Chapter Fourteen #2
Her breath caught, a tiny hitch of sound that belied her composure. “Obviously.”
He lifted his hands to her shoulders. “I came here for one purpose only.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Adrian Ruxley, if you do not leave this instant, I shall—”
“I adore you,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers. “And I want you to be my wife. Emma, please, put me out of this torture. Do you feel as I do? No, don’t answer. I already know.”
He kissed her before she could utter a word.
Soldier of fortune, he took advantage of her shocked immobility to brush his mouth across hers.
He drew her against him and held her so there was no question of escape.
Sensual pleasure pulsed throughout his body as he felt her lips, then her body soften against his.
Knowing Emma, he’d have little time to weaken her defenses before she rallied her guard. But he waited for her answer, anyway, his heart beating, wild and hopeful. He combed his hand through her hair, untangling a knot, cradling her nape, stroking her warm skin.
She moved slightly so that his mouth rested upon her cheek. “Are you proposing to me?” she asked in a soft, precise voice.
“Yes.” He laughed, disbelieving, happier than he’d ever been in his life. “Yes.”
Her eyes searched his face for deceit. He must look, sound, like a fool.
He didn’t care about that, either, if she accepted his proposal.
“And this is what you wished to discuss with me?” she asked, his skeptical little schoolmistress, the taskmaster he could not survive without.
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? ”
“When did I have the chance?” he demanded incredulously. “I followed you to a lacemaker’s stall, fully prepared to pop the question, only to find Heath picking out a pretty handkerchief for himself. It was not a moment conducive to a proposal.”
She shook her head in chagrin. “They do know. And they’ll kill us if we’re caught.”
“Let’s elope.”
“Elope? Tonight?”
He traced his gloved thumb over her lush mouth, then trailed it down her chin into the cleft of her bodice. “Why not?” he asked, his gaze darkly tempting.
She shivered. “And have my brothers chasing us across England? What a honeymoon made in hell. And what an example to the academy. We shall have a proper wedding, or none at all.”
He grinned, his thumb rubbing the plump curve of her breast. Her nipple beaded against his large warm palm. “Then you’ve accepted.”
“Did I?” she asked, gazing up at his face as he boldly caressed her senses into a state of dazed pleasure.
His eyes crinkled at the corners, warm, teasing her. Slowly he lifted his hand away to untie the laces of her bodice and free her firm white breasts. “You did.”
She crossed her hands over her swollen pink nipples. Adrian felt his breathing quicken.
“But my brothers—”
“Kiss me, Emma.” He swept her over his knee to the chaise. “Put your arms around my neck,” he said in a thick voice. “I need your kisses.”
She caught a handful of his coat. His body clenched in disappointment until he realized she wasn’t pushing him away. No, bless her. She was pulling him closer, right down on top of her, fanning the inferno that boiled inside him.
They stole kisses from each other. Starved, ungentle, greedy kisses. Neither of them were innocent. Adrian understood desire, how to arouse, to satisfy. And to prolong pleasure until one’s lover begged prettily for release.
She dropped her head back on the chaise, his sultry schoolmistress, her limbs relaxed, her curves inviting. He stared down at her in helpless desperation. His groin tightened as she laid her hand on his knee.
Suddenly his entire body felt so heavy with sexuality that even the weight of his coat became unbearable.
He began to wrench it off only to stop as he felt her hands at his shoulders, assisting him. He closed his eyes, drew a ragged breath. “It was a fumble that first night. I took advantage of you, although not on purpose.”
“And you admit it?” she asked steadily.
“To my disgrace.”
“I accept your apology.” She twisted her hips. It seemed vulgar to voice her wants. Her body observed no such restrictions.
“It wasn’t so much of an apology,” he murmured. “It was more of a warning.”
Her deepest muscles contracted, quivered. “A warning?”
He inhaled, his voice deep pitched with pleasure. “It won’t be a fumble this time—”
“Adrian—”
“—and you aren’t going to convince me this is an improper act between a man and a woman who are now to be wed—”
“—for the love of heaven, I do not wish for an apology. I want action.”
His eyes darkened in pleasure. “Then I shall act.”
“And if you don’t touch me soon, Lord Wolf,” she whispered low, drawing his coat from his broad shoulders, “I will embarrass the very name of etiquette.”
He groaned. “As your husband-to-be, I would like nothing more than to oblige your wishes.” He angled his head and caught her hand. “But it’s ladies first, isn’t it? You see, I do take instruction…”
He slid his gloved hand beneath her robe.
Then, with taunting deliberation, he stroked his way up her ankle to her bare knee to her belly.
Her breathing deepened. She turned her face into the cushion, murmuring, “Gloves, my lord,” with a spellbinding laugh that stirred his predator’s instincts.
“A gentleman must remove his gloves when touching a woman intimately.”
“Is that an unbreakable rule in your manual?” he asked, idly easing his leather-clad fingers between her folds. “Or are you inventing new rules as we go along?”
“Adrian,” she breathed in shocked delight as his gloved forefinger slipped inside her. “This—”
He leaned closer, inserted another finger into her tight passage. “I’ve never gone by the book myself. I seem to be an animal of instinct. Forgive me.”
“This”—she shifted, her gaze widening in anticipation; her shoulders arched—“isn’t civilized. This is, well, I don’t know what it is.”
“I don’t either, but I like it very much and suggest you wait before deciding.”
She laid her hand on his strong wrist, her inner muscles gripping his leather-gloved fingers. It was decadent. It was desire. And she felt the purity and power of it to her soul. “How long must I wait?” she whispered.
He drew the rest of her robe up to her midriff. His heavy hand lay possessively between her sleek thighs and the gold-tinged curls that daintily concealed her cleft from his ravenous stare.
To be her lover he would have gone down on his knees and begged. He was besotted. Bewitched. He whose skills for fighting had made men plead for mercy would forever lay down his sword and dedicate his life to pleasing her if she would allow him.
“There hasn’t been a moment since we were first together,” he said hoarsely, “that I haven’t thought of you.”
Her quiet sigh of pleasure encouraged him.
Slowly he finished untying the ribbons that lay against her shoulders.
She made no attempt to dissuade him. His hands eased the thin muslin down her graceful back.
Her breasts hovered above the sheer fabric, her nipples silky pink and luscious.
“Oh, Emma.” With her aristocratic features and flowing hair, she looked like an elegant concubine.
He felt his erection bulging against his trousers, straining the tight seams to the bursting point.