A Hellion in Her Bed (17 page)

She looked appalled. “I can’t believe he would say that! Of course Hugh would come.”

“I got the impression,” he persisted, “that his father might be too ill to come. And it occurred to me that if Mr. Lake is dying—”

“He’s not dying, all right? His problem is merely temporary, as I told you. He’ll be up and around in no time.”

Though her words held the resonance of truth, he needed more. “Then why did George seem to think otherwise?”

“I have no idea. He knows better.” She frowned. “But like most boys his age, he tends to exaggerate for dramatic effect.”

Well, that was certainly true. Jarret remembered those days well. “He wouldn’t exaggerate so much if you and his mother would stop coddling him. It’s not good for a lad that age to be coddled. They start to think they’re at the center of the universe, and anything related to them becomes a matter of grand importance.”

“That’s ridiculous. We don’t coddle him in the least.”

“Really?” They’d left the market and were walking along a deserted country lane lined with pretty little cottages and barns of aging gray timbers. “He’s already old enough to attend Eton, yet he doesn’t even know when he’s being swindled.”

“
I
didn’t even know he was being swindled. I’ve never heard of thimblerig.” Her tone grew acid. “We don’t have sharpers and cheats on every corner in Burton, as you apparently do in London.”

“He should be in school by now, learning how the world works.”

“I agree. Unfortunately, I … we can’t afford to send him away to school. Not with the brewery struggling.”

“Then tell your brother to hire him a tutor, for God’s sake. And give him some room to breathe and be a boy. Stop smothering him.”

She sniffed. “That’s great advice, coming from a man who grew up wild because he had no one looking after him. A man who still behaves like a schoolboy because he’s afraid to grow up.”

He halted in the middle of the lane. She saw him as a
schoolboy
?

“I’m sorry,” she went on hastily. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

He glared at her. “I didn’t ask to play nursemaid to your damned nephew. That was
your
idea. So if you don’t like how I do it, God knows I have better things to do.”

Stark dismay showed on her face. “Fine. I shan’t foist him on you anymore.”

Trying not to dwell on how upsetting he found her reaction, he began walking again.

She followed. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

“No,” he bit out. “Nor do I care.”

As if Nature were conspiring to
make
him care, the first fat drops of rain fell on his coat. Wonderful.

“Perhaps we should return to town,” she ventured.

Even as she spoke, the rain began to batter them. “Too late for that,” he muttered. Spotting a nearby barn, he tugged her into it. The smell of horses and fresh hay assailed him as they entered the dimly lit structure. “No one seems to be about. Everyone has probably gone to the market.”

“Good,” she said tartly. “Now you can answer the question you’ve been avoiding. What did you tell Geordie to make him think you and I are headed for marriage?”

He cursed under his breath. He should have realized his distractions wouldn’t work for long. “George isn’t the child you take him for. He understands a great deal.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that. So what exactly did he understand?”

“Enough to guess that you and I had been kissing.”

She paled. “Oh, Lord.”

“He asked me if my intentions toward you were honorable,” Jarret ground out. “I had to tell him something.”

“You could have tried telling him the truth,” she said in that lofty tone she took whenever she felt
she
had the moral high ground.

It sent his temper rising. “The truth?” He rounded on her. “That my only intention toward his aunt is carnal: is
that
what you wanted me to say?”

She blinked. “I … well … no, I don’t suppose that would have been a good idea.”

He stalked toward her. “I could have said that if I’d had
my
way, you would already have spent a night in my bed.”

A blush was spreading over her pretty cheeks. “No, I certainly wouldn’t have wanted you to—”

“I could have told him I can’t keep my hands off you.” He caught her at the waist, her heightened color inflaming his senses, his need. “I could have said that all I think about is swiving you senseless. That I lie awake at night imagining how you would feel beneath me. Would
that
have satisfied your sense of truth and honor?”

“That would definitely not have been—”

The sound of voices outside the barn halted her stammering.

“Damnation,” he muttered. “Just what we need—someone finding strangers here and thinking we’re trying to steal their horses.” He spotted the ladder leading to the loft. “Come on,” he growled and dragged her toward it, then pushed her up.

Thankfully, she was a fast climber. They’d barely cleared the top before he heard the barn door open. Dragging her down into the straw, he held a finger to her lips.

The men were discussing a horse for sale, but Jarret paid the conversation no heed. He was too conscious of the fact that Annabel lay half beneath him, her face flushed in the dim light and her hair a dark swirl against the golden straw. The cold rain had turned her thin gown nearly translucent and he could see the hard tips of her nipples straining against the cloth.

Suddenly he didn’t care about George or the brewery, or what she was hiding about her brother, or anything else. He cared only that she was staring at him with that warm, aware look that beckoned him to madness.

Unable to stop himself, he traced her soft mouth with his finger, his blood roaring in his veins. She was the country girl in her element, ripe for a tumble in the hay, perfectly at home in a barn. The temptation was too potent to resist. As the earthy smell of horses blended with her honey-sweet scent, he replaced his finger with his lips, exulting as she opened to him, then lifted her arms to encircle his neck.

Then he was lost to anything but her. Below them the murmur of voices continued, but he was too busy devouring her mouth to care.

God, she was wonderful to kiss. There was no hesitation, no maidenly shyness. She offered a man everything—throwing herself into it body and soul, open and giving. Nothing like he would expect from a virgin. Her blatant need mirrored his own, stoking his desire even more. He struggled to think, to breathe, to find his way through the fog of enchantment that she wrapped about him with every movement of her delectable body.

Taking advantage of the need for silence, he trailed kisses down the tender column of her neck to where a froth of lace only half hid the upper mounds of her breasts. He lifted his
head to lock gazes with her and pulled loose the lace, then pushed down her damp gown and corset cups to bare her shift.

Her breathing grew ragged, yet she didn’t resist—not even when he lowered his mouth to capture one breast through her shift. As he tongued her nipple, she let out a soft gasp.

But her hands clutched him close, and that was all the invitation he needed. While pleasuring one breast with his mouth, he fondled the other with his hand. Her body strained against him, her hands anchoring him to her. She wanted more. He
needed
more, wanted to give her
far
more.

When he tugged loose the ties of her shift she stared at him, her eyes as dark as the unholy lust raging in his loins. Lowering her shift, he gazed on her naked bosom, and his heart shuddered to a halt.

Damn, she was lovely. Her breasts were as full as he’d guessed, with large, rosy nipples begging to be sucked and teased. He bent his head to lick one, then the other, before caressing the damp flesh with his fingers. Her soft cry was half gasp, half moan.

It was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard. His cock stiffened to stone against her thigh. “My God, Annabel …” he groaned against her breast.

The voices downstairs halted, and for one panicked moment, he thought he’d been heard. Then the door opened and closed below them. The men had left the barn.

She pushed him back with an uncertain glance.

“Perhaps you should … let me up now …” she whispered, though she didn’t reach to straighten her clothes.

“Not a chance,” he rasped.

Her eyes widened. “Why?”

He gave a strangled laugh. “Why do you think?” Ignoring
her hands against his chest, he lowered his head to draw hard on her nipple, making her arch up against him.

“We shouldn’t … be doing this …” she murmured, but her hands slipped up to clutch his shoulders.

“I want to touch you.” Shifting his body off her, he inched up her skirts. “Let me touch you.”

A shudder wracked her, then her eyes slid closed. “Yes … please …”

Annabel knew it was dangerous to encourage him. It could too easily get out of hand, and she could find herself in the same situation she’d been in thirteen years ago. Except this time the man who got her with child would break her heart, for Jarret was the sort to bed her and forget her.

Thus far, she’d mostly resisted his charms. But if she were intimate with him, that would be impossible. She couldn’t just share a man’s bed and forget about him.

Still, it had been so long since a man had touched her this way, and he was inciting her to riot. It was hard
not
to respond. Especially after the sweet things he’d said, about how he thought about her, how he desired her. Even Rupert had never courted her with such words, and she hadn’t realized how badly she craved that.

Nobody knew they were here, after all. Nobody knew he was doing these things. It gave her license to be naughty.

His lips whispered over her cheek. “I promise not to ruin you.”

The words startled her. How could he ruin her?

Oh, yes. He thought she was a virgin. And the truth was, she
felt
like a virgin with him. Or at least a woman who’d half forgotten how it felt to be with a man so intimately.

“All right,” she murmured.

“I just want to see you reach your rapture,” he said huskily,
and slipped his hand inside her drawers to cup her between the legs.

Her eyes shot open. “What?”

His blindingly handsome face held a raw hunger that called to her own. “For three nights now, I’ve lain awake in bed imagining how you would look if I took you. I want to see if it matches my imagination.” When she stiffened, he added, “I know I can’t take you … but I can bring you pleasure.”

He rubbed her most private place, and she let out a moan of pure enjoyment. With a knowing smile, he nuzzled her ear. “Let me watch you come apart in my hands, dearling.”

The endearment made a dangerous thrill rise in her throat. “I suppose that would be … all right,” she said, finishing the word on a squeak when he fingered her flesh with a particularly deft stroke.

“All right?” he said, laughter showing on his face. “I promise you, my pretty pixie, it will be far better than all right.” With eyes agleam, he slid down her body.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, perplexed.

“I want to taste you.”

“Where?”

In answer, he bent his head to lick the part his hand had just been caressing.

“Ohhhh …” she breathed. How astonishing! Who knew that a man could do such an outrageous thing?

Who knew that it would feel so good?

Holding her thighs open, he strafed her private parts with his tongue. A cry of pleasure and surprise escaped her. It was so … intense. She’d not felt anything that intense with Rupert.

But then, Jarret wasn’t some fumbling country boy. He knew just how to inflame a woman’s senses. And how could
it hurt to let him? When would she get another chance like this, to be free and wild, to
desire
again?

His tongue dipped and swirled, making her ache and want. She remembered the wanting but didn’t remember it being this powerful. Only half aware of what she did, she swiveled her hips up to gain more, feel more.

He chuckled. “You like that, do you?”

She blushed, but somehow managed a nod.

“And this?” He sucked on a particularly tender part of her flesh, and she nearly went insane. “Do you like this?”

“You … know … I do,” she choked out as sensation flooded her, fierce and hot, making her writhe beneath his mouth.

“Just making sure,” he murmured, then plundered her with his lips and tongue and teeth in more earnest.

Lord save her, what was he
doing
to her? Her memories from Rupert were of vaguely pleasurable sensations, a sense of closeness, a muted sort of enjoyment.

This was blatantly, nakedly, boldly carnal. He made her want to leap, to soar, to explode from her clothes, from her very skin.

“Jarret, please …” she moaned, burying her fingers in his damp hair, anchoring his head between her legs.

“Take what you will, Annabel. It’s yours. You just have to grasp it.”

Somehow, she understood exactly what he meant. She could feel the growth of a pleasure that lay glittering just beyond her reach. Every lash of his tongue brought it nearer … if she could just … stretch … farther … higher …

There!

A symphony of sensation wracked her body, dragging a keening cry from her lips. Good Lord in Heaven! Such
glorious … amazing … It was beyond anything she’d ever felt. As her body shook with the force of her release, she tightened her fingers in his gorgeous tangle of silky black hair.

It took her a while to regain her breath—and her sanity. When she trusted herself to look at him, she found him watching her. Heat rose in her cheeks.

He flashed that rogue’s smile that showed both his dimples. “You’re so lovely when you reach the peak of your pleasure. All pink and flushed.” He brushed a kiss to her inner thigh. “Here.” He slid up next to her to kiss her exposed breast. “And here.” He kissed her throat. “Even here.”

“And you?” she whispered, embarrassed by the attention he was giving her shameless response. “What do
you
look like when you reach the peak of
your
pleasure?”

When he jerked back to stare at her, she cursed her quick tongue. A virgin wouldn’t say that. Virgins were too anxious to worry if the man had enjoyment. They weren’t even aware that a man could have pleasure without ruining them.