Page 67 of Heartbreaker

He didn’t realize how long he’d been looking at her until she moved beneath his gaze, to cover herself. And only then, when he realized what she was about, did hemove as well, capturing her hands and threading his fingers through hers. “No.”

She blushed, and somehow the riot of red across her cheeks made her even prettier. Made him even luckier.

“I—” She searched for words. Settled on, “Say something.”

A dozen things came instantly to mind. He could have told her she was beautiful. That she fascinated him. That he wanted to know every inch of her. He could have told her that he’d never been as hard as he was, that he’d never wanted someone quite as much as he wanted her and that he certainly hadn’t ever wanted someone in quite this way—in the urgent, eager way that made him think he’d gone just a little mad.

But he didn’t want to frighten her. And he wanted her to believe him.

To trust him.

So, instead of saying any of the wild, unexpected things that rioted through him at her words, Henry pressed a kiss to the soft skin above their entwined hands and painted a slow, leisurely circle there, until her breath came harsh and ragged and her fingers were once more in his hair.

And only then did he say, “Shall we see what else you like?”

Chapter Ten

She’d done this before. Not much, but a girl born as she was learned quickly not to prize virginity. She’d been engaged to be married, and there’d been a few boys when she was young and angry. Once or twice it had even been pleasant.

Of course, she knew that other women found the act more than pleasant—a year witnessing Sesily and Caleb’s habit of disappearing and returning wrinkled and mussed and glowing had proven it—but Adelaide had never really imagined it could begood.

And then the Duke of Clayborn had taken a bath in front of her. And he’d called her Adelaide and he’d singed her with his touch and he’d kissed her in a dozen places where no one had ever kissed her before, and suddenly that act that had always been fast and fumbling and at bestfine... seemed as though it might be... well... extremelygood.

And then he’d stripped her bare and looked at her as though he were hungry, and she’d gone hot and heavy and more willing than she’d ever been, and not just from his touch—though that was magnificent—but because he so clearly wanted her.

He didn’t want her skills as a thief, or access to the power around her, or the vast amounts of information she had on the men of London.

He wantedher.

And Adelaide liked that more than everything else.

Because she wanted him, too.

He pulled her even further down the chair, sliding his big hands along her thighs, coaxing her open. She let him, marveling at the sensation—she’d never been so warm or heavy, never felt so needy before. She couldn’t resist reaching for him, letting her fingers slide over his chest and torso, exploring the muscles she’d admired earlier. She lingered over a bruise blossoming on his side. “You are hurt.”

He caught her hand, pressing the palm flat to his hot skin. “This helps.”

She liked that, too. Liked the way his muscles tightened beneath her touch as she traced over him, lower, to the place where his skin met his trousers.

They both hesitated then, and a burst of delight exploded in Adelaide’s chest—a heady sense of exploration. She reveled in the low hiss of pleasure that came as she explored the hard length of him—straining against the fabric of his trousers.

“Show me,” she whispered, ready for what came next. Eager for it.

He shook his head. “You first.” And he opened her thighs, moving between them to hold her wide, exposed and hot and bare for him.

She held her breath as he stared down over her, his gaze stern and focused, as though he memorized the sight of her. Seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity, until she couldn’t bear it any longer and moved to cover herself.

He caught her hands before she could, setting them to the arms of the chair as he kissed her once, rough and wild. Before she could return the caress he was gone, moving to lick over the soft skin of her shoulder, to graze his teeth along the swell of her breast, to gently suck at first one nipple and then the other, until she didn’t care that she was bare to him—she only caredthat he make good on the endless waves of pleasure he promised.

She lifted her hips, empty and aching andwanting.

As though she’d spoken aloud, he trailed his lips lower, sitting back on his heels, spreading her wide and open until she could feel his gaze on her core. “You like this, too, don’t you, love?”

Another cant of her hips. Another gasp.

She gasped his name. “Henry...”

The bastard laughed, the sound low and full of praise. “Soon,” he whispered, turning the promise to the soft skin of the inside of her thigh. Pressing a line of kisses there.

---