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She gave him a rueful look. “For a great many things, but right now for dragging you into this mission. I knew it would be dangerous, and I was selfish in accepting your help.”
“Oh, I see.Youwere selfish. Is that why I’m here?”
The candlelight flickered on her skin, illuminating its softness. More of her hair had come undone in their hasty escape, and it tumbled about her shoulders in a riot of waves. Her eyes had never looked so dark as they did right now, when her gaze was upon his. She was a combination of light and dark, softness and steel, determination and delicacy.
“Whyareyou here?” she whispered.
The quip was on the tip of his tongue, something about returning to London with his head intact. Instead, he reached out, stroked her cheek, and said, “You.”
“Ramsey…”
He didn’t know what she would have said because the sound of his name on her lips proved too tempting. He leaned forward, cupped her chin, and kissed her gently. Her lips were soft as they moved under his. Her sigh when their mouths parted was even softer.
“Why are you stopping?” she asked.
“I thought…” Hell, why was he stopping? He wanted her. Had always wanted her. Something dark flickered in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away. He would think of it later, when she was not in his arms. Because in the next instant, she was completely and utterly in his embrace, and nothing, short of the appearance of a battalion of soldiers would stop him now.
—
Gabrielle wanted Ramsey’s hands on her. She needed his touch. In that moment, she couldn’t have said why she hadn’t given in to her attraction before. Yes, she had made a mistake with George. She would probably make a mistake if she fell in love with Ramsey—oh, she was half in love with him already! But when she might not live to see the dawn, what difference did it make?
London, Diana and Cressy, McCullough’s creditors—they all seemed so far away. It was as though they were part of another life and belonged to some other person. Here and now was what mattered.
She stripped off the coat she wore and clutched Ramsey’s lapels in both hands. His was a tighter fit, but she managed to strip him down to his linen shirt and loosen his cravat. He was doing the same to hers. She almost wished she were wearing a dress, so she could hike the skirts up and be done with it. But this was pleasant, his hands on her—this prolonged the anticipation.
When his cravat hung about his neck, she leaned in to kiss him again, twining her tongue with his. She could kiss him for days. The way he kissed her, as though she were the only person in the universe, spoiled her. All that passion, all that intensity, and all for her.
He held her face in his hands and whispered, “It’s cold here. Put your coat back on.”
“I’m not cold in your arms,” she answered. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”
He groaned softly. “You’re not making this easy.”
She laughed. “In truth, my lord, I am making this very easy.” She leaned back and pulled her shirt over her head. Her breasts were bound with a long strip of white linen, but that was scant protection against the chill. He was right. The quarries were frigid.
But when he pulled her close for another kiss, she felt only his heat. In the next moment, he had removed his own shirt, and the skin of her belly burned where it touched his. His hands fumbled with the linen strip, and, eager for his full attention again, she stood to unwind it. His eyes on her were hot and heavy. She could feel his gaze on her skin, making her too aware, making her warm, her movements like liquid.
The strip fell to the floor, and his eyes went dark. Even in the dim light of the lantern, she could see the change in his pupils—how they widened and went black. She bent, pulled off her boots and stockings, and then unfastened her breeches, dropping them on the ground.
Now she was shivering, but not from cold. His gaze made her tremble.
“You are so lovely,” he whispered. “You’re like a goddess or a nymph.” He stood. “I should have paid more attention to my mythology.”
“I don’t need poetry.”
His arms were around her. That was what she needed.
“But you deserve it.” He kissed her long and thoroughly. “You more than deserve it.” His hands ran up her bare hips, fingers teasing and skating across flesh pebbled with cold. When they reached her breasts, he cupped them, testing their weight. “You fit perfectly into my hands,” he whispered. His thumbs brushed her nipples, and she felt them harden.
“Your mouth,” she murmured, letting her head fall back. “Put your mouth on me.”
He did, starting with the hollow under her chin and brushing light kisses down her neck to her collarbone. All the while his thumbs worked her nipples, making them harder, making them ache and strain for his lips, his mouth, his teeth. When she felt his hot, wet tongue on her breast, she all but cried out.
He sucked her lightly, and she moaned. “Harder. I’m not a virgin you must be gentle with.”
“Thank God, because I don’t think I can hold back much longer.”
He sucked harder, nipped her, and she all but came undone. One hand skated to her back, then to her bottom, bringing her fresh sensations. While his mouth worked on her, his hand brushed her hip and settled between her thighs.
