Page 89 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
She halted by the bed’s side, released his hand, and with a swish of her silken skirts, turned to him—stepped to him, framed his face with her hands, pulled him down as she stretched up and kissed him.
Her passion hit him full force. No warning, no gentle rise of desire, but with the sudden impact of a raging storm.
She parted her lips under his, but the instant he responded, she changed tack and boldly slid her tongue past his lips, found his tongue, and heavily stroked.
Incited.
With each successive, deliberate caress, she demanded and taunted.
For long seconds, he reeled, rocked back on his mental heels by the sheer force of her desire, the heat, the raging beat, the power—the sheer need she poured into him.
He drank it down—suddenly couldn’t get enough. His own need roared to life, answering hers.
Rising to her call.
His hands had instinctively closed about her waist, holding her… His fingers curled, his palms seized.
His cane cracked on the floor as he moved into her and closed the last inch, then he hauled her against him, into a crushing embrace as he forced her head back, took control of the kiss, and pressed his passion on her.
She didn’t give ground. Didn’t back away an inch.
She speared her fingers into his hair, clutched, and came up on her toes the better to press yet another scorching kiss on his mouth, on his slavering senses.
Curiosity flared; she’d dispensed with all shields, all care, all caution.
How far would she truly go?
The primitive male in him wondered.
Yet he wasn’t prepared to cede to her in this, not in this arena. His fingers tensed, then eased, his senses registering the feminine vitality between his hands, the supple, resilient skin beneath the layers of clothes; once he got his hands on her, on the silken curves of her body, she would yield and the reins would be his once more.
Yet she wasn’t ready to end the passionate plundering of their mouths—and neither was he.
Awareness fracturing, he wrenched enough of his wits free of the kiss, enough to send his hands searching. Tonight, her lacy bodice closed down the back. Starting at the high collar at her nape, he swiftly slid the tiny buttons free, driven by a rising desperation to feel the silk-satin of her skin again, to taste the succulent peaks of her breasts and hear her moan.
Her kiss pulled his mind one way, his desperation pulled in another; he almost felt giddy.
The bodice was loosening, gaping at the back, almost undone… What wits he’d reclaimed from the heated, hungry savoring of their mouths were focused on that. Then his neckcloth whisked away, and the witch in his arms hauled apart the sides of his shirt that she’d already freed—and set her greedy hands to his chest.
To his body; from the way she swept her palms, here, there, and over every inch of bared skin she could reach, it was transparently clear that she wanted it all—wanted to, intended to, seize and lay claim.
Theneedinfused in each sweeping caress had him closing his eyes—made him shudder.
This was passion of a different stripe—of a power and force he hadn’t before encountered.
Life. I will always bring you life.Life, indeed, at an elevated level.
A temptation he couldn’t resist.
He had to step up, had to match her; some innate part of him recognized and accepted that he had no other choice.
He pushed the last button free and hauled open the back of her bodice, then by main force, unrelentingly pulled the garment forward and down—trapping her arms and inexorably forcing her to draw her hands from his already burning skin.
Lucilla had no intention of stepping back, slowing down, or allowing him to dictate this engagement. She—her instincts—saw tonight as hers—her time to convince him of all they could have, of all they could be. The cuffs of her sleeves weren’t tight; in virtually one movement, she lowered her arms, with two swift tugs freed her hands, drew her arms from the confining sleeves—and reached and grabbed handfuls of his shirt, waistcoat, and coat level with his collarbone, then lifted and pushed the garments up and over his shoulders, trapping his arms in return.
She broke from the kiss as, with one last, downward shove, she pushed his bunched clothes to his elbows. Then she seized a second for the battle to catch her racing breath.
Her bodice fell away; she heard theclinkof the buttons as he let it fall from the fingers of one hand to the floor.
