Wicked in Your Arms
Page 19

Had he actually just confessed such a thing to her? He hardly recognized the sound of his voice, or the stark need ripping through him, urging him to take her, possess her.
She gasped at this declaration, and he fixated on those rosy pink lips. She looked up at him dazedly, sagging against him.
His hand tightened around the curve of her waist, delighting in the delicious give of her flesh beneath the pressure. “The only thing stopping me from having you is my restraint.”
The slightly mesmerized expression vanished from her face. She was indignant again, her eyes snapping with temper, blinking dusty snowflakes free. “The only thing stopping you is me ! Unhand me. How dare you touch me! You—you disgust me!”
Her insult flew like the slash of a whip and he wondered at her harshness. He felt the sting of her words as keenly as any tear to the flesh—a fact that only infuriated him. When had he come to care what she thought of him? Whether she thought ill of him shouldn’t signify.
He shook his head, refusing to believe her. Earlier this evening she’d almost seemed to welcome his attentions. He pulled her tighter against him. “Indeed? If you suddenly so loathe my company, why are you here now?”
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, the pose reminiscent of a soldier preparing for battle. “Because I have something to say to you.”
“You’ve said quite a bit already, Miss Hadley. I can’t imagine you’ve left anything out.”
“What I need to say will only take a moment.”
He looked left and right, assessing the empty balconies. “A moment best not spent here then. Not if you care for your reputation as you claim. We’ve tarried out here long enough. Come inside.”
Her eyes flared wide at the suggestion. She arched back, pushing at his chest with the base of her palms. “I’m not entering your chamber with you.” Her voice burned in a low, fevered rush. “If you would simply allow me to speak my piece and release me, I’ll be on my way.”
“You may be willing to risk your reputation, but I am not.” He hauled her resisting figure into his room. She wrenched free and whirled around, moving backward away from him, the hair trickling free of her loose plait with every step she took.
He closed the door with a solid click. Wearing a lazy smile, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the chilled glass to observe the fetching sight she made.
“Now. Tell me. What makes you risk life, limb, and reputation to speak with me?”
She counted off on one finger. “Firstly, I hardly risked my life. I know you deem me quite old and frail , but I could hurdle those balconies in my sleep.”
“I never said you were old and frail,” he interrupted, surveying her again in her deliciously snug trousers. “Quite the contrary.”
She tossed her unraveling plait of hair over her shoulder and glared at him. “I know of your plans, and I just wanted you to know that I think you’re despicable. Lady Libbie is very unfortunate indeed to fancy herself in love with you.”
Frowning, he angled his head, staring at her and trying to decipher her jumble of words. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain yourself. What plans do you speak of?”
She shot him an exasperated look, propping both hands on her hips. “Come. You needn’t play obtuse. I know you intend to elope with Lady Libbie, although why I cannot fathom. I’m sure her father would merrily give his blessing. My guess is that your greedy nature wishes to lay claim to all of Lady Libbie’s bridal settlement without delay so that you can return home. I’ve heard talk that your grandfather is ill.”
He pressed two fingers to his temple as if trying to concentrate. “You make no sense. For starters, what led you to believe that I’m eloping with Lady Libbie?”
Her eyes darkened. “Don’t toy with me. I overheard her talking with her maid about her plans to—”
“Then she was not talking about me . Has that notion not occurred to you?”
She blinked. “You’re the only gentleman even paying court to her here. She’s scarcely spoken to anyone else. Who could it be if not you?”
“I do not know,” he growled, his temper rising now that he realized this was what had gotten her nose out of joint. “I only know it’s not me. Pity.” He shrugged. “I came here to woo her. A wasted trip. I’ll have to begin anew.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re very cold-hearted. Do you not even care that the woman you’ve been courting is plotting to elope with someone else?”
“I care for the delay. Nothing else. I have no emotional attachment to Lady Libbie. I should think you can understand that. Sparks hardly fly through the air between you and the viscount, but word has it that he’s going to make an offer.”
“Is he?” She blinked in such astonishment that he almost regretted telling her. For some reason the thought of the viscount’s hands upon her set his teeth on edge. An untenable reaction. He would have to get accustomed to the notion. If not Tolliver, she would wed someone else.
“Gentlemen talk over cards.” Uncrossing his arms, he advanced on her, backing her deeper into the room, hungry to get at the truth of her reason for seeking him out tonight. “And why was it so important that you sneak onto my balcony to confront me with this?”
If possible, that chin went higher. “I couldn’t let you leave without telling you what I think of you.”
“What you think of me eloping with another woman?” he finished.
She nodded once, the motion jerky. He idly scratched his jaw. “Interesting. And why is that, I wonder?”
She watched him from unblinking eyes as he closed in on her. “I simply wanted to let you know you’re incorrigible, a cad . . . flirting so scandalously with me on the eve of your planned elopement. I didn’t want you to leave without knowing that I know what you are.”
“Ah. A cad. I can see how it would be important to let me know that.” He nodded slowly, feeling alive as he hadn’t in years. Not since before the war . . . when all he concentrated on was basic survival—his own and that of his people. He was coming to revel in his every dialogue with her. His blood pumped faster.
Her face flushed. “You make me sound . . . foolish.”
“I wouldn’t say foolish. Jealous would be more correct.”
“I’m not jealous.” Her eyes followed him like a penned animal. She retreated, gasping when she bumped into the wardrobe.
His smile deepened. She had nowhere to go now. She had to face him—and the truth of what had brought her here. The truth of her desire for him.
“And now that you know I’m not incorrigible? That I did not plan to elope with Lady Libbie.”
Her lashes fluttered. “Yes. I was mistaken.”
His gaze dropped to the madly thumping pulse on her neck.
“I should go,” she whispered weakly.
He lifted one hand, motioning to the empty room around them. “And flee such a perfect opportunity?”
Her gaze sharpened on him. “An opportunity for what?”
He chuckled, dropping his hands on each side of her, effectively caging her in. With a hissed breath, she pressed herself back into the armoire, her head thudding against the rich walnut.
He pressed a soft kiss to the arch of her throat. “An opportunity for this.” He kissed higher. “For this.” He dragged his lips to her ear and kissed just below the tender lobe. “And this.”
She sighed. He barely heard her uttered “No.”
He turned his attention to the other side of her throat. The sweet scent of her skin filled his nostrils, heady and intoxicating. “No? How about here then?” He kissed the side of her neck, lightly grazing his teeth along the stretched cord.
Air escaped her in a hiss. Her hands landed on his shoulders, pressing lightly as though she didn’t know whether to shove him away or pull him closer.
He pulled back to stare down at her. Dropping his head, their foreheads touched. He tasted her warm breath, sipping and savoring it as he struggled for control, consumed with the need to possess her.
“I want you,” he growled fiercely, his hands pushing into the armoire until it creaked beneath the pressure. His throat tightened as he strove to find the words that would persuade her to cast propriety to the wind and fall willingly into his arms . . . into the great four-poster bed mere feet away.
She watched him, her eyes liquid dark, soulful and deep, probing as though she wanted him to say the words that would let her forget herself and surrender to the desire humming between them.
“I burn for you, Grier. I would give us both pleasure,” he vowed. “You are the first woman I’ve wanted this much since I’ve set foot on this island . . . the first since I’ve stepped off the battlefield . . .”
Her lips parted in a silent gasp and he took advantage, swooping in, stealing her lips and forgetting himself, forgetting everything in the hot fusion of their mouths.
She opened for the thrust of his tongue and he moaned, kissing harder, sinking his body against her softness.
Her hands came up to tangle in his hair. With a growl, he ran his hand along her trouser-clad hips. He lifted her easily, wrapping her slim limbs around his hips. His c**k strained at the front of his trousers. He nestled deeper into her beckoning heat, wanting nothing more than to free himself and drive into her core. He slid his hands to cup each well-rounded cheek, rocking against her.
“You’re wicked in these trousers,” he muttered against her mouth, nipping and pulling at her bruised bottom lip.
“Wore them all the time back home. No one paid me much heed in them before.”
“Either the men were blind, or you were. No red-blooded man could see you in these and not want to reach out and touch you.” His hands kneaded her behind, partly for illustration and partly because he could not help himself.
She sighed at his ministrations. “Sevastian.”
The sound of his name on her lips undid him. He kissed her deeply, muttering into her mouth, “Call me Sev.”
“Sev,” she sighed as his hands continued to roam over the delicious curve of her backside.
“It would feel much better if no garments blocked my touch from you. If I could feel all of you.”
She stared at him a long moment. Too long. And he knew she was battling her thoughts, struggling with her inner demons.
“Do you not want this, Grier?” He thrust against her, nestling into the core of her that radiated heat.
She closed her eyes as though in torment. “I can’t think when you do that.”
Sev sighed. Pulling from a reserve of will he didn’t know he possessed, he stepped back. “I’ll not coerce you. I’ll have you with your mind fully agreeable or not at all.”
He ignored the throbbing of his c**k that called him a fool. A few more kisses and he’d have her on her back and himself lodged deep between her thighs before she could form a coherent thought. And yet he couldn’t do that. That’s not how he wanted it.
Not how he wanted her .
He wanted the fiery Grier Hadley who’d first tossed her drink on his head. He wanted her begging, n**ed and writhing against him with an eagerness that echoed his own, craving him as much as he craved her. He wanted her for long hours. Multiple times. Nothing hasty or rushed.
She blinked, looking thoroughly confused. “Y-you want me to go?”
He laughed hoarsely even though he felt decidedly unamused. “I want a woman enthusiastic and willing in my bed. You, unfortunately, aren’t coming across as either of those things.”
“I—” She gaped rather comically. And yet he found nothing humorous about the situation. He ached for her. Even as he backed away from her he hoped she would call him back, throw herself into his arms, and turn into that passionate creature he wanted so desperately.