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“He was only trying to be thoughtful,” Olivia replied soothingly.
“So was I,” he retorted. He took another swallow of the wine and nodded at the platter. “Are you hungry?”
In truth, Olivia felt light-headed from the late night and now the red wine she was sipping. She took a piece of cold meat and popped it into her mouth, adding a slice of cheese and a crust of bread. There was nothing sophisticated about the meal—Theodore Garsed would be appalled—but she thought it tasted delicious. It was a moment before she noticed that Nic wasn’t eating, although he’d poured himself yet another goblet of wine.
His face was wearing that dark, brooding expression that never seemed to bode well.
Not that she was afraid of him, she told herself. How could she be afraid of Lord Lacey when she had set her heart on making him her husband? Anxiously she slid another piece of food from the platter into her mouth, only realizing as she bit down that she’d inadvertently taken a pickled onion.
The vinegary taste took her breath away. Olivia coughed, trying to stifle it, but that only made things worse. She coughed again, and then as the stinging fumes reached her nose and eyes, sneezed violently. A large handkerchief appeared in front of her and she took it gratefully. When she finished mopping her face, she cleared her throat and tried for a calm smile.
Nic was watching her with concern. “Olivia?”
Her calm smile trembled at the edges. “Pickled onion,” she whispered shakily.
He glanced at the tray, then glanced at her, and his expression cleared. He began to laugh. Olivia found herself joining in. It wasn’t really funny, but it gave them the chance to release the tension, and she was delighted to see the brooding, haunted look had vanished from Nic’s face. He took one of the onions himself, pulling a face as he crunched into it.
“Cook has overdone herself with these,” he admitted.
“You should try the cheese,” she suggested.
He did, and suddenly he seemed to realize he was hungry, wolfing down meat and bread as well.
“I am quite certain Mr. Garsed doesn’t offer his guests pickled onions,” she said, sipping her wine.
“You’re probably right. I apologize for my lack of taste.”
“I can honestly say that if it came to a choice I’d much rather be sitting here with you than at a banquet with him.”
He began to answer, and then his gaze slid down and he froze. Olivia froze, too, because she knew what he was looking at. Her sneezing had caused her wretched dress to slip again.
“Olivia,” he said, although it was more of a groan.
Instinctively she reached to tug up her dress, but something far more fundamental made her stop. The heat in his eyes had lit an answering fire in her, and already she could feel it burning deep inside. “Nic,” she whispered.
He seemed to be struggling with himself, but either he didn’t struggle very hard or his need to do what he wanted was too powerful to be stopped. A heartbeat later he was kneeling on the patterned rug before her, his mouth on hers.
Chapter 13
Nic forgot his resolutions. He forgot his latest plan, to place her safely in Theodore’s hands, before setting off for Paris. He even forgot the abominable ache in his leg, although it did give a nasty twinge when he dropped to his knees before her chair. All he cared about was the touch, the feel, the scent of Olivia Monteith. His world was full of her and only her, and as her soft mouth clung to his, his practiced fingers were busy un-hooking her dress and letting it fall to her waist, so that he could release her glorious breasts into his hands.
Olivia clutched his shoulders, then her arms slid around his neck, clinging to him as if she thought she might fall. Gently he began to taste her, his tongue laving the curves and circling the peaks. While he worked on one breast with his mouth, he held the other in his hand, his thumb brushing back and forth over her turgid nipple. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she made little sounds of enjoyment.
Nic glanced up at her through his lashes. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth reddened from his kisses. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and this time he wasn’t going to let some foolish idea of gentlemanly conduct or past history stop him. She was his for the taking and he’d bloody well take her.
He plan
ned to lift her down onto the rug beside him, but as he began to ease her from the chair, she seemed to know what he was about, and slid down herself, so quickly that she landed on the floor with a bump. Nic caught her in his arms, and they tumbled to one side, landing amid a tangle of legs and a flurry of her skirts. Her face was resting so close to his he could see the faint sprinkling of freckles on her nose, and the thick frame of her dark lashes about her bright blue eyes.
Olivia smiled.
Nic, the hardened rake, who thought he could never be emotionally touched by a woman, knew he’d been wrong.
Reaching out, he cupped her cheek and leaned forward to kiss her, tilting his head so that he could make the most of her lush mouth. She responded eagerly, without a hint of coyness or doubt, wrapping her arms about his neck and wriggling against him. He slid his tongue between her teeth, teasing her. He was aware that his cock was painfully hard, but he was trying to hang on to some vestige of his famous technique, when all he wanted to do was plunder her.
Physical pleasure, he reminded himself feverishly, trying to focus, was a matter of balancing control with passion, using technique to increase excitement by stepping back from the brink, over and over again, so as to intensify the final climax. There was a certain pragmatic quality about making love, and usually he had no trouble in remembering that.
Olivia gave a little groan, throwing her foot over his legs, sliding her calf along his thigh, as if she wanted to climb inside his flesh. He rolled over onto his back and pulled her along with him, so that she sprawled across him, all soft curves and heated womanhood. Her hair, hanging from its pins in loose strands, tickled his nose. He nuzzled against her arched throat, working his way up to her mouth, and then nipping at her lips.
