To Sin With A Scoundrel (32 page)

“Then show me, Lucas.” A muscle twitched beneath her thumb. “Show me how to live in the moment, with no care for the past
or future.”

This time there was no hesitation.

One by one, he undid the tiny shell buttons of her night rail. The fabric slid down a touch, baring the top of her shoulders.
The pale, pearlescent moonglow felt seductive, sensual against her skin. Ciara felt no embarrassment. Just a need to see him
naked, as well.

She tugged off his coat and unknotted the kerchief at his throat.

His shirt fastenings were next to yield.

With a groan, he fisted the linen and pulled it off over his head.

The stretch rippled the cording of sleek muscle and sinew. As she had seen before, he was no indolent dandy. Broad, muscled
shoulders tapered to a narrow waist. The bruises on his ribs had faded to mere shadows, accentuating the chiseled contours
of his chest. Flat nipples, coarse curls—dark, masculine textures that she itched to explore.

“Lud, you are so lovely in the moonlight,” he murmured, unlacing the ribbon at her waist. “Like Venus—a body of shining white
brilliance against the black velvet night.”

And he was Apollo, a beautiful god, gilded in the flare of the candlelight.

Lucas set aside the flint. He had such graceful hands. They moved, gently as a spring rain, raising a trail of gooseflesh
along her shoulder blades.
Good God, how could the bones of her back be a source of erotic sensation?
Ciara nearly purred with pleasure.

“I—” Shyness suddenly overcame her as Lucas started to peel back the front of her bodice. She clutched at the cotton. “I must
warn you, I’m not at all what you are used to. I’m skinny.” Old insults echoed in her head. “Scrawny.”

Lucas looked up, a flicker of light edging the curve of his mouth. “You have been told you are unattractive, Ciara?”

A rasp of air escaped her lips.

“Once and for all, forget about Sheffield. He was a crude lout. And a lunatic.” His whisper tickled against her throat. “Every
curve, every dip, every inch of your body, is exquisitely perfect.” She felt the twitch of a wicked smile. “But as a scientist
you’ll need proof, so let me show you…”

A tiny shiver coursed through her as his tongue outlined the shell of her ear.

“Ahh, yes. Exquisite. And the arch of your neck leaves nothing to be desired.”

Ciara gasped as he nipped at her flesh.

“Mmmm, just wait until I get to your toes, sweetheart. But that may take a while.”

“Oh, Lucas…” A laugh quivered on her lips.

“Yes, that’s it. Stop thinking.” He feathered delicate kisses over the hollow of her throat. Teasing, tingling, tantalizing
sensations that left her a little light-headed. “You have a magnificent brain to go along with your glorious body, but it
sometimes gets in the way of the other parts.”

His deft humor loosened the last of her inhibitions. Oh, how she wanted to give herself completely to him. With a hitch of
her hips she arched against his thighs. “I will make every effort to leave intellect aside.”

A feral growl rumbled in answer.
Dark. Rough. Masculine.
The sound reverberated somewhere deep in her core.

“You are doing a damn good job of it,” he said.

She splayed her hands on his chest, savoring every nuanced contour of his shape. Men were for the most part a mystery. In
wonder, she traced the trail of dark hair down to the top of his breeches.

Lucas held his breath for an instant and then let it out in a husky laugh. “We’ll get there in a moment, sweetheart. But first,
let me see you in all your splendor.” He parted her bodice, revealing one breast, then the other.

She went very still.

“Oh, Ciara. You would tempt a saint to renounce his vows. And God knows I am no saint.” He lowered his head and the warm wetness
of his mouth covered her nipple.

Ciara gasped.

And then he drew it into him with a slow suckling sound. His teeth nipped at its bud, the pressure sending a sharp and yet
sweet jolt of heat through her. A moan caught in her throat as his tongue—his oh-so-clever tongue—lapped and laved the peaked
flesh to a point of unquenchable flame.

She swayed, feeling her knees melt. No wonder rakes were considered so devilishly dangerous. One smoldering look, one hellfire
kiss, and all heed of civilized rules went up in smoke.

“Lift your arms, sweetheart,” coaxed Lucas, “I want to take off your night rail.”

“Yes,” she said thickly. “Yes.”

The fabric skimmed up over her head and floated to the floor. She felt wickedly wanton standing there. Never had the full
length of her body been exposed to a man’s eye.

“Sweet Jesus.” He stepped back, his gaze slowly sliding from her face to the triangle of red-gold curls between her legs.
Through the scrim of his lashes, she saw a spark of molten blue.

Heat spread through her as Lucas tugged off his boots with a feral growl. His erection was pressing against the front of his
breeches. Mesmerized, she watched his fingers wrench the fastenings free.

Half turning, he shucked off the buckskins, and then his drawers. Limned in the light of the moon, his phallus thrust forward
from a tangle of midnight curls and the heavy sac of his sex.

A primitive sound stirred in her throat. Instinctively, Ciara reached out to touch him.

His response was immediate. She felt him throb and swell against her palm. Emboldened, she circled her fingers and ran a light
caress down his length. Lucas groaned aloud as her thumb touched the ridge of his crest. What a fascinating new discovery—the
sheathing of a man’s steel was soft as fire-kissed velvet.

“Dear God,” he groaned through gritted teeth.

Roused from her rapture, Ciara stilled. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“No. Exquisitely right.”

She dropped her gaze, eager for a closer study of his maleness. Her marital encounters had all been quick, jerky fumblings
under the cover.
Push and shove.
The experience had been more painful than pleasurable. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Sheffield’s shaft. Not that she
had ever desired to view him naked.

But Lucas… Lucas was a sight to behold.

Ciara loosened her hold, letting the weight of his cock slip free. The head twitched up, erect and proud. In the flickering
candlelight, the ruddy flesh appeared aflame. She grasped him again, ever so gently, and let her fingers slide down to the
thatch of dark curls at the base of his belly. They sprang back at her tentative touch. Twining deeper, she marveled at the
contrast in male textures—smooth flesh, taut muscle, coarse hair.

She could have spent hours exploring him, but Lucas shifted and angled her chin up.

“Look at me, Ciara. I want to see your eyes, sweetheart.”

Her lashes lifted.

“Lud, you are a passionate creature.”

“I’m not,” she protested. On the contrary, she had always been ruled by reason.
So how to explain this?

“Oh, yes. You are.” His eyes simmered with a sensuous gleam. “I see it in your work, your dedication, your delight in discovery.
You must trust in my greater knowledge of this subject.” Lucas stroked her spine. “Do you, Ciara? Do you trust me?” he crooned.

Against all reason, she
did
trust him. With all her heart.

“Yes,” she whispered.
Yes.

Suddenly she was floating on air, her hair falling in shimmering waves over his back. A twisting spin, and she dropped onto
the bed, her bare bum sinking into the tangle of silky sheets.

Lucas was laughing softly, and so was she. In her wildest dreams, she had never imagined that sex could be… fun.

Wickedly so.

He was on his knees, positioning himself at her feet. His hand took hold of her ankles and urged them apart. “I’m aching to
taste you, to tantalize you, Ciara. Will you let me do that?”

In answer, she hitched her legs wider. Oh, how she wanted to experience such intimate pleasures with him.

He lowered his head, and all at once his open mouth was sliding along the inside of her thigh. The sensation was indescribably
delicious—the heat of his lips on her skin, the coolness of the night air on the trail of wetness. She flinched a little shyly
as he reached the notch of her curls. But her hesitation quickly yielded to the gentle probing of his tongue.

The Grotto of Venus.
No wonder its mention had sparked a chorus of feminine sighs on that fateful afternoon in the park.

Parting her folds, Lucas opened her more fully to his lush kisses. Ciara whimpered, feeling her body respond with a clench.
He licked again, and again. Some force—some fire—was burning inside her. Surely it must soon find release, else singe her
to a crisp. Sensing her growing need, Lucas drew her pearl between his teeth.

A tiny nip ignited a heated cry, and an instant later, she convulsed in a shower of white-hot sparks.

As she lay limp, waiting for the waves of pleasure to subside, she managed a soft whisper. “I… I am…

bereft of words.”

His lips feathered across her belly. “Your body is exquisite in its eloquence, sweetheart.” Then moving with the lithe grace
of a panther, he was atop her, his legs straddling her thighs.

Oh, she knew—
she knew
—that Lucas had done this countless times with countless women, but somehow he made her feel special. As if the only thing
that mattered at this very moment were the two of them joining as one.

It was just a length of engorged flesh, she told herself. Nothing more, nothing less. Friction, heat—the results of the experiment
were really no mystery.

He parted her knees, opening her wide to his gaze. She closed her eyes, feeling oh-so-wicked, oh-so-wanton.

“Beautiful.” Lucas sounded a little breathless as he leaned low and spread his hands across her middle. They inched up in
a leisurely glide, caressing her ribs and then cupping her breasts. “So beautiful in every way.” The warm length of his cock
tickled against her belly.

Beautiful
. He made her feel it was so.

“Spread your legs wider,” he said in a husky whisper. His mouth replaced one of his hands, and he licked a slow, sensual circle
around her peak.

Twisting, trembling against the weight of his legs,

Ciara arched up into his embrace.

And then his fingers found her feminine slit and stroked through her slickened folds. “Your quim is ripe again,” he said with
rough satisfaction. “And ready for me.”

Now. Now.
Her breathing had become so feverish that she couldn’t tell whether she had actually spoken aloud.

A laugh, low and lush, feathered against her flesh. “We mustn’t rush, sweetheart.” He delved deeper, finding her hidden pearl.
“A scientist should never hurry the steps of an experiment, is that not right?”

She cried out in answer, no longer capable of coherent speech. The friction of his callused thumb was driving her a little
wild with want. Her arms went around him, needing the feel of him hard against her.
Inside her.
The urgency was mounting.
Closer, closer.
Ciara pulled him down, dimly aware that her nails were scoring a trail across his shoulders.

Lucas rocked back with a grunt. His face glistened with exertion, and the dark tangle of hair shadowed his eyes. The long,
curling strands gleamed like polished ebony in the winking light. Ciara felt a whisper of air as he parted her flesh. The
momentary coolness was replaced by throbbing heat as he positioned himself at her opening.

She nearly surrendered her sanity.

His cock nudged in a fraction. Then withdrew.

Ciara squirmed within the rock-hard muscles of his thighs, moaning a wordless complaint.
So wrong. So right.
It went against all reason, she knew, but oh, she wanted him. Madly. Badly.

Lucas entered her again, this time a little deeper, before sliding out of her passage. The head of his cock rested against
her slickness, pulsing with pent-up heat.

The sensation was unbearably wonderful.

Grasping his buttocks so he couldn’t retreat, she arched up her hips to force him deeper.

For an instant, Ciara saw something akin to her own wonder reflected in his gaze. She must be mistaken, of course. A quirk
of the stars and shadows. Coupling was such a commonplace experience for him. But perhaps that flash of baring his soul was
what made him such a sought-after bedmate. He made a woman feel that she was the light of his life.

Such skillful lovemaking must take a good deal of practice… No, she would
not
think of that. Or anything, save the magic of the moment.

Oh, God.
Lucas gritted his teeth, praying for self-control. He must keep himself in check and go slowly. This was the first time for
Ciara, and he meant for it to be special. Oh, to be sure, she had had a man inside her before. A quick ploughing of her flesh.
A mere filling of her womb with seed. But he suspected she had never been roused to feel any joy in it.

For far too long, Ciara had been forced to keep her true self—her womanly passion, her scholarly brilliance—bottled up. She
had been told to feel ashamed of her glorious body, her glorious mind.