Page 64 of The Lady Knows Best

Well, it didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t really want him either. She’d only been hoping to trick him into revealing the side of himself she needed to see for that blasted essay. It was fine. All fine. She could still use tonight’s encounter to—

His hands rose to her shoulders, plucking off his duster and tossing it onto a nearby chair. Then his lips found the side of her neck, below her ear. Three kisses whose very softness hinted at something barely leashed. And when he spoke, the strain in his voice made her shiver with delight.

“Just a little,” he vowed, his breath hot against her skin.

CHAPTER 20

Just a little. Had more foolish words ever been spoken? As if he were known for moderation and restraint—especially with a half-dressed, beautiful woman in his arms. As if his rakish thoughts about Daphne hadn’t driven him from his bed to seek a measure of . . . solace, self-restraint, anyway . . . in the cool night air.

If necessary, he had known where to find an icy spring.

Now, here he was, with his arms around her—

Good God. When had he put his arms around her? It was as if his body had a mind of its own, one forearm banding her waist, snugging their hips together, the other across her chest, pillowed on her breasts.

He wanted to mark her pale skin with his kisses, to claim her for all to see. To nudge forward with his pelvis so she could feel his growing arousal. To gather her nightclothes in his fist and inch them higher, higher . . .

It was like some horrible test of his character, his will.

And he’d never done well on tests.

He slackened his hold, just a little, and managed to put a scant inch between his rapidly thickening cock and the lush curve of her bottom. “Daphne, love,” he whispered against her ear, “when you said you wanted me to be just a little rakish, what did you have in mind?”

Her chest rose and fell on an unsteady breath as she considered. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, her voice fretful, almost at the edge of desperation already.

“Hush,” he sighed soothingly against her cheek.

Not that he knew the answer either. He tried to imagine what she might be thinking. But he’d never taken an innocent to his bed.

“Kisses?” he suggested.

Some of the tension eased from her frame, the relief of encountering something familiar on a journey that had the potential to be perilous. Her head dipped up and down. “Yes, please,” she said, moving as if to turn in his arms.

He tightened his grip to keep her in place. He wanted that bit of skin her nod had revealed, the back of her neck, where a few soft curls had escaped her braid and beckoned to him now.

Shifting slightly, he bent his head to that precious spot, freeing one hand just long enough to peel away the collar of her dressing gown and expose a wider swath of skin to his lips.

Ah, how sweet she was, tipping her head forward to give him greater access, sighing as he explored her with kisses, gentle to start, then firmer, gasping when he grazed her with his teeth and followed with a soothing sweep of his tongue. Slowly, he moved to the top of her shoulder, the side of her throat, the sensitive hollow beneath her ear, noting what pleased her, drawing in the soft scent of her soap, relishing the salty tang of her skin. Her body seemed to melt in his arms, though the cords of her neck were taut as she strained to offer him more of herself.

Brushing aside her heavy braid, he lavished equal attention on the other side before allowing her to turn just enough that he could capture her mouth. This time, she didn’t hesitate to open to him, welcoming the slick invasion of his tongue before tentatively reaching out to taste him. With a groan of encouragement, he let her explore the sensitive skin behind his lips, the sharp edges of his teeth, the roof of his mouth. So eager, his Daphne. So hungry.

Just a little, his conscience cautioned as he put a hand on her hip and spun her to face him, relishing in the press of her breasts against his chest. With fumbling fingers, he reached between them to untie the sash of her dressing gown. Once undone, the silk glided over her shoulders of its own volition, revealing a demure cotton nightdress, the curve of its neckline hardly low enough to show the tops of her collarbones. It fastened just below the base of her throat with a half-dozen buttons that ran between her breasts, and the fabric was too sturdy, the fit too loose even to hint at the taut peaks of her nipples, let alone their dusky shade.

He’d never seen a garment more erotic.

His trembling hands were too clumsy to bother with undoing the tiny pearl buttons. He could hardly trust himself to be gentle when he reached up to cup her breast through the cloth. He felt as much as heard her sharp intake of breath as he lowered his head and pressed his lips to her chest, just at the point where it began to swell. Her hands, still tangled in the sleeves of her dressing gown, scrambled behind her to grasp the edge of the table for support, but she did not pull away.

With hot breath, teasing lips, and infinite patience, he traced the generous curve of her breast, the pebbled edge of her areola, the firm jut of her nipple. When she rewarded his efforts with a needy whimper, he captured that sweet point in his mouth and sucked until the cotton was damp.

When he released her nipple, intending to move to the other, he realized she was standing on her toes, lifting herself to him. The discovery both aroused and distressed him.

“Let’s make you more comfortable, shall we?”

Then he straightened, reached behind her, and cleared the table with a single sweep of his forearm, enjoying the clatter and thud of the chess pieces hitting the floor.

Her uncertain, incredulous laugh became a gasp when he encircled her waist in his hands and hoisted her onto the table, then covered her open mouth with a kiss. Perhaps there was something to this playing chess silliness after all.

“Aren’t you afraid someone will come to see what caused the racket?” she asked, when he let her have her breath.