Page 13 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

His eyes locked with hers. “I shall be convincing enough for the two of us.”

She held her breath as he lifted his large hands to her shoulders in a powerful but gentle grip. If Nigel had dared to handle her in this fashion, she would have burst into laughter. But when Grayson touched her, the natural instinct came to close her eyes, submit . . . and enjoy.

She shivered as he brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheekbone. He did make a woman feel attractive, which she supposed was part of his appeal. “What are you doing?” she whispered, more curious than put off.

“Convincing you,” he answered, in a deep-timbered voice.

Jane hardly knew what to think as he took her face in his hands. But if her mind hung suspended in a sort of frozen curiosity, her physical being was certainly active, a welter of aching needs and fiery blushes. She was practically burned to a crisp by the time his mouth brushed her bottom lip in deliberate sensuality. Her heart thundered in heavy strokes that resounded through her body and faded into painful little throbs.

“Convincing me.” Her voice warbled with a faraway echo quality, a canary being lured from its cage. “Of what?”

“Hmm.” Grayson was disconcerted at his own reaction to their kiss. He foundered for several moments, a novelty in his vast realm of experience. The situation had taken an invigorating detour. She seemed quite sharp-witted for a woman in her position. He couldn’t decide whether this would prove to her advantage or not. It didn’t matter to him one way or another. How others perceived this might be something altogether different.

“Listen to me, Jane. I had not intended to make my point in exactly this way, but a tiger cannot be expected to change its stripes overnight. Something in your nature tempts the primitive male in me. What I mean to say,” he went on quietly, “is if your belief in your own desirability has been damaged today, I know several mutually satisfying ways to restore it.”

“I—”

“Even if it is only a game.”

“A game?” she said shakily.

“A game does not preclude a little pleasure, does it?” he asked softly. “Your future has not ended at an abandoned chapel altar.”

Besides, she had a lush body fashioned for lovemaking, for scattering a man’s wits, he thought, his pulse quickening with a desire that bordered on dangerous.

She shifted, and he felt his entire body tighten. The sensual brush of her hair against his hand, the pliant softness of her mouth, unleashed a lust in him that obliterated reason. Without even trying, she undid him. A shock of erotic anticipation sent a lightning bolt of energy down his spine. Every nerve ending in his body reacted, primed for sex.

“Oh,” she whispered in astonishment, raising a hand to push his shoulder, only to drop it limply into her lap.

He flicked his tongue across her full bottom lip. Her breath came in soft little gasps that aroused him even more. “Don’t you dare move,” he warned her gently. “I’m not finished yet.”

He tightened his hold on her, groaning as he felt the plush contours of her plump breasts press against his chest. He ran his free hand lightly down her shoulders to her back, tracing her ribs with his fingers. Of course it wasn’t enough. Every feral male impulse urged him to ease her deeper into the sofa.

“Lord Sedgecroft—”

“Ssh. It isn’t polite to interrupt me when I’m kissing you.”

She gave an uneven laugh. “You dare to speak of being polite when—”

“You’re interrupting again.”

“One of us ought to show some self-control.”

He smiled at her. “Ah, yes. The wedding guests did remark on the self-control you displayed today.”

“I suspect they made a few remarks about you, too. Self-control was probably not mentioned.”

He laughed, delighted by her directness. So the lady was not all she seemed. A pleasant surprise, and one that would make this more enjoyable. God forbid he had to escort a timid miss about town. His lips brushed hers again, coaxing a soft gasp from her. The tip of his tongue slid into her mouth, and he felt a flame ignite desire in the deepest recesses of his belly. She wasn’t exactly complying, but she didn’t resist him either. He liked the taste of her, the faint nectar of peach. He liked the lush contours of her body, too. The warm press of her breasts against his shoulder. Soft, intriguing. He clenched his hand to stop himself from touching her.

“You’re not finished yet, are you?” she asked faintly.

“Not quite.”

“Very well. Continue.”

She leaned back. His blue eyes smoldering, he followed and pinned her to the cushions with his hard-muscled weight. Cool as garden mist, he thought, but the erratic pulse beating in the hollow of her throat did not escape his detection.

He tasted the shape and texture of her moist, pliant lips; absorbed the sighs that escaped her; ate at her mouth with ruthless skill until he could feel her involuntary shivers of excitement.