Page 20 of How to Seduce a Viscount
‘Do you think I am most men?’ Luce gave her a sharp look that had her pulse racing with the reminder that he was definitely not most men.
‘No. Not at all.’ She stepped towards him. ‘I want to touch you,’ she whispered, her palms pressed against his chest, her fingertips revelling in the hard sculpted structure of him. ‘You feel like granite.’ A veritable stone wall to protect the woman he loved. In the fantasy she was weaving, that woman could be her.
‘If you think my chest is hard…’ He gave her a slow, wicked smile. His hand captured hers and moved it lower until she closed her hand over the length of him. Her breath caught andshe gave a delighted shudder. He was long, hard and hot through his trousers. His was no mere bulge but a veritable log.
‘Dear lord, we must get you out of these trousers at once.’ She was only half playing at the mock seriousness in her tone. Her breath was coming fast now as she undid the fastenings and pushed his trousers past his hips. Then and only then could she feast with her eyes and her touch. And what a feast it was. She took the length of him in hand and gave a slow, experimental stroke, delicately thumbing his tip until moisture beaded.
‘You are positively magnificent,’ she murmured against his mouth.
‘Shall we get rid of your chemise now?’ Luce’s hand was at the hem of her garment. She hesitated.
‘Youare muscled perfection, Luce. But I am not. I have no such perfection to offer you in return.’ Her scar was still fresh, still violently red against the paleness of her skin. For the first time since he’d undressed her, she felt self-conscious.
Luce gave a slow, reassuring smile. ‘I’ve seen your scar. I’m the one who stitched you up.’ He’d probably seen more than that, too, although he’d been gentleman enough never to bring it up.
‘I’m not ready for it to be on display.’ She pressed a kiss against his jaw. ‘You can still touch me. Here.’ She gently disengaged his hand from the hem of the chemise and placed it on her breast, her body thrilling to his caress. This was not a mere touch. It was an invocation, the beginning of a promise of pleasure. ‘And here.’ She pressed his hand to her mons and moved against it. Luce groaned behind gritted teeth.
The heat and the hurry was building between them again, matching pace with Luce’s reverent adoration. She knelt on the carpet before the fire and tugged him down with her and he came, gathering her to him, surrounding her with the strength of his arms and his body as he covered her.
Oh, how she revelled in that strength and the care he took with it to keep all that power braced above her instead of on her. She could not have borne it. She opened her body to him and invited him in.
How lovely to be able to do that, to be the one who decided. Lovelier still—the word was not enough—was the feel of him, the slide of his body against hers, the glide of his phallus as it met with her wetness.Thiswas perfection and she wanted to hold it close. She wanted it to last and last. She wrapped her legs about his hips, prepared to guide, to coach.
‘I know what I’m doing.’ He gave a low lusty laugh at her ear. ‘Trust me, come along with me. We can do it together.’ He moved a hand to her hip, training it to his rhythm. He slid deeper and she fell into it with a gasp—part pleasure, part epiphany.Thiswas what it meant to have alover. A man who thought of her first. Who thought ofthemand what they could achieve together.
He picked up the pace, the rhythm becoming a staccato tempo and her body answered, her legs tightening as she felt his body gather itself, the muscles of his arms taut with strain, the cords of his neck standing out, the waves of his dark hair falling into his face. She reached out to push his hair back, bracketing his face with her hands. Dear God, she wanted to see him, all of him when the moment came. Those dark eyes, that wicked mouth. She arched her back, pushing her hips up into his, craving closeness to him in the extreme as the critical moment neared. Her pulse beat a rapid tattoo against her skin—this, this, this.And then pleasure was upon her, sweeping over her until all she could articulate was a series of desperate disbelieving sounds as he tore himself from her with a groan, his body spending beside her, a gentleman until the last.
While her body was still in the echoes of passion, he reached for the velvety throw and dragged it over them. He gathered herto him, nestling her against his body, and there they stayed for a long while without words. Speech seemed almost plebian after that. A tool that belonged to mortals while she and Luce had soared with the gods. Her body was soaring there still and she never wanted to come down. This was heaven; to lie in his arms beside the library fire. To feel peace seep through her bones like the most pleasant of elixirs. She had not imagined such a feeling was possible. But now that she knew it was…well, that posed a whole other line of questions and problems that she did not want to think about, not yet.
Chapter Ten
For every action there was an equal and opposite reaction. It was an absolute law of science and of sex. Making love to Wren Audley was no exception. Luce closed his eyes, attuning his body to the nuances of hers. He listened to the soft inhalations of her breathing, felt the rise and fall of those inhalations against his chest. She slept as someone who was complete, at peace. Content and sure.
Those were no small things when one lived as they did, knowing that at any time the game could change. That players could switch sides. That people were seldom who they said they were and the only constant was danger. A person learned to sleep on edge in that world, learned to awake at the smallest invasion of space or sound. One did not go too deeply into Morpheus’ realm. That she had done so tonight, lying in his arms, filled Luce with a sense of pride. A woman and her pleasure were safe with him, even when it was for business.
This had most definitely not been business tonight. This had all been for personal pleasure. His attraction to her had been instant from the moment she’d literally landed on his doorstep, bleeding, and it had only intensified with the constancy of her presence. The facets of her on daily display tantalised him withher intelligence, tempted him with her boldness. In hindsight, tonight had been inevitable. But what came next?
Curiosity slaked was not the same as curiosity sated, of being satisfied to the fullest degree. The former was a temporary condition, the latter permanent. His body was already rousing again, wanting her again. Wanting what it was they had created between them again. Proof that once with her had slaked a temporary need but it had not sated it.
There was a fear too, that lay beneath that proof—that twice or thrice, a week or a month, might not sate him either. If it could not sate, it would have to suffice. There was no question of permanence here. It simply wasn’t possible. Grandfather would forgive him for sleeping with an agent. Grandfather would not forgive him for disrupting that agent’s retirement plans—which had, no doubt, been achieved at great effort and expense on Grandfather’s part. It was no small thing to disappear alive andneverbe found. Not even by him. Should he try to find her, he could very well end up endangering her. She would not thank him for that.
Luce gently pushed her hair back, exposing the delicate bones of her face. Ethereal. That was absolutely the right word for her. She slept like an angel. In retirement, she could sleep like this every night, with no worries. Perhaps she would sleep like this beside another man, a man who would know nothing of her. Who would never know how deadly she was with a stiletto. How she’d camped in the hills with guerillas outside of Athens or how she’d pickpocketed great statesmen at his grandfather’s dinner table when she was twelve or that she’d survived the streets of London. Everything that man would know about her would be a lie—a false history designed to hide the real one. It seemed unfair that man would get to have her for the rest of their lives. She deserved a man who understood her and with whom she could be herself, stiletto stories and all.
Was that man him? Was that where his thoughts were leading? Did he thinkshedeservedhim? That he deserved her? It was quite narcissistic to think he deserved her enough to disrupt her chance at real retirement. She might say she didn’t want it, but she would come to appreciate it and the things that came with it—peace, quiet, the ability to walk down a village street and not worry about who you met coming around a corner. There would be no more upsets like the one today. The stress of constant alertness would fade replaced by the ability to relax.
He had no right to steal that independence, that freedom, from her even if it meant letting happiness slip through his fingers. When he was with her, everything he hungered for was close enough to touch.
Was it really though? His conscience posited the sharp reminder. She’d withheld information from him. He’d been furious with her earlier today. Perhaps he should be alarmed at how quickly he’d ignored that, how easy it had been to shift his focus, to forget that they were a game within a game.
She stirred against him and woke, slowly and drowsily, a content smile lighting her face when her eyes met his, a reminder why he’d so easily forgotten. ‘It wasn’t a dream, then.’ Her hand was warm on his chest, her fingertip tracing circles and lines as if she were painting him.
‘Are you all right? We didn’t aggravate your injury?’ Luce adjusted his arm about her.
‘No, it’s fine, but perhaps I should be on top next time.’ She slanted him a teasing look. How he loved a woman who knew her own mind.
‘Should I carry you to bed before that happens?’ Luce arched a brow.
‘Do you have to? I want to stay right here, by the fire, in your arms. We have everything we need. A blanket, pillows fromthe sofa, each other and…brandy.’ Dear God, had any woman ever made him so hard so fast with a single word? There was a significant amount of wicked promise in the way she said it.
