Another two hooks followed. The satin bodice gaped, and her breasts swelled above her chemise.

He lifted his head to gaze at his handiwork. One finger traced the edge of her chemise and followed the tiny row of embroidered rosebuds on the edge. Her nipples tightened into hard peaks beneath the fine muslin.

He paused, his eyes seeking hers, and she inhaled at the raw desire written there. “Your breasts are beautiful. Full, soft, and pale in the moonlight. I’ve dreamed of them. Of touching them. Tasting them.”