Page 42 of Better Love Next Time
Glad? Another word out of place. But damn, he was glad. He was ready to come.
“You know,” she said, kissing below his ear. “I’ve never done this before.”
No, she hadn’t. A shudder attacked his shoulders. He thrust with her hand’s rhythm, slowing when it slowed, matching the tempo as it quickened.
She moaned, a sweet, feline sound.
He could feel it, the dire need rising, the world slowing, his entire body about to explode. She stroked and slipped and milked him with zeal. Another shudder ravaged the length of him. Then a decisive thrust. He was helpless, in her complete control, with every sense rushing and ebbing. Seed sprang from his loins. His hips jutted and dipped. He clamped down on her hand, she inexpert on the ways of knowing when to stop, and rocked his forehead against hers.
And finally, it was quiet.
Very quiet. With shafts of moonlight blanketing the bed.
He searched her unsmiling face. He reached out. Should he smooth her curls? Kiss her? He skimmed his finger across her soft cheek to the curve of her nostril. Just the slightest nudge at the delicate tip of her nose and her lashes fluttered.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
She shifted her hips, rolling away to face the window. Unexpected anger took hold inside him. He hooked his arm hard around her small, shapely waist and hauled her against his length. He expected her to stiffen, but she didn’t. Nor did she relax into his embrace. She just stayed where he put her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They breakfasted togetherin a Dolphin Hotel’s morning room off the main dining area. With only three other tables, Kitty had chosen the space so they might dine in relative privacy and she hide from the inn’s patrons gazing in curiosity at the woman in black upon Mr. St. Clair’s arm.
Some nodded to Julian, two rose and shook his hand. A handsome older man, Mr. John Gilbert, with a lovely girl for company, stuffed his serviette to the table and confidently approached. Julian had introduced Kitty as Madame Féline, and Mr. John Gilbert’s dark eyes had landed on Kitty’s pearls and then lower, to her breasts.
The girl, his daughter, Susanna, curtsied when presented to them. Julian had smiled when the man inquired on his family’s health, specifically Julian’s brother, Oliver, the famed parliamentarian.
Presently, Kitty picked at her kippers. “Do you know Mr. Gilbert and his daughter?”
Julian, who had been as silent as Kitty throughout their meal, looked to his plate. “I’ve never met him before today.”
“He seems to know you.”
“He knows Oliver as everyone does. And the value of an association with his younger brother.”
Kitty chanced a look behind Julian, at Susanna Gilbert’s resplendent yellow gown—at least the half afforded by the timbered door opening to the main room. “Mr. Gilbert is wealthy.”
“Richer than Croesus.” He nudged Kitty’s leg under the table. “He is married, Madame. Further, your performance last night aside, I expect my wife to settle for tossing nothing less than a viscount.”
Kitty swallowed a lump in her throat. “Is that what you call it? Tossing?”
“Men like me, yes.”
“And the tossing changed nothing.” It came out as a statement, but it was really a question.
He lifted his coffee. She watched his mouth form about the rim of the cup and his eyes meet hers through the tendrils of steam.
“Perhaps,” he said, “we should discuss the laudanum.” He slid his hand across the table, lacing his fingers with hers. “Why, Katherine?”
She yanked her hand away, wishing to crawl into a hole. “Thank you for breakfast.”
She rose with dignity, weaving through the main room’s tables, the conversations, clinks, and stares. She had the urge to run. And just keep running.
An arm looped about her waist, Julian suddenly leading her from the stairs to the entrance vestibule. His hold was highly improper. She couldn’t refuse without a scene. So she walked out to High Street and wherever he might lead her.
He slipped his arm free of her after a few yards but said nothing while a muscle worked at his jaw. The silence was as oppressive as the sky.
“What happened to your cheek?” she asked of the scratch on his face.
