Page 45 of Pursuing Lord Pascal
“Maybe five.” His smile deepened. “Tell me what you feel.”
She stretched against the bedhead, luxuriating in how his eyes focused on her breasts. Her bashfulness receded under his blatant admiration. Nakedness had its advantages. “Naughty certainly.”
“That’s a start.”
Her voice lowered to seriousness. “I never imagined I could feel like I did in your arms. You have a gift, my lord.”
Unexpectedly, her heartfelt praise displeased him. “It’s not just me. It’s the two of us together. You’re incomparable, Amy. And the only person who doesn’t recognize that is you.”
She didn’t want to ponder her shortcomings. After all, the afternoon would soon be over, and she’d have to go back to London and pretend she was the same pragmatic creature she’d been before today. She stretched out her hand. “I’ll tell you something—I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world when you touch me.”
His smile filled with the sweetness that always turned her mind to soup. “Then it must be time to touch you again.”
“An excellent suggestion,” she said, fearing that she smirked. Difficult to resist smugness when he looked at her like that. Like she was a piece of Turkish delight, and he wanted to snap her up with one bite of his straight, white teeth.
Gervaise took her hand, but didn’t yet push her down for another passionate wrestle. “Are you sure you’re ready to do this? I’m not a brute. I can wait until next time.”
Her eyebrows arched in taunting inquiry. “Next time?”
“I don’t want a passing conquest.” He lifted her hand, and the graze of his lips across her skin made her quake with anticipation. Stronger than before, now she knew just what she anticipated. “If I had my way, I’d whisk you away to some secret haven and sate every appetite. Day after glorious day.”
For a dazed interval, she stared into those intense, perfect features and imagined what that would be like. Hour after hour in Gervaise’s bed. Night after night. Taking their pleasure, until they collapsed with exhaustion in a tangle of naked limbs. Then seeking pleasure anew. Nobody nearby to interrupt or observe or judge.
And endless time to talk to him. She wanted him. Of course she did. But more than that, she longed to see into his soul. He was such a compelling mixture of rake and hero.
A bird called from a tree outside and shattered the alluring fantasy of escape. It was impossible. She wasn’t some starry-eyed milkmaid in thrall to the amorous plowboy. With fishing rod or not.
She had responsibilities, obligations. If she forsook her reputation, she’d damage her family’s future. Silas and Helena and Robert all had children who would suffer from gossip about a notorious aunt.
Amy beat back the sudden wistfulness. Regret held no sway in this room. What she had was the fulfillment of a dream. Asking for more was greedy.
She rose to lace her arms around Gervaise’s powerful neck and draw him down for a bold, open-mouthed kiss. When at last he raised his head, she smiled and told herself to be content with the present.
“We’re somewhere secret now,” she murmured. “Let’s take advantage of it while we can.”
Chapter Thirteen
Carefully Pascal closed the library door, shutting out the sounds of the crowded ballroom from the other side of the house. The music and chatter from Lady Frame's party turned into a distant hum.
Now all he heard was the insistent pump of his blood and the siren call of temptation.
Amy faced him, standing before the large mahogany desk under the curtained windows. She wore crimson, as if their passion found its inevitable color. The melting surrender in her expression sent a jolt of arousal through him.
He leaned his back against the door and turned the key in the lock without looking. He was too busy drinking in every detail of this woman he wanted more with every day.
A slow, sensual smile curved her lips. The smile was new and spoke of a woman incandescent with sensual power. Such a change from the lovely, but wary lady he’d first met. Now her beauty blazed like a beacon. Need, bright and burning as lightning, sizzled along his veins.
The luxuriant pile of tawny hair held a tantalizing hint of untidiness, a reminder of how it cascaded free when he hauled her into bed. Her hazel eyes were more gold than green, glittering with brazen interest. Her creamy breasts moundedabove the daringly low bodice and rose and fell with her uneven breathing.
“You’re here.” His voice rang with satisfaction.
“Of course I am,” she said with unconcealed excitement. “It’s been three days since we were alone.”
He loved that she didn’t try to hide her need. “We’ve been driving every afternoon.”
Her grimace was charming. “You know what I mean.”
He did indeed. And he’d suffered, as apparently had she. It was a fortnight since those extraordinary hours at the house near Windsor. They’d managed two more meetings there. Both brimming with unforgettable pleasure. Both cruelly short.
