Page 17 of Sinfully Mine
Hester inhaled slowly, instructing her lungs to fill with air. The attraction for Sinclair bloomed in the small confines of the bedroom no matter how much she didn’t wish it.
He inhaled sharply as something heated flashed in his eyes, mirroring her own desire.
She took a very deliberate step backward, taking the sack with her.
The blood beneath her skin pulsed as honey spread along her limbs. This sensation, strong enough to make her legs weak, was an alien feeling. One she’d never felt for a man. Certainly, not her husband.
“Don’t nibble on your lip in such a way, Mrs. Black.” The sleep roughened command caught her off guard. “Because it tempts me to do so.” There was no mockery in the words, only a blatant declaration of intent.
Hester shut her eyes. She wanted to thread her fingers through the hair decorating his torso and trace the line of his hipbones. “Please return to your bed,” she said, without opening her eyes. “Cover yourself. It is improper to prance about in such a way.”
The scent of him crept into her nostrils as he moved towards her. Warm male mixed with cedar and soap.
“And would you join me, Mrs. Black?”
The words curled around Hester, inviting a host of temptations. Visions of two naked bodies, twisted in ecstasy on the bed flashed before her. Sinclair’s talents were not limited to cards, she surmised, instructing her body to stop pulsing in his direction.
“No, thank you,” she replied crisply. “Please cover yourself.”
The sound of his bare feet padding back to the bed sounded, along with the sheets moving.
“You can open your eyes now, Mrs. Black. I’m quite decent.”
Hester peered at him, lounging against the headboard. Sinclair had pulled the bedcovers up to his chin, leaving one foot sticking out, toes wiggling mischievously in her direction.
Sinclair thumped the mattress. “Lumpy thing, but I fixed it. Someone had stuck several large rocks beneath the stuffing. I can’t imagine who.”
“Neither can I,” she replied. Mrs. Ebersole was the most likely culprit. The housekeeper was as eager to get rid of Sinclair as Hester.
He cocked his head, deep brown curls the color of warm gingerbread just out of the oven toppling over his brow. “I suggest you take your friend outside, Mrs. Black.” Sinclair rolled over, giving her his back, and settled back into his pillow. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about joining me?”
Hester sniffed in disdain. “You are a flagrant rake in addition to being a charlatan.” No decent gentleman would stand naked before her without so much as blinking. Or invite her into his bed.
“Oh, I’m much worse than that, Mrs. Black. I’m a sin.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to such an odd comment, so Hester merely turned and strode out of the room, not bothering to be quiet.
Sinclair wasn’t a sin, but the very devil himself.
Chapter Nine
Drew rode intothe town of Horncastle after having considered little else during the entire trip but Mrs. Hester Black. The attraction to her, apparent at their first meeting, hadn’t shifted in the least, but only intensified, even after her childish attempts to get him to leave Blackbird Heath. The snake was particularly inspired. Sneaking about his room while he was asleep, intent on wreaking havoc, Hester had gotten a bit more than she’d expected.
So had Drew.
The sight of her, blushing and stammering, copper tendrils floating over her annoyed cheeks, was the most arousing thing he’d witnessed in some time. He hadn’t quite decidedwhyHester had such a pronounced effect on him. Outside of the red hair, there was nothing physically appealing about her. Drew, as a rule, preferred his women rounded. Generously endowed. Soft. If there was anything soft about Hester, Drew had yet to find it.
Under her skirts, perhaps. Or the underside of one breast.
A bolt of pure lust shot down between his thighs. He wanted to wrestle Hester to the bed. Or the floor. Bed her in some grassy field. There had to be one free of animal dung somewhere.
Drew’s lips curled in disgust. What on earth was wrong with him?
Hester was the only woman he’d seen, outside of Mrs. Ebersole and a mousy little maid named Mary, since coming to Blackbird Heath His attraction was nothing more than a lack of female companionship, Drew told himself. A good ale or better, actual Irish whiskey, if he could find it in this remote place, would set him to rights. Or a lovely widow.
Not Mrs. Hester Black. Who was not lovely. At all.
Today’s meeting wouldn’t take a great deal of time. Mr. Scoggins, a local landowner, had long coveted Blackbird Heath and he had the proper resources to make the estate profitable. Patchahoo had identified him as the person most likely to purchase the property. Scoggins had the funds to modernize Blackbird Heath and the financial prowess to make the farm much more profitable. Hester might know crops and bees, but her keeping of the ledgers left much to be desired. Drew had found multiple errors in the ledgers and couldn’t tell if the mistakes were made purposefully or not.
