Page 74 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
She sighed. Whether from his touch of her or hers of him, he didn’t know, he didn’t care. There was bliss in the sound, joy and contentment, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced any of those sensations.
Because he was so near to other things he wanted, he tipped her face down slightly and planted a kiss on her brow, her temple near the corner of her eye, her cheek—
“You’re taking liberties,” she whispered, cupping his jaw with her palm, stroking his skin with her fingers. Against his hand the delicate muscles and tendons of hers worked slowly, gently.
Drawing back, he held her gaze. “I am indeed. It seems where you are concerned, I’m not very disciplined.”
In the darkness, he heard her swallow. “The ale wants you to kiss me again.”
“Well, I would not wish to disappoint the ale.” He lowered his mouth to hers.
As their lips merged and their tongues were reintroduced, she was vaguely aware of his crossing over to her bench without staggering or falling in spite of the moving carriage. Her hand remained on his jaw while his continued to cover it as his free arm snaked around her back, drew her in nearer, nestling her partially against his side, partially against his sturdy chest. She wished the waistcoat and jacket were absent, as they’d been that night in his office, so the heat from his body had less fabric through which to travel. It still reached her, seeped through her clothes into her skin, but it wasn’t nearly as pleasant.
The kiss, however, was more than it had been before. Perhaps it was because she now knew what to expect of him, or perhaps it was because the ale had chased away all her inhibitions, doubts and guilt, but when he angled his head to take the kiss deeper, she adjusted hers so she could welcome him fully. His deep growl served as both reward and encouragement. He tightened his hold, and she wondered if it were possible for them to be absorbed into each other.
She had intended to remain strong, to resist his allure, but the gentleness with which he’d rained kisses over her face had been her undoing. Bringing her free hand up, she cradled his bearded face between both hands. His whiskers fascinated her. They were at once silky yet coarse. She longed to watch him trim his beard, shave around it. It should have made him look scruffy and common. Instead, it made him appear forceful, dangerous. A man to be reckoned with.
All the dire warnings the duchess had given her were for naught. A woman could be alone with a man without sacrificing her reputation and self-respect. A woman could ask for a kiss without being made to feel as though she deserved nothing better than wandering the streets.
Being in his arms elevated her. It was wrong, on so many levels, in so many ways, and yet she couldn’t seem to regret it.
He dragged his mouth from hers, took it on a slow journey along her chin, her jaw, her throat. “Dear God, Aslyn, I would have you here in the coach if you but whisper yes.”
“A kiss. Only a kiss.” Her response came from a seemingly great distance, and she wasn’t altogether certain it was the answer the ale desired, but the lady groomed inside her would let no other pass between her lips.
“Then I shall be content with that.”
Disappointment warred with relief. His mouth returned to hers, hungrily, eagerly, and this time the kiss seemed to reach all the way down to her toes. They curled within her boots. She wanted to kick off the heavy leather coverings and run her stockinged feet along his calves, wanted his bare hand to close around the arch of her foot, squeeze it.
Instead, he took the kiss deeper until it obliterated all thought, ignited a blaze of frenzied yearnings that fairly consumed her. How could the mere press of lips, the waltzing of tongues create a myriad of sensations in every part of her body? Heat swirled, nerve endings tingled, limbs went lethargic even as they seemed energized. She wound her arms around his neck, scraped her fingers up into his hair, relished the silken strands curling around them.
Moving aside her pelisse, he cupped his hand around her waist, glided it up her side, held it there for three heartbeats before moving it along her ribs—
Up. To cradle her breast, squeeze lightly.
She should have been appalled, should have shoved him away. Instead, with a moan, she continued to explore his mouth as though on the morrow she would have to recount every exquisite detail. He brushed his thumb across her nipple, and it responded with a sweet, painful tightening, straining for another stroke.
When it came, she nearly wept. When his mouth left hers, she nearly cried out.
She was disoriented, so it took her a moment to realize they were no longer moving. Breathing heavily, she stared at him, the glow from the nearby streetlamp chasing away enough of the shadows that she could see him relatively clearly. Not the precise details, not the colors, but the hunger. His desire for her was evident in his expression, as though he suffered greatly.
“I fear I’ve worked you up into a lather. I suppose you’ll go to a brothel now.” She hated the notion of another woman touching him, of another being able to touch him in ways that a lady of her station could not, must not, would not.
“No.” His voice was raw as though he’d had to drag the word up from the depths of his soul.
“I lied. It wasn’t the ale that wanted you to kiss me.”
He flashed a grin. “I know.”
Sobering, he cradled her face, stroked his thumb over her high cheekbone. “Never in my life have I longed to be legitimate more so than I do at this very moment.”
His words devastated her. Leaning in, she took his mouth, sweetly, tenderly. “The circumstances of your birth shouldn’t matter.”
“Yet they do. I can’t take tea with you in a nobleman’s parlor nor waltz with you in his ballroom. I can’t escort you to the theater or be seen walking you through the park too often.” He shook his head. “Even once more and tongues will wag. But I want to see you again. Have dinner with me tomorrow night at the hotel. Currently the few guests we have are not nobility. They are simply people passing through. Even if they see you they won’t know who you are. Your presence there will never be found out. There’s something I want to share with you.”
She could think of many things she’d like him to share with her: his mouth, his hands, his broad chest, the hollow at his shoulder where she was relatively certain her head would fit perfectly. Before her thoughts could careen to portions of his body located below his waist, she cut them off and focused on what he was asking, implying, suggesting: a tryst at his hotel. Another illicit evening spent with him. She knew what her answer should be:No. Absolutely not. It simply isn’t done.
But where he was concerned, she’d already done a great deal that simply wasn’t done. She’d lied, sneaked about, spent time in his company without benefit of a chaperone.
