Page 53 of A Potion for Passion

All the breath left her lungs. Not even Frank at his most amorous had ever been so blatant. But she should have expected it of Lawrence, shouldn’t she? He wasn’t the sort of man who wasted time on pretty words. He saw a good deal less of polite society than she did and was much more familiar with mankind’s basic needs and instincts.

Would he be gentle with her? Or would he ravish her? And how would she feel afterward? One thing was certain, she would be ruined.

“Lawrence,” she said, slowly, “I don’t want to do anything I might later regret.”

“I’ll make sure you regret nothing, sweet, beautiful Flora. But I know what you’re thinking, and I’m sorry for teasing you. Yes, I admit I want you, almost beyond bearing, but honestly, I’ll be satisfied with just a kiss. Anything more, uh, vigorous might set my wound bleeding and undo all your good work.”

Not sure if she was relieved or disappointed, she got up and knelt beside the bed.

Rolling onto his good side, he propped himself up and reached his injured arm gingerly around her shoulder so he could bring her face close to his.

When his lips met hers, she felt a jolt of energy surge through her, and the space around her lit up as joy flooded her senses. How splendid it was to be wanted by such an alluring man! Poor, plain Flora Hartington had now become—in this man’s eyes at least—an object of desire.

She rubbed her lips against his and licked them with the tip of her tongue, savoring the taste of him.

“Oh, Flora,” he murmured. “You’re a sore test for my self-control!”

“Don’t talk. Just kiss me,” she demanded. Now that the divide had been crossed, there was no point wasting time. Her body was yelling out its needs.

“Happy to oblige,” he said, and she felt him smile. Then he pressed against the back of her head and used his tongue for a slow, sensual exploration of her mouth. She bit down gently, eliciting a moan from him, and his fingers clutched her tightly as he moved closer.

His kisses both drugged and elated her. How desperate she was to know more of him!

Releasing her mouth, his hot, moist lips trailed down the side of her neck. There was a brief pause during which he removed her white cap again and muttered something unrepeatable about it—then his teeth found her earlobe.

Never having been kissed, let alone nibbled, on the earlobe before, she leaned in to give him better access. Thrill after thrill of sensation shot through her body, and heat pooled in her abdomen, then moved lower down to tingle wickedly between her legs.

While his mouth teased and tormented her ear, his free hand nudged at the hooks on the back of her dress. In an instant, he exposed the nape of her neck, then the flesh of her shoulder to his stroking hand.

This was just meant to be a kiss, wasn’t it? So why was he undressing her? She felt cool air on her breasts as her dress was pushed down but resisted the urge to cover herself.

Whatever this was, or was not meant to be, she wanted to revel in the illicit pleasure of it. She nuzzled at his neck and kissed it, ran a line of kisses along his jaw and moved her hand admiringly over his forearm and bicep.

He returned his attention to her mouth and plunged his tongue inside in an act of pure possession. She sucked and nibbled, then crushed her lips against his, while her free hand continued its appreciative exploration of his naked shoulder, and the muscular planes of his bare chest.

There was a smattering of dark hair across his pectoral muscles, delicious to stroke, and in the midst of this, she found a small male nipple, tightly erect. Fascinated, delighted, she freed her mouth from his kiss and nipped at it, then rolled it between her thumb and forefinger.

The effect this had on Lawrence was instantaneous.

He surged up, clutching at her shoulders and growling like a chained beast. Fear fluttered through her as he bared his teeth, but before she could even think or act, his mouth was on her breast, kissing, suckling, ravaging the engorged nipple with his teeth. As she sank her head back, savoring the exquisite sensation, some still-sane part of her mind observed that there would be no going back now.

Lawrence aroused, inflamed, was unstoppable. Except—

“What’s that damned dog barking at?”

She had barely been aware of the sound of Charley’s angry yapping. She shook her head, trying to get some sense back into it. “I don’t know,” she managed.

“I could strangle that flea-bitten cur!” he exclaimed. He pulled her clothing roughly into place, leaped from his bed with a sheet swathed around his waist, and padded across to the wagon flap.

Flora came back to earth with a bump. “Lawrence, you can’t—” she began, but he’d already hurtled down the steps, completely unselfconscious about his semi-naked state.

Fearing a return of the redcoats, she flew about the caravan, gathering up her things, struggling to close the fastenings on her dress and tidy her hair.

Lord! What if it was someone she knew waiting outside? Guilt must be written all over her! She’d have to stay here till the coast was clear, then make a dash for home.

She heard an angry male voice saying something about swords, while Lawrence tried to quiet and placate him. She pressed her hand to her breastbone, trying to control the panic that overwhelmed her. At least she didn’t recognize the voice of the other man, which was something.

Lawrence advised the intruder to wait while he dressed. When he returned to the wagon, his expression was grim. “Forgive me. You must leave immediately—I have a serious matter to attend to. I’ll come and find you when all’s concluded.”

She dipped her head, her cheeks hot with embarrassment, and threw her shawl over her, then checked her bodice was back in place before hurrying down the steps, face averted.

She didn’t greet the stranger as she hurried past him in the direction of the cottage, but his interruption had been timely.

Thank goodness, her reputation was safe.

For now.