One Good Earl Deserves a Lover
Page 94

He couldn’t deny her. He couldn’t resist looking back.
One glance. One night.
It was all he could have. It was more than he had ever deserved.
One night, and he’d leave her to her perfect, ideal world.
One night, and he would return to his Hell.
“I won’t ruin your life, Pippa. I won’t let you be destroyed.”
She pressed her lips to his, her soft skin making him mad, and whispered so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. “I love you.”
The words rocketed through him, and he couldn’t stop himself from lifting her into his arms and giving them both what they wanted. What would change everything and nothing at the same time. He lifted her against him, adoring the way she followed his lead, pressing herself to him, running her mouth across his jaw, setting him on fire.
She shouldn’t love him.
He wasn’t worth it.
Wasn’t worth her.
“You are a remarkable man,” she said, lips at his ear. “I cannot help it.”
One night would destroy him.
But there was no resisting her. Her brilliant mind. Her beautiful face.
There never had been.
Chapter Sixteen
He hadn’t touched a woman in six years. Had resisted them . . . until her.
Until now.
Until this moment, when he lifted her from her feet and carried her to the bed where she’d slept for her entire life, and lay her down, following her down with his heady, heavy weight, pinning her beneath him with long limbs and corded strength and the promise of a pleasure she had never known.
Eight days prior, she’d stood in his office and asked him to teach her about ruination; here, finally, was the lesson for which she had not known she’d asked. The one for which she was utterly, completely desperate.
He kissed her, entirely different than the one that shattered her thought and breath earlier in the evening, but equally devastating. This one was slow and lavish, a claiming of lips and tongue that had her clinging to him, instantly addicted to the pleasure that only he could give.
She sighed her satisfaction, and he captured the sound with another long, lush mating of lips and tongues before lifting his head and meeting her gaze in the candlelight. “You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever known,” he whispered. “You make me want to teach you every wicked, depraved thing I’ve ever done . . . ever dreamed.”
The words were pleasure and heat—threading through her fast and furious until she had to close her eyes at the sensation. He brushed his lips across one of her cheeks, leaning down to her ear. “Would you like that?”
She sighed her agreement, and said, “The room is spinning.”
His lips curved at her earlobe. “I thought I was the only one who noticed.”
She turned to face him. “What causes it?”
“My little scientist . . . if you have time to wonder about that, I am not doing my job well enough.”
And then she didn’t care if the room spun because the globe was off its axis, because his lips were on hers, and his hands were stroking up her legs, carrying the linen of her nightgown with them, and she wanted nothing more than to touch him in every place she could.
One long hand slid beneath the night rail, palming her bottom as he lifted his weight from her, before stroking fingers curved along her hip and urged her thighs apart.
When he settled between them, his hard heat pressing against her pulsing core, she thought she might die of the pleasure. She writhed against him, desperate to be closer to him, thinking of nothing but touching him, getting as close to him as she could.
He tore his lips from hers, gasping her name. Rocking against her once, twice, sending thick arcs of pleasure through her. He stilled above her, and she opened her eyes, instantly drawn to his beautiful grey gaze. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Shh, darling. I shall give you everything you wish . . . but you must be quiet . . . if your father hears . . . you shall be ruined.”
“I don’t care,” she whispered, rocking up against him again. And it was true. Ruination was worth it. She would be free of Castleton and could spend the rest of her life here, with Cross. In his den of sin. In his arms. Anywhere he liked.
He would never allow it.
The practical little voice whispered through her, and she pushed it away. Anything was possible now, tonight, with him. Tomorrow, she would face the rest of her life. But tonight . . . tonight was hers. Tonight was theirs.
Tonight, there was no room for practical.
“Show me everything. Everything that you know. Everything that you like. Everything that you desire.”
He closed his eyes, a wash of something that could have been pleasure or pain chasing over his face, and she pushed herself up on her elbows, pressing against him, loving the feel of her br**sts against his warm chest, loving the way her thighs cradled his lean hips and the heavy, hard, thickness of him was seated against the part of her that ached so much for him.
She rocked against him there, testing the way they fit, and he hissed at the movement, his eyes opening to narrow slits, grey gleaming pewter in the candlelight. “You will pay for that.”
She smiled. “You cannot fault me for experimentation.”
He laughed softly. “I cannot. After all, without that particular penchant, I would not have you here. Now.” He kissed her again, quick and intense. When they were both gasping for breath, he lifted his head again, and said, “How else can I help you with your research, my lady?”
She took a long moment, her gaze running over his beautiful face. Stay with me, she wanted to say. Let me stay with you.
But she knew better. Instead, she lifted her hands to his chest, pushing the lapels of his coat to the side and pressing her palms flat against his waistcoat. “I believe my research would be well served if you were nude.”