Page 42 of The Hellion and the Captain
And it did, yes.
But she wanted more. And he was right about one thing – she never backed down from what she wanted, especially when she knew he wanted it just as much as she did.
“I need to show you something,” she said, stepping away from him, quirking her finger flirtatiously.
“Should I be nervous?”
“Probably,” she said, laughing.
He didn’t ask questions as she expected when she led him away from the field where they had practiced, on an angle toward her family’s home.
But that was not her destination.
Not in the least.
There was a small cottage that used to belong to the groundskeeper tucked into the trees, just on the edge of the manicured gardens. It hadn’t been used for some time, for thegroundskeeper had married and now lived in Manchester and visited the property daily.
But it had a bed — that she knew. She and Lily had played in it as children, pretending it was their secret hideaway. Now and then, the servants came and freshened it up to ensure that it didn’t fall into ruin.
Something Emmaline was most glad about now.
Rhys, still holding her hand as she led him through the trees, stiffened behind her when it came into view.
“Emmaline…” he said slowly.
“Yes?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To the gardener’s cottage.”
“And just what,” he said, “do you plan to do there?”
“You,” she said, chuckling when she heard his strangled reply.
She pushed open the door, which creaked with disuse, leading him into the small one-room cottage.
It was cozy, the only source of light the window across the room, while Emmaline planned to leave the candles unlit. The walls were lined with old wooden planks, giving off a rustic, cabin-like feel. A small bed took up most of the space, although the faded plaid linens were clean, inviting — and that was all that mattered at the moment.
Emmaline turned around, crooking a finger at Rhys, who scratched his beard, indecision warring on his face.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked, concern slightly filling her when he didn’t immediately respond.
“For my reasoning to return,” he said.
“Well, then,” she said, “we better get started before that happens.”
She all but pounced on him, her lips locked upon his in a searing kiss. Despite his initial hesitation, Rhys didn’t hold back, his hands roaming over her curves, clutching the waistbandof her knickerbockers as if seeking an anchor to ground him. She wasted no time, responding by tugging at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers.
She had his arms out of the sleeves and the shirt over his head before he even knew what was happening, and she stepped back, taking a moment to admire the fine body of the man before her. His broad shoulders gave way to a sculpted chest covered in a light dusting of hair. His abdominal muscles looked as though they had been painted on, and she ran her fingers through the grooves, down to the bottom where the slight trail of hair disappeared beneath his waistband.
“Emmaline,” he groaned, and she smiled wickedly before his restraint snapped.
His hands wrapped around her wrists, holding them with one hand above her head as he used the other to rip the buttons of her shirt away.
“Hey!” she protested. “You owe me a new one of those. Men’s shirts are hard to come by.”
“Oh, I’ll find you one,” he growled. “You won’t be wearing another man’s shirt again.”
