Page 73 of The Trouble with True Love

“Clara, in over three decades of life, no one who knows me has ever deemed me noble.”

Her frown cleared, and her smile came back. “Now who’s hiding their lights under a bushel?” she asked and swallowed the last of her champagne.

His amusement vanished, for in her face, he saw something he’d never seen there before, something that shouldn’t be there. He saw a hint of admiration. “If you knew what I’ve been thinking about you ever since I walked through that door, my sweet lamb, you’d never call me noble.”

She set aside her glass and slid off the edge of the desk. “And if you knew what I was thinking about you right now,” she said as she turned his chair toward her and leaned over him, “you’d never call me sweet.”

She kissed him, and the moment her mouth touched his, Rex decided to rid her of any ridiculous notions of his nobility in the best way a rake could do. He broke the kiss long enough to stand up, and then, he wrapped his arms around her and took her mouth again, not with any tenderness or gentle regard for her inexperience, but with all the passion he’d been keeping under such tight, agonizing control.

From the moment he’d first kissed her on that settee, he’d been able to think of little else but doing it again, of tasting her mouth and unleashing the sweet passion he’d so unexpectedly uncovered that afternoon. Yet now, as her arms came around his neck, he reached up to grasp her wrists, the vague notion in his head that he ought to stop this, that he ought to exercise at least a shred of the nobility she’d attributed to his character.

But then, her lips parted, he tasted champagne on her mouth, and any thought of stopping crumbled into dust. He deepened the kiss instead, sliding his tongue into her mouth.

Her response was immediate, her fingers raking through his hair as her mouth opened wider, her tongue meeting his with all the same sweet eagerness she’d displayed during their first kiss. She wasn’t thinking of boundaries or consequences, he knew. She was only drinking in all these sensations still so new to her, and he wanted, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, to give her more.

Keeping one arm tight around her waist, he slid his free hand up along her ribs. Through her shirtwaist, he could feel the rigid whalebone stays of her corset, a barrier and a reminder, but he moved his hand higher, embracing her breast through her clothes.

She gasped, turning her head away to break the kiss even as the rest of her body pressed closer. “It’s all right,” he murmured, his palm cupping her through the rigid corset, his other arm tight around her waist as he trailed kisses from her cheek to her ear. “It’s all right.”

Her skin was like velvet, her hair held the sweet scent of orange blossoms, and her breathing was shallow and quick against his neck. When he pressed his lips to the side of her throat, he could feel tendons there quiver beneath the caress of his mouth. When he moved higher, pulling the lobe of her ear into his mouth, she moaned. Her hips stirred against him, sending fissures of pleasure through his body, pleasure so intense, it almost knocked him off his feet.

He pulled back, sliding both hands to her waist. She was so slim, so delicate, that his hands encircled her waist completely as he lifted her on to the desk.

He reached up to the thin bow of ribbon at her throat, yanking it free, then he began unbuttoning her shirtwaist.

“Rex?” Her hand encircled his wrist, and he stopped. Hands at her collar, he made himself to look into her face. He couldn’t see into her eyes, worse luck, for her gaze was lowered, her lashes tilted down.

Not yet, he thought, desperate.God, Clara, not yet.

“Not yet, then,” she whispered, and only then did he realize he’d uttered his agonized plea out loud. But he wasn’t going to let a trivial thing like his pride get in the way now, and when her hand slid away, he worked his way down, unfastening buttons as fast as he could.

When he reached the waistband of her skirt, he paused to take a deep breath and remind himself there would come a point soon when he would have to stop. Praying that when that moment came, it wouldn’t annihilate him completely, he pulled the edges of her shirtwaist apart. As it opened, revealing the muslin and lace of her sweet, white undergarments and the delicate pink flush of arousal on her pale skin, his own arousal deepened and spread.

He leaned closer, and the soft, pristine scent of talc mingled with the orange-blossom scent of her hair, flaring arousal into lust, making him dizzy. He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, and she stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation.

Her hands came up to cradle his head, pulling him closer as he trailed kisses along her collarbone to her shoulder, then he buried his face against the warm skin of her throat, and lifted his hand to once again embrace her small, round breast.

He wished he could unlace her, but removing that barrier, he feared, would break his already shaky willpower utterly apart, so he was forced to be content with shaping her through the corset. He pressed a kiss to the soft white crest of her breast above the edge of her undergarments, and she moaned in response, her body stirring in agitation.

Gently, still kissing the talc-scented skin above her breasts, he grasped folds of her skirt in his free hand and began pulling the soft, thin wool upward, working to get his hand beneath the layers of skirt and petticoats.

She made a faint, maidenly sound of what might have been protest, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Rex went still, waiting, expecting her to push him back, but when she didn’t, he resumed, shaping her thigh through her drawers as he slid his hand upward.

He was rock-hard now, aching with weeks of pent-up lust, but oddly enough, he didn’t mind that, for he was driven by a far greater need: the need to pleasure her. He wanted her to know just what the culmination of passion felt like, the release and the exquisite bliss that followed it.

Kissing her all along the curve of her neck and shoulder, he shoved folds of her skirt upward, then slowly eased her backward onto the desk, moving to lay beside her as he slid his hand up a few more inches and eased it between her thighs.

She stirred again, but he wanted to deprive her of any ability to call a halt, and he turned his hand, cupping her mound through her drawers. Her hips jerked sharply, and she gave a soft cry of surprise.

He kissed her, hard, catching her cry in his mouth. His hand moved between her legs, using the friction of his caress against the damp fabric to arouse her further, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, and he eased his fingers inside the slit of her drawers.

She was wet, ready, and as he caressed the crease of her sex, he relished the soft, desperate panting sounds of need she made. She was nearing climax, he knew, and he used his voice to inflame her further.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he said softly. “You’re close, so close. Let it happen.”

As he spoke, her hips began pumping faster, moving against his hand in awkward, frantic jerks as she strove toward the peak, and when she came, he felt the sweetest pleasure he’d ever felt in his life.

She collapsed back against the desk, panting. He waited until the last waves of her orgasm had subsided before he pulled away, easing his hand from under her skirts. He was aware of the painful, aching need in his own body, and when she opened her eyes and smiled at him, he knew he couldn’t stay here one more minute without crossing the Rubicon.

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