Page 13 of How to Enchant a Viscount
She turned to find him leaning casually against one of the towering bookcases, his mask now discarded. His cravat was loosened, his dark coat slightly rumpled, and there was something in his gaze—something that sent a rush of heat to her cheeks.
"Should I not have?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
He stalked toward her, slow, deliberate. "I did not think you would."
Maeve lifted her chin. "Then you do not know me very well."
His lips curved in a slow, knowing smile. "No, I suppose I do not." He reached for her, his fingers brushing against the delicate fabric of her sleeve before trailing up to the curve of her bare shoulder. "But I intend to."
Maeve shivered beneath his touch, her breath catching as he cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the edge of her mask. Her heart pounded. "My lord..."
"No more formalities," he murmured. "Call me Brooks."
“That is most improper…” She was not certain she could use his given name. The intimacy of it…
“Darling,” he drawled. “We have already stepped outside of propriety or dare I remind you of the last time we were alone.”
Her cheeks heated at the remembrance. He had kissed her and she had reveled in it. She wanted him to kiss her again. Almost desperately… She was a wanton where this man was concerned. He tempted her to be wicked, and she knew she should resist. She wouldn’t though. Not with him. “Brooks,” she said softly, trying out the taste of his name on her tongue. It was unfamiliar falling from her lips, but it felt right. Like she was always supposed to say his name. Only her…
“Now was that so terrible, darling.’ His expression darkened, something shifting between them—something deeper than mere attraction. "I want to tell you something," he said softly. "Something I have never told anyone before."
Maeve swallowed, nodding. "Then tell me."
Brooks exhaled, his hand falling away as he turned toward the firelight. "My estate is nothing like this," he admitted. "It’s wild. Untamed. The cliffs are sharp, the sea violent and unrelenting. I have mentioned that there is a place… a cove hidden beyond the rocks, where the water turns the deepest shade of blue. My sanctuary…." His voice dropped, almost reverent. "I wish I could show it to you. I..." He shook his head as he gathered his thoughts. “But I can’t go back there. It holds too much heartbreak.”
“Describe it to me,” she said softly. “It will be like you have taken me there then.”
He smiled and her heart leapt at the sight. He was too beautiful and she wanted to trace her fingers over those kissable lips. No, she wanted more than that. She wanted those lips on hers. But she did not do anything. Instead she waited for him to do as she had asked.
“It is unlike anything you have ever seen before,” he began. “It’s rugged with towering white cliffs that seem to plunge into the sea.” He held her gaze and then continued. “The sky almost seems endless as you stare over those cliffs. It is almost…majestic. There are rolling green meadows on the other side of the cliff that leads to the castle. The path from the castle to the cliffs, during the summer months, is lined with hedges and wildflowers. Stone walls appear to be a boundary between the land and the sky.”
Maeve listened, her heart aching at the quiet longing in his tone. She knew that place. She had painted it. Every stroke of her brush had captured the very scene he described, as if it had been waiting for him all along. But she did not tell him and she wouldn’t, at least not yet. Instead, she stepped forward, her fingers brushing his. "Perhaps one day, you will return."
He turned to her then, his gaze searching. "Perhaps."
For a long moment, they stood there in silence, the firelight casting golden shadows across their faces. Then, without thinking, Maeve lifted her hand, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw before rising onto her toes and pressing her lips to his. She could not resist the temptation any longer.
Brooks stilled, his breath catching against her mouth. He closed his eyes as if he was trying to remain in control, but then his control shattered. He shuddered as he opened his eyes and met her gaze. He brought his hands to her waist and pulled her against him. He deepened the kiss, his lips demanding, desperate. Maeve gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as he backed her against the nearest bookshelf, his body pressing against hers in a way that left no space between them.
She had never known a kiss could feel like this—like losing oneself entirely. Like being consumed. When he had kissed her at the pond it had been so different. Almost tentative in comparison. This kiss…it ignited a need in her that burned her from the inside out.
He tore his lips from hers, his forehead resting against hers as his hands splayed across her back. "Maeve," he whispered, his voice raw.
She clutched at him, her body trembling. "Do not stop."
Something dark and dangerous flickered in his gaze. "Are you certain?"
Maeve exhaled, her pulse a wild thing in her throat. "Yes." And that was all it took. He lifted her, carrying her to the settee by the fireplace, his mouth never leaving hers as he settled her onto the cushions, his body covering hers. There was no hesitation. No second thoughts. Only the heat of their bodies, the press of lips and hands and whispered names spoken like promises.
He slid his hand under her skirt and slid it over her sensitive flesh. She moaned as he stroked her there. She knew that she should stop him, should never even demanded him to more. But she had no regrets. She wanted this. He slid over her, trailing kisses down her neck. He moved down and slid her skirts up all the way. He leaned down and spread her thighs to settle between them. She did not know what he intended and when he kissed her where his fingers had been she gasped in shock. He held her down as he sucked and licked, then pressed one of those talented fingers inside her.
Maeve came undone and shook as a release overtook her. She had lost all ability to think—and she had believed his kiss had destroyed her. How silly of her… He joined her again on the settee, covering her with his body. Her body was languid and ready for him as he pressed his arousal into her. When he was fully inside her she moaned. The fullness had not been what she had been expecting, but then again, she had no experience to ascertain what she should have expected.
“Are you all right,” he asked in a hoarse tone.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I need…”
“I do to, darling,” he said. Then he started to move inside her. That pressure began to build again until she shattered once more. He groaned as he found his own release. He held her tight against him as he spilled his body was wracked with pleasure. And when it was over, when she lay tangled in his arms, her heart still racing, she knew—she had never felt more alive.
