Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Archie went stone still, as if mere words could bind one physically.
But her words weren’t mere.
They had the power to clear all the fury from his body in an instant.
He felt…
Seen.
And for the first time in his life he experienced permission to feel that way.
Because it was this woman who saw him.
Valentina.
He propped a shoulder against a bare patch of garden wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you want to know something, Valentina?”
Her eyes narrowed with sudden wariness. “What?”
She didn’t trust the smile now curling about his mouth. Perhaps she was right not to. His smile set hidden places inside her aflame—he’d noticed.
“You’re incredibly beautiful when you’re scolding me.”
Her mouth clamped shut, and though it was difficult to tell in the monochrome light of the moon, he thought her cheeks might have brightened into a dusky pink blush.
The next instant, she collected herself. She wasn’t finished. “You think you can’t be vulnerable, so you hide behind that gorgeous smile of yours.”
Oh, what he was about to ask next was really going to infuriate her. “You think my smile is gorgeous?”
She let out a near growl of frustration. “The ton will still like you. The whole you.”
He could love her for her earnestness.
Could…love?
The idea, novel and not unappealing, stunned him.
A thought for later, perhaps.
She needed to understand something, now.
“I like to be liked in the general sense.” He shrugged.
“It’s rather nice that I elicit that response in people.
But I don’t particularly give a toss whether or not the people in that mansion”—he pointed toward Tristan and Amelia’s impressive residence—“like all of me, or even half of me.” He pushed off the wall.
“I care about the opinion of only one person.”
She swallowed. “And who is that?” she asked, a telling rasp in her voice.
“Do you like me?”
“Yes…sometimes.”
He spread his hands wide. “See? Even you prefer one Archie over the other.”
She shook her head, her eyes burning, and closed the distance between them. He just caught a hint of her familiar lemon and rose scent. “I like the Archie who expresses himself from here.” Her forefinger dug into his chest. “From the heart.”
Before he could think about what he was doing, he caught her hand and peeled the glove away.
He brought her hand to his mouth. Her skin against his, even this small patch, the dose that only enhanced need.
For it was a fact he’d become addicted to her.
On instinct, his mouth trailed to her wrist. “And do you like the Archie who kisses you here?”
“Yes,” she said, a bit breathless, her luminous amber eyes gone cloudy with tell-tale desire.
He inched closer, trailing up the sensitive skin of her inner arm, leaving goose bumps in his wake. She steadied herself with her other hand on his shoulder.
He’d made her knees go weak.
He liked that.
What he was doing at this moment… What he was contemplating doing in the next few moments… It was madness.
That was the long and short of it.
He was absolutely mad for this woman.
So mad he would take her in a duke’s secret garden, if she would have him.
He reached the delicate sleeve of her coral silk gown, whose color sat perfectly against her olive complexion. He wanted to taste the delicate line of her clavicle, but there was something he must do first. “Can I please toss this horrid fichu into the bushes?”
She breathed out a laugh. “Yes.”
“Who thought it was a good idea to conceal these curves?” he asked, untucking the offending garment and flinging it away.
“They must be celebrated and worshipped.” He ran his tongue along her collarbone before dipping to kiss one creamy mound, then the other, appreciating that this dress was barely up to the task of containing them.
A voice of reason cut through the fog of desire.
He should retrieve her fichu and stop here.
Digging deep inside himself and summoning every last ounce of will, he straightened, thereby removing his mouth from her body.
Valentina’s eyes flew open. “What are you doing?”
“What I should have done last night.” A beat. “And this afternoon.” Another beat. “And thirty seconds ago.” He swallowed against his dry throat. “I’m being a gentleman and stopping,” he said, hoarse.
“Stopping?” she asked, incredulous. She reached out and grabbed his cravat. “And what if I have no interest in being a lady?”
The thing was, he’d never possessed strength of will when it came to resisting pleasures of the flesh.
And resisting the pleasure that was Miss Valentina Hart?
Impossible.
She sensed his relenting the instant he did. She tugged him forward by the cravat and met his mouth with hers, their hands suddenly hungry for each other. All that was pent up between them released.
All the need and all the want…
All the passion and all the desire.
She’d pushed his evening coat off his shoulders, and he had her shawl discarded.
As she peeled off her other glove, he took her waist in his hands and walked her backward.
Then he had her pressed against the garden wall.
She had his waistcoat unbuttoned and sliding off his shoulders, and he had her bodice open, her full breasts peaking beneath her chemise.
Through diaphanous muslin, his mouth found a nipple firm and sweet as a cherry in summer.
Her hands were frantically untucking his shirt from the waistband of his trousers.
Even as he was pulling the shirt over his head, he said, “You know it isn’t necessary to remove my shirt for the consummation of this act.”
Her nakedly appreciative gaze raked over his bare chest. “Oh, yes, it is.”
He chuckled, the laugh gravel against his throat. She wanted him, desperately, as she leaned against the wall, her body languorous and waiting to be taken by him. His cock strained against his trousers. Who was he to keep a lady waiting?
He grabbed her skirts, and she slid one shapely leg around his waist, her arms around his neck, as their bodies strained against each other.
Her sex open to him, his hard cock grazed against her, only the superfine of his trousers keeping them apart.
She swiveled her hips, grinding against him, and exhaled a soft, “Oh,” into his mouth.
Her hands trailed down his chest, savoring the feel of his skin.
She sent electricity sparking through him, his body anticipating the downward trajectory of her fingers.
He waited as they caressed chest, stomach—muscles involuntarily bunching beneath her touch—and reached the fall of his trousers, releasing his ready cock with a few quick movements.
Then it was skin against skin, the slick heat of her quim soft against his hard, rigid length that throbbed and ached for her.
Lust-glazed eyes caught his from beneath thick lashes. “I need you, Archie, so…” He grazed against the entrance of her sex. “…so fiercely,” she uttered, tightening her leg around him, bringing their bodies closer, bringing him into her. He took her hips in hand so it was a slow, deliberate thrust.
Then he was where he should be.
Inside her.
One with her.
She groaned, even whimpered, against his neck as he stroked in and out of her, measured, relentless, her back against the garden wall, her head angled to the side in abandon. What he was delivering to her body with each and every thrust she had to have—she couldn’t live without.
As long as it’s with you.
Those words echoed through him as he took her. They’d entered and created a space within him that only she filled. And this act of coupling only intensified the feeling—a feeling he understood in the deepest part of himself he would only experience with her.
A tryst against a garden wall was supposed to be a frenzied, naughty coupling. But this—what he felt with her—wasn’t that—a diversion that would be forgotten almost as quickly as it was finished.
This…with her…he wanted it to last.
He slowed his movements and entered her with intention. She would feel him, and not just his cock. Him.
She ground against him and released a sigh, her sex opening further, giving him all.
“Valentina,” he rumbled low in her ear. “Open your eyes.”
Her gaze slitted open and found his. What he met there—desire, but something more, too…a responding depth of emotion—nearly stole his breath. Was it possible he wasn’t alone in his feelings?
A bead of sweat trailed down her neck, and he caught it with his tongue. Her hand tightened on his shoulder, and she thrust against him, hard. She wanted more, and he would give it to her.
Then, too soon, the promise—the threat—of release was pressing down on them.
Mindless with pleasure, her nails clawed down his back.
He steadied and thrust inside her, stroke after unrelenting stroke, giving her what they both needed.
Then she was crying out, her sex pulsing its release around him, and he was pouring his climax into her.
Together, they tumbled into the sweet abyss that transcended the bonds of earth.
Their hearts raced as one; the ragged, unified rhythm of their breath the garden’s only sound, his body pressed against her, her sole support against the wall.
Only she existed here with him.
In the entire universe, only she, in his arms, mattered.
But, slowly, inevitably, a separation occurred as they reentered themselves, no longer one. He slid from her. “Can you stand?”
She nodded, looking uncertain even so.
He pulled away and tried not to stare at this woman replete and gorgeous with satiety, lips swollen and kiss-crushed, body flushed with pleasure delivered.
He could take her again.
Now.
But he wouldn’t. They’d already been pushing their luck with a single tryst. Twice would be utterly irresponsible. It wouldn’t be his reputation that suffered, but hers, if they were found out. He wouldn’t subject Valentina to that shame.