A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) (38 page)

His hands stroked her back. “If you could only know how badly I have wanted to hear you say such words. All this time you thought me dead, I was working my way to you. My darling, the thought of finding you once again was what kept me alive.”

Her hands flailed all over him, sliding under his robe, feeling his skin, squeezing his muscles. “Oh, John, you are truly alive, truly here. This isn’t some awful dream.” A primitive hunger announced itself, pulsed through her thighs, and moved into her womb. Ravenous for him, she nipped at his chest and licked his clean, smooth skin.

“Stop, Suri.” He grasped her wrist, wrapped her arm around his waist, and lifted her chin. “We’re going to do things right this time.” His voice rasped low and husky. “Slow and right.” A grin tipped his luscious mouth. “No speedy first time followed by leisurely seconds.”

“No seconds?”

“Always,” he murmured. “But slowly this night. Very slowly.” His lips brushed over hers. “I want to savor every inch of you. For hours.” His tongue touched one corner of her mouth and sent a ripple of want through her. “Every single inch.”

And then his lips settled on hers, warm and sweet. Sweeping her hand along his cheek, her fingers touched where their mouths met, and he sighed into hers. He rubbed his cheek along hers, trailing kisses up to the corner of her eye. “How I needed that,” he murmured.

Lifting her night rail off her as if he was removing an exquisite garment too precious to touch, he held it between two fingers and then released it to drop in a heap beside them. Gently bending her neck to one side, he ran his hot tongue along its curve and upward to tug lightly on the lobe of her ear with his teeth. “Delicious.”

Knees weakened, she leaned into his chest. His heart thrummed in her ear. Lifting her in his arms, he moved to the chair and sat with her curled in his lap. Enveloped in his arms, in his heat, in his scent, she rested against him and the velvet of his dressing gown. “John?”

“What?” His fingers worked their way through her braid. Tenderly, he brought her loose hair over her shoulder and combed it smooth.

“The bed. Why are we not in it? And why am I in the altogether and you are not?”

“Because from the moment I first laid eyes on you, I imagined you naked, but I was clothed, you see.” He grinned, and the tip of his tongue swept over his wicked bottom lip. “For years I’ve wanted to experience this very thing.” He settled her in his lap so her legs draped over the arm of the chair.

She sighed and gave in to the pleasure of taking things so slowly every cell in her body sang from his touch.

“Trust me.”

“I do,” she whispered. “Do what you will.”

He ran his fingers around the globe of her breast, watching his own movements. The hard length of him beneath her bottom jerked. He trailed his fingers across her chest and over to circle the other breast. “You’ve no idea how many times I wanted to touch you like this—leisurely, and with nothing in the world to interrupt us. I didn’t get nearly enough of you last time.”

He squeezed the tip of her breast and it beaded to his touch, sending arrows in flight to her womb.

She whimpered.

He smiled a lusty, crooked smile. Whisper soft, one finger trailed languidly down her skin, circled her navel, and then slid farther, into a nest of curls appearing black against her fair skin.

A thrill raced through her. She closed her eyes with a little moan.

“Keep your eyes open,” he urged in a smoky voice.

She obeyed and gazed at him.

“No, don’t look at me, Suri. Look at yourself. Look at what I’m doing to you.”

His finger slid down and inside her. Pleasure jerked her body and she let loose a moan. The dampness between her thighs grew slick, and a shuddering breath escaped her lungs.

A low chuckle released from his lungs. With a finger still inside her, he used the others to gently spread her legs. “Put your hand over mine,” he urged. “Feel me, Suri. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Her hand slid over his. She gasped as sultry waves of pleasure coasted through her body.

“Follow me inside, if you dare.”

And she did, succumbing to his rhythmic movements until a cry escaped her lips. She removed her hand from his and laid it against his mouth. His tongue touched the tip. Separating the velvet fabric of his robe, she ran her own tongue around his nipple. “More,” she whispered and ran her finger along his bottom lip.

He slipped another finger inside her.

She pushed her hip into his hard arousal. “I want this inside me before you drive me mad.”

His fingers slid from her warm recess, skated across her body and then his arm went under her knees. He lifted her and carried her to the bed. Gently, he turned her onto her stomach. Discarding his dressing gown, he knelt beside the bed. “Have I kissed you behind your knees? I don’t recall.”

“No,” she whispered.

“Liar.”

His tongue swept over the back of one knee and trailed lazy circles up her leg. “You’ve a lovely bum, darling.” He bit into the flesh of her bottom, the soft nip an exquisite shock that left her boneless.

A daring thought struck her that
she
could ravish
him
. Her hand draped off the bed and closed around his hard manhood. “And you’ve a lovely…”

“Cock.”

She gasped.

“Say it, Suri.”

“I cannot!”

His hand slid down to cover hers and he moved them both up and down in a steady, hard rhythm until a groan tore from his throat. “Say it,” he growled. “What do you have ahold of?”

Suddenly, something freed inside her. She had no reason to hold back anything with him. Her soft laughter sounded throaty, seductive. “Not only are your kisses wicked, sir, but your words are as well.”

He released their hands, rolled her onto her back, and caught a nipple between his teeth, sending a thrill skittering through her. “What did you have your hand around, Suri? Tell me.”

His husky words sounded rough and demanding, but she knew better—the power was all hers now. A smile touched her lips. She spread her legs.

“Use it properly and I will.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

A shaft of daylight shimmied through the window and danced across Suri’s cheek. Somewhere, a rooster crowed his proud announcement that he alone was responsible for the sun’s rising. Soft, feminine laughter rose from another world and floated in on a cool breeze. Her eyelids flickered open. Beside her lay a naked and slumbering Adonis, his groin molded to her bare hip, his legs tangled with hers. Dark lashes rested, innocently as a boy’s, against high cheekbones burnished from weeks at sea. His hair, longer than usual, curled about his head in wild disarray. Memory had not served her well—John was even more handsome than she remembered. Utterly so.

Languid heat rolled through her and banked low in her belly where it curled in a ball and slowly pulsated as if it were a living thing waiting for the right moment to burst into flame. The bed still carried the musk of their lovemaking. He’d worshipped her last night. Being worshipped held a magic she’d never dared believe in, until now. It set her free. Tenderly, she touched her lips to the back of his curled fingers.

His fingers twitched and then went lax at her intrusion. She snatched her mouth from his skin.
Mustn’t wake him—not with those deep shadows under his eyes.

His breath shuddered as if searching for air. Once…twice, while his hand roamed until his fingers settled on her exposed breast. His body relaxed again and the bellows of his lungs went back to working his chest in deep, even strokes. An irresistible urge to run her hands over him, to cup his manhood and cause it to rise once again to meet her complex needs, wrestled with reason. She should let him get the rest he required.

Resisting another touch, she shoved her fingers through her own unruly mane. There would be time enough to explore each other. After all, he belonged to her. He’d said so last night. Despite her rationale, a thousand tiny devils disguised themselves as lust and prodded her with pitchforks, urging her to act. The banked embers in her belly glowed hot. She would not toy with John. A smile touched her lips. At least not now.

She sighed. Time to think of something else while she figured out how to disengage their bodies.

Her heart tripped
.

Marguerite! How could I forget?

Surely her sister would be up and about with Jeremy and the lambs by now. Had that been Marguerite’s laughter she’d heard moments ago? Ever so carefully, she detached herself from John and slid from the bed. He rolled onto his stomach and buried his head in the pillow. She froze, waiting for his breathing to resume a steady cadence.

When it did, she silently gathered her clothing, eased a wrap around herself and slipped out the door. And stumbled into her maid.

Suri set her fingers to her lips. “Shh.”

Becky nodded, relieved Suri of the heap of clothing in her arms, and headed across the hall. “This way, milady,” she whispered.

Suri followed her into Jeremy’s old room where the maid helped her into a morning dress the color of ripe peaches. Suri sat in front of a mirror, fidgeting, while Becky worked her hair into a coil around her head. “Is Lady Marguerite with Master Jeremy, do you know?”

“Oh, they’s been up before the sun and out with the lambs.” Becky paused, the comb held in mid-air. “Milady?”

Suri looked in the mirror to the flush-cheeked maid whose eyes sparkled with…with tears?
Oh, my.
“What is it?”

“It be the lad, milady. He started speaking today.” Becky’s toothy grin widened before she swiped a fist over her eyes and shyly turned away from the looking glass.

“Oh!” Suri’s hand went to her breast.
Thank the heavens.
She blinked hard. It wouldn’t do to weep in front of the maid. “So, all it took was his mother’s return for him to resume speaking? I should’ve guessed that might be the case.”

Becky sniffed and then turned back to complete Suri’s toilette. “His first word was Mummy. Came out like a squeak, it did. Now he’s got his throat working, he hasn’t stopped his chattering since. You should’ve seen the two bouncing out of the house, him telling his mum how he’s in charge of the lambs and such. Now that’s a picture to hold dear, milady.”

Suri couldn’t get to Marguerite fast enough. “Hurry, Becky, I cannot bear to dally.” She fidgeted and pushed at her hair, her fingers tangling with Becky’s comb.

She stood. “Good enough.”

“But milady…”

On the run and tucking wisps of unruly hair behind her ears, Suri’s stomach growled and pitched fits. Crumpets. She’d grab one and eat it on the way to the lambs’ pens. No, a couple of warm apple tarts. She laughed at the idea of beating John to them.

Rushing into the breakfast room, she halted and swallowed a gasp. Before her sat the last person she’d expected to see this early in the day.

“Edward.” Oh, Lord. She wanted to speak with him, but not until after he and John had met.

He tilted his head her way and shoved a disheveled hank of hair off his brow. His gray eyes, dark as a storm cloud, ran over her from head to toe and back. He paused at her mussed hair. And then he turned his attention to the coffee cup on the table and ran the tip of one finger around the rim.

He wore his shirtsleeves rolled and his waistcoat hung open, exposing his broad chest. His long, booted legs were thrust out in front of him. His jacket was nowhere to be seen. On the table before him sat the cup and a half empty decanter of what looked to be whisky. A dawning sent her brain buzzing. “Why, you’ve yet to see your bed. And you’ve been up drinking all night?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He lifted the cup to his surly mouth and took a sip. “At least not above stairs, what with all the moans and groans bouncing off the walls.”

Heat suffused her cheeks. He couldn’t possibly have heard anything, not with her chamber at the far end of the corridor from his.

“I…Edward.” She rubbed at her temples. If only John had arrived first. “Edward, please. You knew how it was with your brother and me when you first asked for my hand. You told me yourself that you offered because of John’s—”

“Did you tell him?” His interruption was a dry monotone. “About us?”

“Yes, I told him.”

A bitter smile worked over his lips and he arched a brow. “Everything?”

She clasped her fingers together. “Yes.”

He tilted his head again and his eyes flashed something dangerous. “
Everything
, Suri?”

Oh God.
Her spine stiffened. “Well, no. Not if you mean that one night when…when you crawled into my bed while I was asleep. You were foxed, Edward.”

“So you were not entirely honest with him then?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, you were the one wanting to keep your foolish act a secret in order to avoid scandal. I agreed to wipe the incident from my mind, didn’t I? Why would I say anything about something so embarrassing for us both, not to mention pitiful for you?”

A slow curl of his lip told her he intended to continue. She glanced around the room and lowered her voice. “Please, Edward. The walls have ears.”

He snorted and reached over to the near empty crystal decanter. He splashed some of the amber contents into his coffee.

“Edward, don’t.”

“My brother still sleeps?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, his gaze ran over her again and settled on her disorderly locks. “Wore him out, did you?”

“That’s enough!” A shrill voice sounded, so cold it threatened to freeze the very air in the room.

They both turned to find the duchess standing in the doorway, her lips a thin white line, her face pale as a winter’s sky. “You shall not speak so within these walls.”

She turned to Suri. “Lady Marguerite requested you join her as soon as you rose. She is with Master Jeremy and the lambs.”

The duchess turned to Edward. “Walk with me to the apple trees.”

He tipped the decanter to his lips. Suri watched his throat ripple. He set the bottle back on the table and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “I think not, Your Grace. As you can well observe, I am in the middle of breakfast.”