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He lifted her, planted her on a covered sideboard which, thank the Lord, was the perfect height. She hooked her booted legs round his thighs and dragged him closer, the heat of her against the hardness of him as she panted his name. She dropped her head back and he kissed the column of her throat.
‘Youlovethis.’
His lips traced from her pulse point to behind her ear, and she shivered when he kissed her there.
‘Yesss...’Her elongated hiss drove him on. He slid his free hand up her skirt, teasing at the silken skin of her thighs, slipping his fingers between them till he found her, slick and wet through her underwear. He began to rub her through the damp fabric, stoking all her banked heat. Nothing was more important in this moment than her pleasure.
‘There are people downstairs who could hear, but you don’t care, do you? Iknewyou’d be like this. So responsive.’
He kept the steady, swirling motion of his fingers against the centre of her, winding her higher and higher. Caught in the maelstrom of Sara’s quest for pleasure, her hips moving in time to his fingers.
‘How desperate can I make you? What will you do for me?’
He surged against her and she whimpered, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Her cheeks were a delicate shade of pink, the same colour flushing her chest and climbing the column of her throat.
‘I need. I need...’ It was like a chant.
‘I know what you need.’
He didn’t give a damn if all of the staff in this house stood at the attic door and watched them. He’d stop fornothing. He pressed a little harder, teased her soaked core.
‘I have you,’ he growled in her ear. ‘Come for me like the good girl you want to be.’
She stiffened. Stopped breathing. Arched her spine as he crashed his mouth against hers, capturing her gasping sobs. He kept stroking in a steady rhythm, through wave after wave that had her convulsing in his arms, until she shuddered a final time and fell against him, soft and limp, resting against his aching body. His panting breaths lifted threads of golden curls on her head.
What he wouldn’t give to push her underwear aside, slide into her and take her, now.
But sanity inched back. He wasn’t a teenager. He didn’t have protection. Then a creeping disgust prickled through his veins because he wouldnottake advantage of her.
As much as he knew he should move away, as much as he ached for her, he merely held her against him. He felt her relax, stroking her back. Resting his chin on her head and breathing her in. Relishing her long, deep sigh of satisfaction, a bright kernel of glowing warmth illuminating his irredeemable soul.
Sara nestled into Lance’s hard chest as her panting breaths eased. One part of her brain screamedWhat have you done?But those thoughts were smothered by the warmth of a man’s strong arms round her, of her blood, sweet and thick like treacle, sliding through her veins. Sated. Protected.
She’d never felt like this before. Certainly not with the man she’d been supposed to marry. She knew pleasure on her own, of course, but this had consumed her, burned her, and now she felt new and tender. Easy to bruise.
Lance didn’t shift, he didn’t move. He just held her, and in his arms she felt like something precious and beautiful. Like the Fabergé animals he’d carefully held and caressed with his fingers. Something of true personal value. Whilst Lance still hadn’t let go, she loosened her legs a little. The centre of her was pressed against him and he was still hard. She wondered why he wasn’t doing anything. He had an obvious need, the mere thought of which started a tempting pulse low and deep inside her again. As if what had happened had broken something in her and all she could do was want and want and want.
‘Are you okay?’ His voice was rough, so he cleared his throat.
Okay? Merely okay? The whole of her still soared somewhere in the clouds. And the prickle of uncertainty needled at her as she crashed back to earth.
You’ll never have his heart.
Those words taunted her, encapsulating the certainty that she was not loved, was valueless other than for what she could provide as a wife. She didn’t want any man’s heart, not after the painful lessons of her past. But what if she’d misunderstood Lance’s desire? No. She couldn’t second-guess. He’d looked at her and touched and, whilst she’d been the one to initiate the kiss, he’d been close, waiting for it. And there was no doubt that his body wanted her...
But now all the syrupy lassitude had dissipated with this fear that somehow she’d done something wrong. She pulled back, not quite able to look him in the eye.
‘I’m fine.’ How gauche she sounded, when what he’d done had ripped her apart. She blinked back the fierce tears burning her eyes, her nose. He’d made her feel...perfect and wanted. Why couldn’t she hold her head high and accept it? Because she was worthsomethingas a person, no matter what Ferdinand and her family might have thought.
Lance tipped his finger under her chin and she was forced to look into the cool green of his eyes as they tracked over her face, his brow furrowed in concern. If he saw the gleam of tears he wouldn’t just think she was agood girl, but a silly little girl. Men didn’t like those, as her mother had always told her. What they wanted were serene, self-contained women. Well, she could be just that.
‘We should get moving. There’s a whole house to explore.’ She wriggled herself loose of him but, strangely, he didn’t appear to want to let her go, slow to remove his arm, his hand. She slid from the sideboard, trying to put herself back together. Straightening her clothes. Reflexively running her hand over her hair.
‘We should perhaps wait a few moments. Till I’m more...respectable.’
She looked at him, trousers pulled far too tight across his groin, his arousal impressive—and impossible to miss. She winced.
‘Oh, do you need a...a hand or anything?’
