Page 56 of One Night with a Rake

He was a rake. A ruin. A cad who’d agreed to bring her shame in order to save his family from scandal.

But if she could somehow love him, it might be the saving of him.

He bent to show her how.

***

His kisses were absinthe. Poppy juice. Hashish. Not that Georgette had ever tried any of those highly addictive, mind-altering substances, but after reading lurid accounts of their use, she’d imagined their effects on numerous occasions. Her imagination hadn’t come close to the drugging effect of Nate’s mouth on hers. She was going all soft and liquid inside and couldn’t care a whit.

He encircled her waist with his big hands, snugging her close. The hard warmth of his body against hers made her feel cosseted and safe.

But she knew whatever else this madness with Nathaniel was, it was not safe. Not in the least. Her belly jittered as she waited for whatever came next.

Nate cupped her cheek, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. The sensitive skin tingled. Then he started to unbutton her night shift.

Her skin prickled with self-doubt. What if he was disappointed with her?

He showed no sign of it as he lowered his mouth to her neck. His warm breath feathered along her jaw and tickled her earlobe.

When he straightened and looked down at her, his gaze lingered over her bared breasts. A smile spread slowly over his face.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

His words flowed over her like warm honey, heating every part.

The moonlight played a little trick of light, encasing him like an aura, glowing brightly for a moment. Then the glow faded along with his smile, and his deep eyes warmed to burnished cobalt. If she’d heard the rustle of leathery wings unfurling from his broad back, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

My dark angel.

He bent and claimed her mouth in rough possession.

She didn’t protest. Instead, she answered his kiss. Then he slanted his mouth across hers, tasting her, teasing her lips open. His tongue toyed with her and she made a little noise of impatience.

He drew back just a little. “We must learn control, Georgette.”

“It appears to me like you’re the only one who gets to be in control,” she said testily.

“Right now, I have to be,” he said with a catch in his voice. “But it’s myself I’m controlling. You can’t imagine how badly I want to throw you down and—”

“Why don’t you?”

A low growl escaped his throat and he bent to whip her night shift off in one smooth motion. Then he scooped her up and carried her to the waiting bed and lowered her into the feather tick. Nate lay down beside her, pulled her close, and plunged his hand between her legs to cup her sex.

Life roared inside her, shaking its fist at the retreating memory of the dead girl on Lackaday Lane.

He slid his fingers along her cleft, making her sensitive spot swell up to be stroked like a tabby arching her back. His mouth was at her breasts, suckling her hard. When he nipped her lightly, she cried out in aching joy.

She wondered briefly if this was only another of her vibrant fantasies. Perhaps she’d wake in a moment and find herself still in her own bed with her night shift rucked up to her waist and her body straining in helpless need.

But there was nothing imaginary about the way her nethers throbbed.

“What,” she gasped, “are you doing to me?”

“Loving you,” he said, his voice passion-rough. But speaking seemed to have settled him a bit because he slowed his relentless pace. He continued to stroke her, but not in a heated rush. He drew out the torment.

Georgette closed her eyes as his fingertip invaded her. She spread her legs to give him room to delve in and find that she was already wet and slick and aching to be filled. Then his blessed fingers pulled out of that empty place and circled her sensitive spot again, teasing and petting, whipping her into a stiff little peak.

“Hot and wanting,” he whispered. “You’re a goddess, Georgette.”