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His lips had drawn into a thin line; she’d made him angry.
“Very well, let us get on with things.” Georgina stood, waving her hand around the room. “No need to prolong you receiving your spoils.”
“I’ve always admired how incredibly straightforward you are.” Leo set down the glass of bourbon and approached her, leaning so close her breasts nearly brushed against his hideous waistcoat. God, what was it, mustard and red with splotches of gold thread?
The warmth of his breath sifted through the fine hairs at the base of her neck, though he made no move to touch her. “You smell marvelous, by the way. Like spring.”
“Spring? I didn’t think you capable of such drivel. What you smell is the soap I use to bathe. Common enough. You can buy it at Hartman’s at the corner of Broadway Street. My sister sends it to me.” She kept her chin lifted, eyes fixed on a pair of candlesticks near the fireplace in an attempt to ignore the delicious warmth radiating across her neck. “Toss up my skirts and be done with it. You’ve won. Take your prize. I’ll hold still.”
Leo put his hands to his lips. A sound erupted behind them.
He was giggling. At her.
“Toss up your skirts? Bedonewith it? Are you serious, Georgina?”
“Stop mocking me.” She tapped her foot impatiently, ignoring the dozens of butterflies which had impossibly taken up residence in her mid-section. “Hurry things along. Take your prize.”
“I’m to”—Leo tugged gently on her skirts—“toss these over your head. Listen as you nearly suffocate under several layers of cotton and wool. Then when I feel you’re sufficiently muddled and barely breathing, I’m to settle myself between your legs?”
“Yes,” she said in a much huskier tone than she’d intended.
“I’m to slake my lust.” His voice lowered a fraction until it was only a dark hum. “On you?”
“Yes,” she said again. “Slake your lust. Spend yourself. Spill your seed. You’ve won.”
“Good lord, you have an interesting way of speaking, Georgina. You make this all sound”—his voice lowered to a seductive purr—“so tawdry.”
“Itistawdry. You’ve made sure of it.”
The barest touch of his lips against the curve of her ear had her arching ever so slightly. “Don’t you want me to touch you?”
“No.” Even she could hear the lie in her words. “Get on with it.”
“Stroke the wetness seeping between your thighs?” he murmured, running his hand over her hip. “Does your quim ache for my touch? I think it does.”
“You’re crude. Vulgar.”Terribly arousing.
“You’ve no idea the things I mean to do to you, Georgina.” He breathed against her neck, sending tendrils of pleasure down her back.
A finger ran down her arm, a whisper against her skin beneath the green wool.
Georgina closed her eyes, not trusting herself to look at him. Her fingers crawled into her skirts, clutching at the fabric for deliverance. “If you think giving me pleasure will assuage your guilt—”
“Guilt? A wasted emotion. I won’t feel the least guilty about fucking you, Georgina. I plan to do so repeatedly. Right on the settee. Then possibly the floor. Maybe bent over my desk. The possibilities are endless, and I haven’t yet decided.”
Georgina sucked in a breath. The place between her thighs, the spot John Winbow had touched but not satisfied, pulsed at his words. Leo was circling her like a hungry wolf scenting his prey, intent on drawing her out when she should seek safety.
He dragged the pads of his fingers along the base of her neck before tugging at the buttons lining her back. Insistent, but slow. Savoring the release of every button as it popped.
“I’ve wanted you for a very long time,” he murmured against the slope of her shoulder as another button came free.
“Odd.” She tried to stanch the quaking making its way up her body. “You’ve known me less than two years.”
“I adore your sharp edges.” An open-mouthed kiss fell on her neck as the dress fell from her shoulders. Teeth grazed. Nipped. The dress slid further down, trapping her arms at her sides. “What is it about your Beechwood Court that you would risk so much for it?”
It shouldn’t have surprised her Leo had come back to the subject of her little house. He was distracting her from the work of his hands, which would soon strip her bare. “It isn’t mine any longer.”
“Answer the question.” He nipped her again, hands sliding beneath the gaping wool of her dress.
