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She could tell. His erection was very much in evidence, and she ground into him, aroused by his sharp intake of breath.
“Wildcat,” he chuckled, the rumble of his laughter a heady vibration jumping through her.
She tried twisting in his arms, but he held her captive, his grip like iron, the heat of his body raising a sheen of sweat between her shoulder blades. Between her breasts.
“Not so fast. Not this time,” he whispered.
Pushing aside her hair, he slid his tongue down her exposed neck. Releasing one button of her gown at a time. His tongue following the curve of her spine.
The gown slid to the floor in a muslin puddle joined quickly by petticoats and stays.
His other hand continued to move over her breasts in teasing passes that had her nipples puckered and painful.
She leaned back into him, rubbing herself against the swollen size of him, loving the sizzle of desire burning its way through her like blood on fire.
He groaned, a hand dropping to skim her mound until she responded with a whimper of her own.
Then with a deft sweep of his body, he had her pinned against the door, his gaze devouring the length of her until she felt herself go wet and ready for whatever he had in mind.
Dropping to his knees, he reached up. Untied the ribbons of one garter. Rolled the stocking to her ankle, his teeth grazing the length of her leg, pressing kisses against her inner thigh. He repeated the procedure with her other leg, leaving her jelly-kneed and throbbing.
And then he was between her legs, his lips and tongue dipping to taste, jolts of pure pleasure shooting through her. He wouldn’t let her fall? Think again. She was tumbling head over heels. Plummeting through a sea of lush seduction. Everywhere he touched her, a lit fuse. Everywhere his lips moved against her, a devouring explosion.
Just as she felt herself peak in a spiraling crescendo, he abandoned his sweet assault. And as her knees gave way, he caught her. Carried her to the bed where he tossed her in a laughing, tumbled heap.
She watched in languorous pleasure as he shucked off his clothes in eager haste. And then he stood over her. Gloriously, beautifully naked. She feasted on the sight of him. Wanted to imprint the memory on her brain. The stern bones of his face. The sculpted breadth of his shoulders, the sleek line of his torso, and the hard-packed ridges of his stomach tapering into—oh, my.
Her brows raised in admiration, she laughed. “Are you trying to scandalize me?”
His mouth quirked in a wicked little boy smile. “No, simply pacing myself.”
“Leave that to me.”
She leaned up, taking his hand. Pulled him down to join her on the bed. Swung a leg over him, straddling his hips. Let the curtain of her hair spill over them, shutting out the world. If she could only shut out the accusing voices as easily. They warned her of the evils awaiting any woman foolish enough to get caught in the same trap twice. Chided her for a monumental stupidity she’d regret forever. And all in variations of Maude’s broad brogue.
But though she heard the voices, she’d long ago mastered the art of ignoring them. She’d had to. Only madness lay in wallowing through the “what-ifs” of regret. She’d already been tried and condemned. May as well enjoy her fall from grace.
Firmly beating back the last hesitation, she closed her eyes. Impaled herself on his thick shaft. Stretched to take him inch by excruciating inch. He shuddered and was still. And with a smile every bit as wicked as his, she withdrew. Sank back onto him, the tempo as she rode him slow, steady, and designed to drive him as far over the edge as she’d been only moments before.
Her success was obvious. He groaned, his hands kneading her breasts before sliding down to curve around her ribs. The callused rub of his palms sparking new tremulous spasms. Intensifying the already orgasmic sensations pulling her toward climax.
She was deliciously and horribly lost. A harlot of the worst kind. And she didn’t care. Aidan Douglas was worth damnation.
He lay with one arm behind his head, one snuggling Cat close, as yet unwilling to release her. She curved into the crook of his arm, her silky flesh still a dangerous temptation as he quickly and painfully found.
Had this scoundrel Jeremy claimed her body with the same savagery? Had Cat lost herself to his lovemaking with the same sinful delight? And why the hell did it matter, so many years later? It didn’t, he told himself firmly and repeatedly.
“Describe Belfoyle to me,” she whispered, breaking him from the pointless speculation that could only complicate matters further.
“Why would you want to hear about that? It’s not exactly pillow talk.” She raised her eyes to his in such a beseeching way that he laughed. “Very well, if you insist on hearing about the ancestral pile, I’m happy to oblige.”
She snuggled into him like a child awaiting a story.
“It’s in County Clare. About twenty-five miles northwest of Ennis, if you know where that is. It’s a bit over eighteen thousand acres, devoted mostly to sheep and cattle. Some acreage set aside for corn and other grains. We have a mill and a—”
She shifted onto an elbow, her brows wrinkled in amusement. “I don’t want to purchase it.”
He laughed. “Very well. Let’s see.” He smiled with inspiration. “All right, once upon a time there was a house that stood in a green park surrounded by beautiful views, the sea a shining dazzle through the trees, breathtaking cliffs where puffins nested and seals basked in the sun.”
