Winning Lord West (12 page)

In response to his touch, her lids lowered
further. “Very well.”

Curiosity stilled his stroking hand. “Very
well?”

“Yes.” A beat of silence. “Because I intend
to seduce you.”

West’s heart crashed into his ribs, and the
world went black. That low, husky voice should have a danger sign
posted on it. He blinked to bring her back into focus. “Hel…”

With taunting languor, she untied the
masculine cravat around her neck and dropped it to the tiled floor.
Her index finger strayed down her throat to pause at the high
collar of her white shirt. All the moisture dried from West’s
mouth, as his gaze fastened on that teasing hand.

“I’m not drunk, West,” she murmured. “Just
nicely merry.”

“Nonetheless…” The word emerged as a croak,
while he watched her flick the top pearl button open to reveal a
few inches of creamy skin. Every muscle tightened in expectation.
Which was ridiculous when that very morning, he’d seen her stark
naked.

But there was something so damned stirring
about a woman proclaiming her desire in the middle of the day. At
any time of the day, really.

Helena was the most imaginative person he
knew. The prospect of her devoting all that creativity to his
pleasure made him shake.

Another button. Another few inches of
skin.

West licked parched lips, and assured himself
that she knew what she was doing.

He had to touch her, or go mad. His hand
reached up under her skirts to release her garter and slide the
silk stocking down. The brush of his fingers on her bare instep
made her gasp, but her tone stayed cool. “You’ve taught me a lot
about persuasion. It’s time I put those lessons into practice.”

Two more buttons. The shirt parted to reveal
a narrow line of smooth olive skin.

She toyed with a third. His hungry eyes
fastened on the finger moving over the button in a fiendishly
suggestive pattern.

And something struck him that should have
struck him much earlier.

“You’re not wearing a corset,” he said in a
strangled voice.

A faint smile lifted her lush lips. “Or a
shift.”

He closed his eyes, but the image of Helena
undressing little by little for his delectation remained burned on
his vision. “God give me strength.”

“I’m not wearing drawers either.”

His eyes shot open. He should be used to the
way she sent his heart hurtling around his chest. He wasn’t.
“That’s why you rode sidesaddle.”

Those lips quirked. “Yes.”

Caught up in the pleasure of having her to
himself, he hadn’t paid too much attention to how she’d arrived. In
London, she followed the dictates of propriety, however
reluctantly. Here at Woodley Park, she almost always rode
astride.

“You’ll drive me out of my mind before you’ve
finished,” he groaned, his hand clenching on her toes.

“That’s the general idea.”

To his regret, she lowered her foot. With
dazed eyes, he watched her stand and step away from the table with
a sway of the hips and a saucy backward glance. Now that he knew
how few layers separated her skin from his greedy hands, his
restraint frayed until it was threadbare.

With a theatrical slowness that threatened to
send him up in flames, she shifted to the side, raised her foot to
the chair, and hitched up her skirts. By the time she’d untied her
second garter and rolled the stocking off, he vibrated with
lust.

When she straightened and faced him, his
attention fixed on her open shirt. Every movement offered shadowy
glimpses of her breasts. Tantalizing because she remained covered.
Mostly.

He licked his lips when her nipples hardened
against the white cambric.

She sent him a direct look. “This morning
when I dressed, I was perfectly sober. So your scruples, while
admirable, are unnecessary.”

He was on his feet before he thought about it
and stalking toward her. She raised her hand to his chest, stopping
him.

“No.”

“What the devil?” His hands opened and closed
at his sides. She’d played this tormenting game the first night. He
wasn’t sure he’d survive another bout.

Her glittering gaze focused on his face. “I
want to test my wiles.”

He closed his eyes, and his groan was pained.
A different game, after all. But the same torture. “This is revenge
for that time I pushed you in the horse trough, isn’t it?”

“Would I hold a grudge for something a young
lout did twenty years ago?”

He opened wary eyes. “Absolutely.”

“You know me so well. Now take off your
shirt.”

With shaking hands, he dragged the shirt over
his head and dropped it to the tiled floor. He felt like he
possessed ten thumbs, and not particularly deft ones at that. Thank
God, he wasn’t wearing a neck cloth. The braziers warmed the air,
but the sensual purpose in Helena’s eyes set him shivering in
anticipation.

“Are you cold?” She moved around him like an
art connoisseur admiring a statue. Except this connoisseur had bare
feet and looked likely to fall out of her shirt any moment.

“Anything but.”

On the tiles, her feet were soundless. But he
knew to the second when she padded close behind him, even before
her breath warmed his nape. Every nerve went on alert, but she
didn’t touch him. Instead he heard her inhale deeply.

“Why do you always smell so good? I believe I
could live on the air around you.”

“Hel…” he bit out. “Stop teasing me.”

“I’ve only started,” she whispered in his ear
and nipped his earlobe.

Need juddered through him. “For pity’s
sake.”

“No pity.” She trailed one finger along his
bare shoulder, and his cock swelled in immediate answer. “Sit down,
and I’ll help with your boots.”

Giddy with rising desire, he let her lead him
to the platform in the alcove. She pulled him round to face her,
then pushed. When he collapsed among the pillows, she stood tall
over him, a commanding, gorgeous mistress well worth the
winning.

He adored her lack of shyness. Still, he
wasn’t quite ready to surrender his accustomed mastery. “You know,
it would be dashed easy for you to sit on me.”

Her laugh was sheer temptation. “Why the
rush?”

His hips bumped up, his rod straining against
the front of his breeches. “I’m a simple creature. Show me a
brandy, and I want to drink it. Show me a chunk of roast beef, and
I want to eat it. Show me a comely woman, and I want to—”

“I can imagine,” she hurried to say, before
he reached the profane ending. “But you’re not getting your
way.”

“Helena,” he growled in dismay, flopping
back.

“Yet.”

Yet…

West could live with “yet.” He smiled up at
the ceiling where fat amoretti circled a complacent Zeus. Above the
window, a large swan eyed a fat blonde’s abundant charms with
lascivious intent. Once such a woman might have roused his
interest. These days, his taste was for domineering brunettes.

He couldn’t help thinking he had the
advantage over the king of the gods.
Even if his mistress meant to test him before welcoming him
to paradise.

His attention turned to Helena as she dropped
to her knees. The skirt preserved her modesty, but did nothing to
rein in his unruly imagination. Fresh desire jolted him.

With characteristic competence, she tugged at
his boots. Seeing her kneeling sparked inevitable fantasies of her
mouth on his cock. As she moved to his other boot, he speculated on
how long he’d need to banish her inhibitions. Today’s startling
role reversal hinted that she might enjoy a daring variation or
two.

Including that one.

He’d drifted off so thoroughly into a dream
of Helena pleasuring him that her voice came as a shock. “Don’t go
to sleep.”

His gaze fixed on Leda’s plump nakedness.
Yes, he was definitely ahead of Zeus. At least today. “I’ve had two
interrupted nights, you know.”

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time.” Those
adept hands ripped at the buttons on his breeches. No shyness
indeed. Praise every angel in heaven. “Lift your hips.”

He obeyed with alacrity. One long tug, and he
lay naked before her, back resting on the divan, legs spread across
the tiles on either side of her, cock hard against his belly.

“I like your body very much,” she murmured.
With a few quick movements, she released her hair. That moment when
it unfurled from contained elegance to lavish profusion always
stole his breath. “Although someone needs to feed you up.”

West didn’t want to think about his illness.
He didn’t want to think at all. “The only thing I want to eat right
now is you.”

With a sinuous grace that had his heart
performing a Highland reel, she slithered up his body. The glancing
contact set off fireworks in his head until he couldn’t see
anything else but her. If she meant to torture him all afternoon,
he wasn’t sure he’d survive the experience.

“Later,” she said, but the rough note in her
voice told him that she liked the idea.

He loved licking her to climax. Damn it, he
loved every single thing they did together. If she stuck to her
word and sent him away after her brother’s wedding, he’d be in a
bad way indeed. When Silas had been sick with longing for Caro,
West recalled feeling faintly superior. This time round, he had a
horrible feeling the joke might be on him.

Helena rose over him, shirt gaping to reveal
her perfect breasts at last. Unable to resist, he reached to cup
them.

“No.” She jerked up, straddling him.
She caught his wrists and
pulled them away.

Air seemed in short supply. “I need to touch
you.”

“First I’m going to touch you.”

“We can touch each other.”

“If we do, you’ll take over.”

“Don’t you like me to take over?”

“Don’t be a clod, West. Of course I do.” Her
impatient affection pierced his heart. “I’m conducting an
experiment, and I don’t want any interruptions.”

He laughed. “You and your experiments. Heaven
help the man involved with a scholarly woman.”

“I’m not feeling too sorry for you.” She
leaned down, still holding his hands, and kissed him thoroughly,
using her tongue to stoke his craving.

Who needed air? He drowned in swirling heat.
Her silky hair fell about them like a shining ebony curtain. By the
time she raised her head, he was panting.

“I mean to be bold,” she said in the same
tone young Helena had used when she’d boasted that she’d ride the
wildest horse in her father’s stables. And by God, she’d done it,
too.

“I hope so,” he said hoarsely.

Before he had a chance to calm his blood’s
maniac rush, she stood and undid the last button. She freed the
shirt from her waistband and shrugged it away.

For a moment, she stood proudly before him,
bare-breasted and splendid. With her extravagant mane of black
hair, she looked like some primitive deity.

Leda, you’re not even in the race.

Every time he saw Helena like this, it felt
like a gift. His hands curled into the satin cushions piled beneath
him. “You’re a beautiful creature.”

“For a woman plotting lechery, you’re a fine
sight yourself.” She tugged at the tapes on her skirt and let it
fall to the floor.

West sighed with masculine appreciation as
she sauntered naked toward him. Dear God, she was magnificent.

She came down over him on all fours. He
groaned and lurched up to press closer.

That autocratic hand pushed him down. “Not
yet.”

“That answer is rapidly losing its
charm.”

“I still like it.” She dipped her head and
nibbled an incendiary path down his neck to his shoulder, where she
bit him. He grunted at the sting, but let her have her way. Then
her hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere. His arms, his chest,
his belly.

Those long fingers closed around his
cock.

“Damn it, Hel…” Forgetting cooperation, he
reared up.

In silent reproach, she lifted her hand
away.

“Damn it,” he repeated in a lower voice,
lying back.

“So nice to deal with a clever man,” she
purred. She kissed him, but pulled away before the kiss found a
life of its own.

“I’m not feeling clever,” he muttered,
anchoring his hands in the cushions so he didn’t grab her.

He’d never been sure how far she meant to
take her quest to conquer him. Now he had his answer. To the edge
of endurance and beyond.

“Shall I touch you again?” she murmured.

If she didn’t, he’d bloody well explode.
“Yes.”

Once more, her hand closed around his dick.
She sounded as if she was making notes. “I find your body so
fascinating. It’s so hard and hot.”

Before he could muster a response to that,
she began to slide her hand up and down. Her clumsy caresses were
astonishingly arousing. He gritted his teeth against spilling like
an overenthusiastic schoolboy.

She stopped.

Why in Hades did she stop?

He forced his eyes open to find her observing
him with a troubled expression. “Am I doing something wrong? You
don’t look very comfortable.”

“Squeeze. Tighter.”

As if he’d given her the solution to a
mathematical problem, she nodded.

Her touch became more confident. He found it
impossible to look away. She concentrated so intently, it was like
the future of the world relied on her success.

One thumb rubbed across the glistening
moisture at his tip. Heat seared him, and he started to shake the
way he shook when he was ill.

She must take him into her body soon. Her
heavy eyes betrayed how this slow seduction excited her. Her
nipples had hardened into rosy points. The air was thick with the
scent of burning coals, aroused male, sweet female musk.

His heart slammed to a quivering stop as she
shifted. She was sliding down to kneel between his outspread legs.
Surely she wouldn’t…