Chasing Lady Amelia: Keeping Up with the Cavendishes (12 page)

And that was just not to be born.

The hot streak of jealousy surprised him. When had he begun to feel possessive of her?

If he was going to lose her, it would not be because he had some noble idea of refusing to do what he desperately wanted to do.

He stood.

Gazes, locked.

Breath, stopped.

Then he strolled across the room in just two long, powerful strides. He pulled her against his hard chest and his mouth crashed down on hers.

“Oh!” It was a sharp gasp, a quick sigh and then only the sound of his pounding heart.

Oh, he was attuned to her wishes. He was so attuned to her everything—the quickness of her breath, the soft little sounds she made when he kissed the gentle slope of her neck, the way her little fists grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him closer—that he knew he wasn’t pushing her beyond her limits. Society’s limits, yes. But those had ceased to matter hours ago.

He slid his fingers through her hair, cradling her head as he kissed her deeply. It was a kiss meant to erase the notion of another gentleman from her mind. Yet Alistair found this kiss might be ruining all other women for him. Her taste, her scent, the way she fit in his arms and the way she kissed him back with such unconcealed pleasure . . . well, a man didn’t find such perfection every day and he didn’t let it go when he did.

The kiss went on longer than he meant to.

Probably. Who had any notion of time when kissing a pretty girl? For that matter, who had any notion of propriety or decency or rules at a moment like this? He was aware only of his heart pounding, blood pumping, desire raging.

And then he paused for a moment.

“How was that?” God, he was breathless.

“Perfect.” Her voice was but a whisper and her lips were so plump and red. He wanted to claim them again.

“Good. Because it is just the beginning.”

“Y
ou know, I’ve been on my feet all day.”

Words. She said words. It took him a moment to process.

“You poor thing,” he murmured.

She gave a coy smile, a very pointed glance and said, “I might like to lie down.”

His brain was hardly working but he still understood an invitation to bed—to making love—when it smiled, murmured and batted its eyelashes at him.

And even with his reduced mental capacity, his better judgment was still functioning and communicating with the rest of his brain. He should send her home immediately and untouched.

Right now.

This very minute.

But apparently she wasn’t the only one desperate to just be and feel and love without rules or limits. She pressed her palm against his chest, sliding it down his abdomen. She bit her lower lip. And then her fingers hooked on the waistband of his breeches.

Alistair was going to marry her—if he didn’t die first. It was entirely possible that he was al
ready halfway in love with her. If not, it was only a matter of time.

Therefore . . .

He groaned. There was no therefore. There was no rationalizing his way into lovemaking or anything like it. This was all wrong and improper and he should have put a stop to it hours ago and . . .

But they had made it so far, therefore . . .

He was falling in love with her and had every intention of marrying her, therefore . . .

Then she stood on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. He felt the length of her pressed against him.

He was hard, so hard, therefore . . .

It was the sweetest, gentlest kiss that undid the last shred of his resolve. With some vague notion that they would continue kissing—JUST KISSING—lying down on his bed, he scooped her up in his arms.

“Where to, my lady?”

“What are my options?”

“That horribly uncomfortable settee.” They both looked at the tiny, horribly uncomfortable settee. “Or my bed.” Then, realizing how that sounded, Alistair added, “which is also horribly uncomfortable.”

They both looked over at it—and the feather mattress, soft pillows, and blankets. They both knew that it was not horribly uncomfortable at all.

“At the risk of sounding horribly forward, let us to the bed,” she said.

It was just a few steps to the bed.

He lowered her onto it, half wishing it were their wedding night. She’d be in white, perhaps with flowers in her hair and his ring on her finger. But he was getting ahead of himself, ahead of them.

He took a step back and exhaled.

She peered up at him from the bed. She reclined, leaning on her elbow.

“Aren’t you going to join me?”

Yes. No. He shouldn’t. But oh God, he wanted to. In order to make himself feel right about it, Alistair made some promises in his heart. He was going to marry this woman. Protect her. Love her. Do all the right things.

But first, he shut the bedroom door.

Then he joined her on the bed.

“Amy . . .”

“No. Don’t say any more.” She pressed a finger to his lips, stopping him from speaking. Well, he tried to delay the inevitable.

But this little minx and her boundless enthusiasm, curiosity, and need to explore was going to be his undoing.

She pressed a kiss to the soft skin just below his jawbone. He was aware of her breathing him in. So it was going to be like this, a slow, sensuous exploration. Next, her lips found the base of
his neck, the hollow of his throat, the bare vee of his chest exposed by his open shirt. Her hands fumbled with his shirt.

What the hell. He sat up enough and pulled it off, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. The way she gazed down at him was almost as erotic as her touch. Her brown eyes widened, darkened. And her lips curved into a sensuous half smile. She liked what she saw.

She ran her palms along his chest. He hissed when her thumbs caressed his nipples.

She smiled.
Oh you like that do you?

Then she teased his nipples with her mouth, her tongue, and he groaned. Her hands went lower, brushing along his breeches, and caressing his rock hard arousal.

He had never been this hard.

Especially once he felt her touch.

Thoughts of sending her home had long since given way to thoughts of feeling her hand around the hot, hard length of him. Or feeling her around him.

She teased him with her soft touch, here and there and all over his body as if she were memorizing it or claiming it. When he could tolerate it no longer, he flipped her onto her back and rolled on top of her.

“You are trouble,” he whispered.

“But you like trouble,” she whispered back.

And there was no denying that.

A
melia had but one thought in her head:
Yes, this.
She loved the feeling of his hot, bare skin under her palms or, better yet, her mouth. And there was something about his scent that went straight to her head and chased away all and any thoughts. Except for
yes, this.

She couldn’t quite explain this desire to explore him and to know him, intimately. It wasn’t merely curiosity about a naked man, though there was certainly some of that. It wasn’t merely a desire to be wicked, and break the rules and do just one more Thing That Proper Young Ladies Would Never Do.

She just wanted to know him, all of him. From the thoughts in his head and his earliest memories to the feel of his skin and the way he tasted when she kissed him.

And now she knew the way he felt on top of her. His body was strong, heavy with muscle. Alistair propped himself up on his arms, caging her in. He gazed down at her with those dark eyes, fringed with ridiculous lashes.
Two could play at this game,
his eyes seemed to say.

She smiled back.
I won’t stop you.

He pressed a kiss at the hollow of her throat and start moving lower.
Yes, this.

And this. His palm pushed the shirt up, sliding the fabric along her skin, followed by his hand. Skin to skin. It felt intimate. It felt right.

And this. He lowered his mouth to her décolle
tage. And then lower. And then the blasted shirt was in the way. In but a moment it was gone.

And oh God
this.
He took the dusky centers of her breasts in his mouth. She arched up into him.
He laughed softly.
You like that don’t you?

She gasped.
Do not stop.

And then she writhed a little bit beneath him because he was heavy and
hard
and she felt him pressing against her intimate place. Even with the layers of fabric between them, just the
feel
of him there did something to her. She felt something tighten in her core. She felt a warmth blossoming
and taking over.
Yes, this
became
Yes, more.

Or not.

“We shouldn’t,” Alistair gasped. “I have . . . honorable . . . intentions.”

Oh yes, those. She had forgotten.

“However . . .” There was a wicked gleam in his eye, one that made her heart beat faster.

“What do you have in mind?”

He didn’t answer her, just slowly worked his way down her body, pressing kisses along her belly. Oh . . . he paused, glancing up at her, seeking permission. She didn’t know what he wanted or what she would be agreeing to, because if she was imagining things correctly . . .

Alistair lightly pressed his lips to the soft skin below her belly button, then gently flicked the skin with his tongue, teasing her with a hint of what was to come. Oh. Yes. This.

At some point, her breeches came off. Gone. Good riddance.

Then he moved lower, and pressed his mouth there, gently teasing at the soft folds.

She gripped the sheets, twisting them in her fists.

Her breath was short, shallow. Feeling. There was so much feeling. So much
good
feeling but . . .

A release. She needed a release. There was too much heat and tension and feeling all building inside of her.

“I think . . .” Her voice was a hoarse gasp she hardly recognized.

He lifted his head just enough to say. “Don’t think.”

“But I need . . .”

She needed more of him. She needed to feel him.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured. At least that’s what she thought he said. She was having trouble concentrating. So much wanting. She wanted him to continue, but also pause. She wanted to hold him, but she didn’t want him to move.

“I feel like I’m going to explode.”

And then he stopped. He stopped! She was left throbbing, wanting,
needing,
and he stopped.

“Why did you—”

He silenced her with a kiss. Oh,
this.

But still, she felt incomplete. Unfinished. She
wanted
more.

A
listair had long ago learned that every woman was different. And that was the fun of it, if you asked him. When it came to lovemaking, half the fun of it was that slow, teasing, exciting process of discovering what would make a woman go wild.

And Amelia was discovering what gave her pleasure now, with him, for the first time. He was the lucky bastard who would get to show her and hold her as she learned for the first time all the pleasure her body was made to feel.

It’s supposed to stop here.
Ah, yes, another intru
sion from his better judgment.
Stop now before you
ruin her irrevocably.

But he couldn’t stop now, not before she had her release. He was starting to know her. She’d be irate for days otherwise.

So he kissed her, bringing her back to that wonderful mindless place—he knew because she softened against him, and gave those little mewls of contentment.

Then he slid his hand down, finding the bud of her sex and with the lightest, slowest touch began to stroke. He felt her writhe, pressing into his hand. He grinned into the kiss.
This,
she liked this.

“I love this,” she whispered. “But I want more of something . . .”

He pressed a little harder.

“I feel . . .” She gasped as he slid his finger inside. She was wet. And warm. And God he wanted his cock inside her.

Think of your wedding night.

He got even harder, if such a thing was possible.

Okay, do not think of your wedding night.

Focus on her.

He focused on her. Kissing and teasing her neck as his fingers kept up a steady rhythm, in and out, and stroking the bud of her sex. He listened to her breaths, each one coming faster, shorter, shallower, harder.

“I want . . .” she panted. “I need . . .”

He knew the feeling.

She was close and she didn’t know it yet.

I want. I need.

Wait. Stop now.

Shut up.

She was close, so close. It was time to send her over the edge. He shifted so he could take one of her nipples into his mouth. He sucked and teased with his tongue while never once wavering from that steady rhythm. In and out and in and out and . . . her sighs of pleasure were like a caress; they only aroused him more. The way she writhed against his hand made him ache to be inside her, to give her
more
. He wanted to bring her to the brink and then beyond.

So he didn’t stop.

He kept going, stroking her with his fingers, teasing her with his mouth. He didn’t stop until she was bucking a little underneath him, crying out in pleasure. He vaguely heard words like
yes
or
God
or
this yes.
He felt her clench around him as she came.

She wasn’t the only one out of her lust-addled mind. Alistair didn’t know how it had happened, but between all the sighs and moans and touches and groans they had tangled themselves up. He was on top. His cock was poised at her entrance, he was dying to be inside her, and his resolve was . . . gone.

Y
es this. Yes this. Yes this. Yes this. Yes this. Yes this.

Thoughts. She had them.
Yes this.
Or just the one.

Something marvelous had just happened to her. She couldn’t catch her breath and any second now, surely, her heart was going to burst right out of her chest. So she had to tell him now.

“I want . . . this,” she gasped. “I want . . . you.”

It was as if those were the magic words he needed to hear. She felt him hard, there. Then harder and deeper still. And then she felt him fully inside her. Hot. Throbbing. Aching.