Page 57 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

He stood in the middle of the room, spun in a circle. What must he do first? His breath puffed like a steam engine. His heart pounded frantically. He still clutched her to him, yet she made no protest. Slowly, he released her and she slid down his whole length, clutching his neck until her toes touched the floor.

Charlotte looked into his face. “Oh, Nash.” Desire flickered once more in her green eyes.

God, if this was a dream he’d rather die than awaken.

He ran his hands through her hair—her hat had been abandoned downstairs—scattering pins as he drew it down around her shoulders. The glossy chestnut curls slipped through his fingers like strands of silk. What a joy it would be to see them fanned across his pillow.

The image swelled his erection even more, though he wouldn’t have believed that possible. They needed to hurry or he might be rougher with her than he intended. “This way, love.” With his arm at her waist, Nash urged her toward his bed chamber. She strode across the threshold, his at last.

She approached the bed, somewhat hesitantly, though that seemed natural under the circumstances. At last she turned and beckoned him. When he stood in front of her, scarcely daring to breathe, she leaned forward and raised up on her toes to whisper in his ear, “I am yours, Nash.”

“Oh, Charlotte.” He ran a finger down the length of her arm. Her shudder fed his heat and he pulled her close.

“I am yours,” she repeated, raising her hand to cup his face, “if you want me.”

Chapter 20

“My God, Charlotte.” He seized her again and crushed her against his chest. “I have wanted you since the moment I saw you across the dance floor at Almack’s.”

“You did?” Her words were muffled, and she turned her head. “I tried to find you after Mr. Garrett—or rather Lord Kersey—brought me back to Jane, but she said you had gone.”

“I left early.” He didn’t want to think of her with that rakehell. Not now of all times.

“Why? I wanted to dance with you. You had to have known that.”

He released her and stepped back. Best get this out in the open if they were to marry. “Because I saw you emerge from the stairwell, your hair mussed, your lips swollen.”

She gasped, turning her back on him. “Oh, no.”

“Yes. The sight convinced me you were involved with Kersey. Next morning, when I heard you being called the ‘Wicked Widow,’ I dismissed you out of hand. I will not marry a woman tainted by scandal.” God, but he hated to ask this, but he had to know from her own lips. “Did you have an affair with Lord Kersey?”

She rounded on him, her eyes glowing with anger. “No. I never sought his attentions. It may have seemed that way to you, but I will swear to you that he has done nothing compared to what you just did.”

At that his stern demeanor melted. He grabbed her and pressed his lips to hers again.

“Good,” he said when he could speak at last. He pushed several strands of hair away from her face. So beautiful and strong. And vulnerable. How could he not want the responsibility of keeping her safe from everyone, including herself?

“Then will you marry me, Charlotte?” He feathered kisses along her hairline, down over her forehead. “I want us to have passion for each other that lasts until neither one of us knows the meaning of the word.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And I want it to begin now. I must marry and produce an heir for the earldom. And I cannot do that, and have a passionate life with you, unless you marry me.”

He continued to trail kisses down to her mouth, brushed it with a kiss. He would have continued to her cheeks, but she suddenly pressed his lips again, holding him there.

Nash slid his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. She molded her body to his, aligning her hips to his and inflaming his desire once more. He caressed her back, sensitive even through her clothes, for she sighed at his touch, then moaned louder when he squeezed her bottom. God, she responded to his every touch so sweetly.

Nash ground his hips against hers, letting her feel his member, once again hot and hard and ready for her. She groaned, wrapped her arm around his buttocks, and tried to pull him toward the bed. After a moment’s resistance, Nash allowed it, walking her backward until she fell onto the mattress with him on top of her. Good. Right where he wanted her.

He found her ear and rimmed the outside shell with his tongue, wetting it. Then blew gently, delighted when she shuddered beneath him. He traveled the short distance to her tantalizing lobe where a jet teardrop hung. Pushing the ornament aside, he nipped and sucked until she panted in his ear. She kneaded his back, tearing at his coat as she writhed beneath him. When he dragged his tongue down her neck, frantic, incoherent cries burst from her.

Slowly, Nash began a series of shallow thrusts, rubbing himself against her in an attempt to stimulate the spot he knew sent many women into climax. At the same time, he continued licking and sucking her neck, searching out the sweet spot that drove women mad with desire.

“Nash. Oh, Nash.” Charlotte’s moans deepened. “Nash, please.” She began to pull at his clothing and thrust her hips against his already throbbing cock.

Oh, but this would be sweet. He sat up, shedding his coat, then unbuttoning his fall. On their wedding night he’d make sure to go slower, but now—

Christ. She hadn’t accepted him. Repressing his own groans of need, Nash stopped and rolled off her. He lay on his back, trying to will his erection to calm before it was too late.

Charlotte sat up, eyes wild and dark with desire. “Nash! What are you doing? Why did you stop?” Her words were breathy, strained. She grabbed his hand and tried to pull him back toward her.

He rolled onto his side and stared into the face he longed to see beneath him once more. “I cannot until you give me your answer, Charlotte. I will not make love to you unless we are wed. Or at least betrothed.”