Page 22 of One Night with a Rake

She really needed to listen to her maid more often, she decided.

Georgette was so absorbed in Nate’s kiss and the bewildering clamor it started in her body, she almost wasn’t surprised when his hands began to roam over her as she’d done to him.

Turn and turn about.

It appealed to her notion of fairness, so she decided to allow it.

First, he ran his fingertips along the edge of her bodice, teasing the tops of her breasts. Her skin shivered with excitement.

Then he dipped a finger into the hollow between them. Her nipples pricked to taut awareness, the tight nubs throbbing with an ache of their own. His fingertip brushed one and a shock of sensation zinged from her breast to her nethers in a heart-stopping second.

Who knew such disparate parts of her were so intimately connected?

He flicked the sensitive tip of her breast again and she groaned into his mouth. Her nipples throbbed so, she nearly put a palm to her chest in an effort to still the ache. Before she could do that, Nathaniel slipped his whole hand down the front of her bodice and cupped her breast.

He held her bosom as if it were the most precious thing he could touch. Oh, the delectable sense of being cherished! Her insides turned molten, softening like warm beeswax, as his kisses and caresses continued.

His mouth traveled down her neck and followed the path his fingertips had traced along the lacy edge of her bodice. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts toward his lips. His mouth commanded her full attention.

Her stays were suddenly too tight again.

Oh! If she could only feel his mouth on her skin beneath the layers of her gown, stays, and chemise.

The courtesan’s memoirs she’d read with Mercy had made much of the delicious sensations to be savored with a skillful lover. It was possible, Madam Charpentier asserted, for a woman to reach “her pinnacle” merely on the strength of an adept man’s fondling of her breasts.

Georgette wasn’t sure what was meant by “her pinnacle,” but the way her nipples throbbed, she was certain a pinnacle was much to be desired. There was clearly more delight to be had in allowing Nate to explore her body.

But the world began to intrude. The cabby’s horse whickered his impatience and the hackney rocked a bit.

This was not the place to put Madam Charpentier’s theories to the test. Georgette pulled away from Nate’s kiss, her palms flat on his chest.

His blue eyes were dark with desire, and his breathing as ragged as hers.

“I don’t want to play the fool, Nate.”

But I do want to play, she finished silently.

Perhaps in addition to dance practice, he’d be willing to help her explore a few of the tantalizing ideas in the courtesan’s memoirs.

The ones that didn’t endanger her maidenhead, at least.

“You’re not foolish,” he assured her. “You’re quite wonderful, actually.”

“So are you,” she said. “But now is not the time and this is not the place.”

One of his brows ticked up slightly. “Have you a time and place in mind? Name it and I’ll be there.”

She almost asked him to sneak into her bedchamber at midnight but decided that sounded far too like a scene from a dreadful penny novel. She pulled her cloak close around her, trying to silence her body’s protests that a penny novel affair sounded utterly delicious and it was fully prepared to live out one of those sinful plots.

“I need to be in Mme. Reynard’s fitting rooms in less than a minute. If I don’t get this gown ordered, Mother will have a conniption.” She pulled her skirts close around her legs so he could slide past her to open the carriage door. “Kindly hand me down.”

A wall rose up behind his eyes at her rebuff. “As you wish, princess.”

“I’m no princess.”

Nathaniel climbed out the door, bowed with a flourish, and then offered her his hand.

“You will be,” he said ominously.