Page 90 of My Wicked Earl
Christ.
Colin expected to find Miranda sipping tea and calmly reading a book before the fire.
Well, at least she was in a chair before the fire, though the book she’d been reading, probably Lord Thurston, lay on the floor. And she wasn’t sipping tea, but whiskey.
One gorgeous leg hooked over the arm of the chair, the robe she wore, a frothy peach confection, split open to expose the creamy skin of one thigh. He could just make out the shadow of her mound in the firelight.
Christ.
Inky black locks spilled over the tops of her shoulders to slide down over the peaks of her magnificent breasts. Which were barely covered by the robe. He could see the tiny mountains of her nipples beneath the silk.
Her eyes widened. “Bloody hell.”
The scent of Sutton’s fine Irish whiskey rose in the air.
She stood, clutching the arm of the chair to steady herself. Her breasts rippled beneath the silk, and the robe opened to display another flash of her legs.
Colin’s mouth went dry. Everything he’d planned to say to her as he made his way upstairs immediately fled from his mind. The letter, still clutched in his hand, fell to the floor. Lust slammed into him.
“What are you doing here?” She seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was half naked. “Shouldn’t you be traipsing about the woods with Lady Helen looking for some stupid bird?” Miranda waved the glass of whiskey at him. “Did she accept your generous offer to become the Countess of Kilmaire?” Miranda lifted her chin defiantly. “Well, I don’t bloody care. I’m marrying Ridley. You may,” her body swayed a bit, “call me Lady Ridley.”
The dusky circles of her nipples shown beneath the robe as she came closer. Her hair, the color of a raven’s wing, hung in spill of curls to her waist, begging him to plunge his fingers through the heavy mass.
She raised one dark brow at him, waiting for him to speak.
Instead, one arm reached out to snake around her waist, pulling her lush body against his own. The warmth of Miranda flamed beneath the thin silk of the robe and sent a rolling wave of heat down to the toes of his boots.
Miranda gave an angry gasp, and the glass she held tilted dangerously.
Gently, he took the whiskey from her and swallowed the remainder of the liquid before setting the empty glass on the table. His eyes closed, inhaling the scent of lavender and honey while his lips sought out the nape of her neck. Miranda’s scent enticed him, tempting him press his mouth against the scented flesh.
Miranda put up no resistance. Her head fell to the side with a soft whimper. She pressed herself against him even as her hands reached up to thread through his hair.
“You are bloody wellnotmarrying that imbecile Ridley,” he murmured harshly against the column of her throat. “Nor Hamill, nor any other idiot who comes calling.” The words of apology he’d meant to utter, the admittance of what an ass he’d been stuck in his throat. He meant to claim her.Finally.
“Forgive me,” he whispered against her hair as his lips found hers. “Forgive me, Miranda.Please.”
WELL,this was rather unexpected.
Miranda thought at first it was the whiskey. Alcohol gave one delusions. Hallucinations. At least, she’d read that once in a book, or, maybe Grandmother mentioned it.
If this is an illusion, it’s remarkably realistic.The hard length of Colin swelling against her thigh did notfeelas if it were a figment of her imagination. Figments didn’t feel hot and warm and press between one’s thighs.
A delicious vibration slid across her skin as he drew her more firmly against his chest. Her curves molded perfectly to the hard lines of his body, knowing instinctively where they fit together.
Dreams did not smell this amazing either. Leather and the citrus soap he’d used that morning filled her nostrils. His presence gave her the same euphoric feel as the whiskey, only she wished to drink more deeply of Colin.
I should probably demand to know what he is doing in my room.
If anyone found him there, even Ridley would find her unsuitable. Miranda didn’t find that thought as terrible as she should have.
His lips were moving along her throat, his breath tickling the inside of her ear. Teeth nipped the sensitive lobe and she immediately sank more fully into his chest.
Colin’s mouth left her neck to move against the line of her jaw. When he reached her plump lower lip, his tongue ran over the crease, then he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, coaxing her to kiss him.
Miranda’s fingers flowed through the honeyed strands of his hair, loving the feel of his skull beneath her fingers. She dragged his mouth down to hers, pent up longing surging through her. The silk of the robe chafed against her nipples, and the small peaks tightened, waiting for his touch.
They tasted each other, testing, asking, remembering. No kiss, especially in recent memory had ever stirred Miranda so. She surrendered so completely to Colin that she clung to him, her mouth opening as his tongue twined around hers.
