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He made a low groan. Before she could react, he had pinned her against the arm of the sofa. His mouth was atop hers, crushing, claiming, punishing. She had never been kissed with such force and felt a surge of triumph. Her head swam from the heady combination of intoxication and arousal. She attempted to return his forceful kiss, but his mouth dictated the terms. He tasted of her, explored her, consumed her. She could do little but surrender to his attentions.
When at last he released her to breathe, and the world had slowed its swirl about her head, she could not resist saying, “Patience, my lord.”
“Patience be damned,” he returned, though the glint in his eye had her suspecting that perhaps her triumph was not as complete as she would think. What was he concealing from her?
Chapter Two
She did not dwell long for he captured her mouth once more in his and she was content to revel in his desire for her. He trailed his lips down her neck and her back arched of its own volition, pressing her body into his, feeling the weight of him. She had not expected that area to prove so sensitive. As if cognizant of that delicacy, he kissed her with feathery lightness, a contrast to the vehemence with which he had plumbed her mouth earlier. His hand went to the small of her back, and that too proved provocative. She felt surrounded by him.
Desire swelled below her waist. She put her hand to the back of his neck, brushing the ends of his hair as he nestled into her neck. Forgetting her intentions to make quick her obligation to him, she allowed him to take his time caressing her décolletage and skimming the tops of her breasts. She had expected him to ravish them. In her previous encounters, the men had torn at her bodice as if they were starving babes eager to nurse, but she sensed that Lord Rockwell was no callow lover. Her nipples hardened, desiring his attention. As if sensing her precise need, he cupped a breast and grazed the nipple with his thumb. Her breath caught as a jolt of sensation shot from her nipple to the apex of her thighs. His thumb circled the nipple, rubbing the fabric of her dress into the bud until she squirmed and moaned her need for release.
He slid his hand to her upper thigh. Would he now throw up her skirts and mount her? She found she did not dread the prospect. Indeed, the carnal yearning within her welcomed it. But instead of unbuttoning his trousers, he pulled up the hem of her dress and ran his hand along her leg. How she wished she had a better pair of stockings to present to a man who undoubtedly knew all the luxuries in life. He brushed the soft skin just above the stockings with his knuckles, his hand dangerously close to where her desire pooled hot and wet.
She glanced into his face. His soft brown eyes gleamed in a manner that made her reconsider once more the wisdom of her intoxication. He had the upper hand in more ways than one. But she had no time to chide herself for his fingers skimmed the patch of hair at the base of her pelvis. His thumb slipped lower and teased that small but potent nub of flesh between her legs. She closed her eyes against his stare, marveling at the delicious disconcertion in her body. Lightly he fondled her clitoris, nipped it between two fingers, stroked its length ’til she was panting. Her body, now a coil that needed unwinding, strained to his touch. In response he deepened his caress. Dipping a finger into her hot wetness, he rubbed her with increasing vigor.
Gasping, she felt herself thrown over a familiar precipice, only it felt more glorious than when she attended to her needs in solitude. She erupted in uncontrolled paroxysms against him. A cry escaped her lips. He pushed the last of the spasms from her body before easing his caress into a gentle swirling. She shuddered.
“You spend beautifully, Miss Herwood.”
She barely heard his words. Lost in a fog of relief and glory and the remnants of her inebriation, she allowed herself to sink into the sofa. If he wanted her to attend him, he would have to wait and acquire some of the patience he had advocated earlier.
* * * * *
Deana fluttered her eyes. Settled in a haze of comfort and satisfaction, she had no desire to move, but the aroma of fresh coffee called to her. She glanced down at the luxurious blanket covering her legs and felt the firm cushions beneath her. Her gaze moved to the porcelain coffee set in front of her and then across the table to the opposite sofa where Lord Rockwell sat, one leg crossed over the other, his expression soft.
Good heavens, had she fallen asleep?
Quickly she sat up, but the speed of her motions made the side of her head throb.
“Coffee will aid your situation,” he offered, pouring a cup.
Flushing, she took the hot beverage with gratitude. He was correct—she should not have come intoxicated. She noticed he was no longer wearing his banyan or any neckwear. Instead, the top buttons of his shirt were undone—a minor feature but grandly provocative. Memories of what had transpired betwixt them rushed into her mind, warming her body instantly.
“Forgive my impoliteness for having, er, fallen asleep on
your settee,” she said more to her coffee than to him. She had never fallen asleep in a strange place before.
“I am glad for it,” he replied. “Do you drink often, Miss Herwood?”
She eyed him carefully. “You seem to know much about me. Do you not already have your answer, your Lordship?”
“A gaming hell is no place for one of the fair sex to let down her guard.”
“I am no fool nor child.”
“Tonight being the exception?”
She tried not to glare at him. “Though I am sure you are accustomed to women throwing themselves at you, might you allow that one would deem the situation I find myself facing rather daunting?”
His lips curved in genuine humor and she found it hard to remain angry with him. How glorious those lips had felt upon her…
“Miss Herwood?”
Realizing she had been staring at his mouth, she buried her face in her coffee. What a gauche young woman he must perceive her to be!
“Please partake of the sweatmeats.” He gestured to the berries, cheese and bread on the coffee tray.
Though not particularly hungry, she decided to eat as a distraction and idly wondered if he had woken the servants in the middle of the night to prepare the coffee.
