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Chapter 18
When a girl, setting aside her bashfulness a little, wishes to touch the lip that is pressed into her mouth, and moves her lower lip, but not the upper one, it is called the “throbbing kiss.”
The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana
Alice allowed Nick to circle her waist with his hands and gently lift her onto the edge of the high bed. She perched there, her stomach tying into knots.
He wiped a spot of cream from her lips with his thumb, and the touch set her trembling.
He stood in front of her in his shirtsleeves with no cravat, while she perched on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling off the side. She was at a decided disadvantage.
He obviously preferred to control his liaisons completely.
She peered over the edge of the bed. No boots, either. He was barefoot, in breeches and a white linen shirt undone at the throat, giving her a nice view of his smooth chest.
He’d so clearly planned the view on purpose, to tantalize her.
And it was very effective. The triangle of chest made her want to see more. See everything she’d seen yesterday, when she’d watched him working in the gardens.
Ridged, sinuous lines of muscle rippling down his abdomen.
“Would you like some oysters?” he asked.
“No, thank you.” I’ll try a marquess, instead. Alice giggled softly because the thought was so very unlike her.
It must be the champagne. It had traveled straight to her head, and her belly, amplifying the fizzing sensation and making her feel reckless.
“What’s so humorous, Dimples?” he asked in a low voice, sipping his champagne and regarding her with half-lidded moonlit eyes.
“You planned all of this, didn’t you?” She swept her eyes over the rose petals, the champagne, the undone buttons. “You may as well scrawl some ink across your chest that says: ‘Eat me.’”
He choked slightly on his champagne. “Eat me?”
“That’s right. You’re a large, satisfying platter of gentleman, enticingly displayed so that young ladies will want to have a taste.”
He chuckled. “I had the same thought about you, Dimples, when I saw you that first day in your father’s study. I thought the dress you were wearing was like a strawberry tart your parents were hoping I’d want to devour.”
“My mother would be so pleased to hear it.”
“Well?” he asked, his voice roughening. He struck a wide-legged stance and squared his shoulders. “Is it working? Am I making you hungry?”
Oh, it was working.
She was probably staring at him right now in the same way he’d stared at her that day in her father’s study.
Alice drained the rest of her champagne. When had he refilled her glass?
She handed him the empty glass. “I don’t think I should imbibe any more champagne,” she announced. “I’m not accustomed to spirits, and I haven’t eaten much today.” Her head felt light and airy, like it might fly off her shoulders.
He took the glass and set it down. “Very well.” He finished his champagne and discarded his glass as well.
He kissed her then, positioning himself, still standing, between her thighs.
The effervescent, tart taste of the drink lingered on his tongue as he stroked inside her mouth. He dragged her bum to the edge of the bed and held her firmly against his hardness.
It must have been the champagne that made her part her limbs with barely any prompting. She’d forgotten that she wasn’t wearing any drawers.
Spreading her legs brought her in direct contact with that part of him which pressed against her naked, intimate flesh through his breeches.
