And that dimple. It was almost unfair. She couldn’t help but be charmed by it.
“It is getting more difficult to wait patiently,” he rumbled, clasping his arms behind him.
“For?”
“For my seduction, of course.” He smiled before her notepad on the sapphire coverlet snagged his attention.
Alexandra leaped for it before he could reach it, hugging the pad to her chest.
“Something you should learn about me as a husband.” He chuckled, interest sparking in his gaze. “If I know I’m not meant to see something, it makes me all the more determined to do so.”
Alexandra cleared nerves from her throat. If he’d sailed the Amazon and hacked through the Himalayas, she could likewise be brave.
She could do this.
Peeling the notebook from her chest, she looked down at the neat writing, taking comfort in a well-researched list. “Before I—we start. I have some conditions.”
His dimple deepened until she couldn’t look anymore. “Sexual conditions?”
That word. It made it more difficult to breathe. “Yes.”
“Very well.” He sat on the bed, indolently reclining on his hands. The very picture of patience and leisure. The lines of strength in his long body stood out, even when contained in his clothing. She could trace the cords of his shoulders and arms, the distinct lines of his thighs beneath his black trousers. A lion at rest. “Let’s hear these conditions.”
“Oh, um…” Alexandra stalled. In truth, she hadn’t expected him to capitulate so quickly. She took the pencil from the clip and tapped it next to the first line. “It is reasonable to kiss me, but not with your tongue.”
His scars, she noted, made his face more expressive. They moved with the muscle beneath his jaw, or when his eyes crinkled with bemusement as they did now. “Am I allowed to inquire as to why not?”
“Of course.” That only seemed reasonable. She itched at her scalp with the pencil, as she searched for an explanation. She hadn’t thought to expound. His mind was an inquiring one, it was one of the things that drew her to him. “I’m … not prepared for that intimacy,” she said simply, hoping vague would do. “Not yet.”
He stroked his beard in a thoughtful gesture. “You’re prepared for me to make love to you, but not for a kiss with my tongue?”
“Precisely,” she lied. She was prepared for none of it, but could only endure so much. “That’s the whole of it. And, whilst we are on the subject of tongues, I’d also like to avoid cunnilingus.”
He shot up straight. No longer a lion at rest, but at attention. “What?”
“Cunnilingus,” she repeated carefully, consulting her notes. “It’s an oral sex act performed on a female’s genital—”
“I know what it bloody is,” he blustered. “I’m trying to figure out why in God’s name you wouldn’t want me to.”
She blinked at him, frantically composing a reason that made any sort of sense. Judging from the rather graphic explanation of the act, she’d assumed any man would be rather relieved not to perform it. The female sex organ seemed to be a confusing and complicated structure for pleasure. From what she could tell, most men were likely to find the entrance, use that for its intended purpose, and then be done with the whole business.
“I just don’t.” She knew her reasons were all incredibly ambiguous, but in her present state. Alone. With a man. And a bed. About to do what she was about to do … well, her brain refused to perform the proper functions.
Thank Jupiter she’d written everything down.
Agitated, she stepped down from the dais, putting space between them, and made an investigation of a lovely velvet chair near the fireplace. Though she couldn’t look at him for a moment, she could feel his eyes tracking her every move. “In fact, if you could refrain from licking me anywhere, I’d be obliged.”
“As a gentleman, it’s my duty to be obliging, though I’d like you to note my hearty objection on your list.”
Alexandra looked at him askance.
Where she’d expected to find ire in his reply, something else threatened.
Laughter.
However, when she searched him for any sign of mocking, she found his features disturbingly enigmatic.
He stood, as though sensing she wasn’t, quite yet, as ready for the bed as she’d claimed.
“I’ll keep my tongue inside my own mouth.” He gave a bereaved sigh. “Though you needn’t return the favor.”
At the implication in his eyes, her mouth, made dry as the Sahara by nerves, flooded with moisture. She’d read about such things, but it never had occurred to her until this moment that she might taste him.
That he’d want her to. That kisses need not be contained to the mouth.
Did he want that? Did he expect that as part of the seduction?
Her mouth on him. Her tongue on his skin?
Did she want to?
“Your other conditions?” He stepped off the dais, stalking closer.
To avoid watching the graceful way his body moved—and because doing so had strangely stolen every other thought from her head—she consulted her notes, finding her spot. “I’d prefer … that we take our … that we disrobe.”
“That would be my preference also.” He was closer, disturbingly so, and she couldn’t manage to stop staring at her white-creased fingers as they gripped her pad with an almost violent desperation.
“Good. Good. We agree on that.” She made an affirmative mark next to the note. “Then, perhaps we could face each other? I am aware of other positions but I must insist—”
“For the first time, I agree that’s best.”
Her head snapped up. “For every time.”
At this, his lips quirked in a self-satisfied smile and Alexandra found her anxiety replaced by annoyance. “You’ll change your mind,” he predicted.
He didn’t know. She had to remind herself. He didn’t realize what she was doing. What these conditions avoided.
What her first time had been like.
“I won’t change my mind,” she insisted.
Something in her voice must have brooked no response, though his expression was equally skeptical and amenable. “You’ve given this entirely too much thought.”
“I had to,” she breathed. “That is how I … it’s what I do.”
She’d have backed away from his careful approach if his features hadn’t softened into something so tender and fond, it rooted her feet to the ground.
“So I am beginning to gather.” He kept his hands clasped behind him, a gesture both unthreatening and self-possessed as he made a great show of peeking at her list. “How many more of these conditions are there? I’m worried I won’t be allowed to touch you by the time you’re through.”
“Just one,” she whispered, distracted by the scent of him. By the way the soft fire gilded skin already darkened by the sun.
“Thank God.”
“Perhaps we—” She had to swallow once again. Could she be hungry? Had she eaten anything at dinner? She couldn’t remember. But something about his scent, that particular blend of clove, brandywine, and leather affected her in the same manner as would a succulent meal. She even felt it in her stomach.
And lower.
“Perhaps what?” he prompted mildly.
Gathering her courage, she glanced away. Staring at her list and seeing nothing. “Perhaps when you’re … when we’re … conducting the act, you could move slowly? Gently? So as to cause less trauma to the cervical tissues—”
“Good God, Doctor, put that away,” he begged, his shoulders trembling with barely suppressed mirth. “I have to say this must be the most peculiar seduction in history.”
Was it? She didn’t have to ask as she watched his lips twitch as he valiantly fought his laughter.
She’d bungled it.
Deflating, she tried to puzzle out how to salvage the evening. “Which part did you find most peculiar?”
“Well, for starters, I’ve never heard tell of a woman deman
ding a man not use his tongue.”
That hadn’t been what she’d expected. “Really?”
He let his hands drop to his sides, and for a moment, she thought he might reach for her. Instead, he said, “Darling, it’s the part of the anatomy most requested by ladies, all told.”
“More often than the…” Unable to say the word, she pointed in the general direction of his hips, trying not to notice that the appendage in question had become noticeably larger.
“Categorically.”
She made a face. “Why? It’s so … wet and slippery.”
“That’s rather the point.” He chuckled, the color in his cheeks a little higher than she’d previously seen.
Was he … blushing? Did men do that?
“I can’t imagine how—”
“We can readdress that later.” He held his hand up as though he could take no more, finally reaching for her. His finger slid beneath her chin, tilting it up. His face was a bemusing mask of ferocity and tenderness. “Don’t fret. You’ve seduced me, utterly.”
“I did?”
“And you need not fear what we’re about to do. Only a beast wouldn’t be gentle with you,” he whispered earnestly. “Especially the first time.”
To her horror, tears ached in the back of her throat. “Didn’t you say all men are beasts?”
“Of course we are.” His knuckle caressed her cheek. “It’s why we need a beauty like you to temper us. To tame us. To teach us how to appreciate something delicate.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that as her heart fluttered behind her ribs like a trapped sparrow.
“Now,” he said. “Do you have anything else, or may I kiss you yet?” His head lowered, this time not intending to wait for an answer.
“Wait!” She reared away, placing the chair between them. “Don’t you think we should remove our clothing before physical contact?”
The dimple returned. “Might I suggest an alternative?”
“Of course,” she breathed. “Whatever it takes to make you more comfortable. It’s your seduction after all.”
He chuckled again at that. “Often during lovemaking, the lovers undress each other. Whilst kissing. Is that anywhere on your list?”
Lovers. A noun. A person having a sexual or romantic relationship with someone, often outside marriage.
That’s what he was about to be. Her lover.
Not her rapist.
“How many lovers have you had?” The question escaped before it had fully formed in her mind.
He choked. Coughed. Then groped about for an answer.
“I don’t need a precise number,” she hurried to amend. In fact, she unconditionally didn’t want one. Why had she even asked? “I was just trying to ascertain if it were enough for you to be considered well educated on the practice.”
“I am, I assure you,” he finally managed. “Let us leave it there.”
“Very well.” Alexandra stepped out from behind the barrier of the chair feeling somewhat akin to Joan of Arc or Ann Boleyn. Brave. Unsure. And … something else. A little curious?
Better to face the gallows now than to dread them for a month. Best to get this over with.
He was a kind man. One with demonstrated protective instincts, gentlemanly conduct, and—as yet unconfirmed—sexual skill. She could enjoy the kisses. She could endure the rest.
He took the list from her trembling fingers, an affectionate fondness tilting his lips. “I almost want to check this for anything else, but I’m afraid to.”
There had been more. So much more she didn’t write down. She’d wanted to ask him not to pull her hair. To request that the moon not shine. To inquire as to how violent his passions were.
She wanted to ask him, very bluntly, not to hurt her.
But then, because he was an instinctively observant man, he’d know what happened to her. He’d guess why she was so peculiar, as he’d put it.
And she didn’t want him to know. Because then he’d ask who, and when, and how.
She could confess none of that. Not ever.
“It’s natural to be nervous,” he continued, lacing a finger through one of the curls spilling over her shoulder. He watched her with those keen, perceptive eyes. “You don’t have to, if you’ve changed your mind. As difficult as it would be, I could wait until after the wedding.”
Yes, she did. She did have to. The anticipation gutted her with every hour that passed.
“I need to do this,” she told him. “I came to you.”
“So you did,” he murmured. “And before one of us leaves this room, you’ll come for me.”
“Wha—?”
He stopped her question with impatient lips. Impatient yet gentle lips.
This, she thought as a foreign, electric sensation poured through her. This intimate thing. This melding of mouths and breath and skin. She’d been unprepared for it before. It had tangled her up inside, amalgamating fear and enjoyment into a complicated and overwhelming array.
But this time. This time …
It was just a kiss.
Just a kiss, she thought, like the desert was just sand. Or the ocean was just water. Kissing Piers Gedrick Atherton was like standing at the mouth of the Nile and realizing the scope of it was beyond comprehension. That the beauty matched the peril, and in the awe-inspiring danger existed its own strange appeal.
He could break her.
He could protect her.
She feared him.
She needed him.
She wanted … this.
This sweet, languorous kiss. She wished it to go on forever. She felt the kiss in every part of her. In the places she ignored. It threatened the loneliness she’d so carefully cultivated. It stirred parts of her mind she’d kept dormant. The parts that had nothing to do with intellect and analysis. The darker places where she kept her young, fanciful desires hidden under shame and regret.
Perhaps shadows weren’t so bad, she thought as he brought both his hands to rest at the sides of her jaw. If creatures like him, both wary and kind, drew her into the dark and kissed her like this.
Little sparks and sparkles of light shimmered through her, lighting her up from the inside.
She could do this.
She could kiss him back.
Alexandra reached for him, placing her hands against his chest as she’d done before. This time, not as a barrier, but as a caress.
The sound he made vibrated through her. Through him. A soft growl of encouragement she felt in her lips, her throat, in the hands against his chest. He rumbled like a great cat, purring to be stroked.
His lips pressed further, his kisses taking on a hungry edge. He opened his mouth against hers, his warm breath flavored with something sweet, something seductive. His tongue hovered, but it never touched her.
He kept his word. How much did it cost him?
Her lips parted beneath his encouraging pressure, parted and closed again in a voluptuous rhythm with his. Their mouths danced, driven by a primitive instinct she’d never known she possessed. Compelled by instinct, she stepped into him, and only then did he enfold her in his arms.
She stiffened, but just for a moment before he distracted her with a nibble on her lip that thrilled through her.
Beneath the buttery soft material of his shirt, his body was hard as iron. And warm. So very warm, latticed with dizzying power she sensed rather than experienced.
He’d never used it against her. Not once.
She thought she’d feel shackled, captured, helpless in a man’s arms.
Yet here, surrounded by the scent of him, the strength of him, she felt … sheltered rather than shackled. Cossetted instead of captured.
And helpless, yes. Helpless against a beguiling, restless anticipation she couldn’t begin to understand.
A hunger. Yes, a hunger. To touch, to taste.
Her tongue ventured past his lips before she even realized what she was doing, rendering her the worst sort of hypocrite.
His breath hitched, and his great body seized, then shuddered.
She pulled back, and his head followed her briefly, retaining the seal of their mouths for as long as possible before she broke contact. “Did I—I shouldn’t—my tongue—I’m sorry.”
He rested his forehead against hers, his breath labored as though he’d run a league. “You can use your tongue however you want.” He leaned in for more.
She dodged his mouth. “But it’s not fair, when you can’t use yours. Because … that hasn’t changed. I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.” He released a breathy chuckle, pulling her more tightly against him. “I’ll forgive you anything.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. Her cheek. Her jaw. “Now let me carry you to bed.”
She stilled, her silent war tearing her apart. She liked what he was doing. Liked the scratch and tickle of his soft beard against her neck and the contrast of his smooth lips. Liked his tendency to warn her before he was about to do something.
She liked … him.
Didn’t want him to stop.
Nor did she want what he was going to do next. She detested it. He’d become a revolting, thrusting, straining animal.
A true beast.
Gods, how she wished she didn’t have to see him like that.
I can do this, she reminded herself.
“Yes. Take me to—” She gasped as she found herself swept into his arms. He reached the bed in a few giant strides and set her next to it.
Time raced after that. Faster than her dazed thoughts could process. He kissed her again, drugging her with his potent concoction of scent, strength, and restrained need. His arms closed around her as before, and in a few jerking motions, her dress loosened.
His questing hands drifted into the unlaced bodice. Slowly, deliberately, they drew up her stiff spine, encountering the wrap she’d contained her torso in.
“What’s this?” he asked against her mouth.
“I don’t like corsets,” she explained.
“Mmm,” he acknowledged, his lips already ravishing hers again before they took a similar path as they had once before. Down her jaw, toward her neck, nuzzling beneath the loosened collar to find the delicate skin of her throat.
“I—I hope you don’t find that too scandalous,” she fretted.
How to Love a Duke in Ten Days Page 15