by Kate Bateman
His gaze trailed lower, to the expanse of skin revealed by the neckline of her dress, lingering on the shadowy valley between her breasts. She became hotly aware of her ribs expanding against the constriction of the whalebone ribbing, of the way her breasts spilled upward with every breath.
“Now a word for … breasts.”
Her nipples tightened; she just knew he was thinking about them. Oh, he was a devil. He wasn’t even touching her, and he was still making her squirm with nothing but words.
She tried to order her scrambled thoughts. There were lots of names for breasts, weren’t there? Tits. No, that was in the second half of the alphabet. Jugs? Bubbies? Bust? The thought of saying any of those aloud was excruciating. She settled on the least embarrassing synonym she could think of. “Bosom.”
He nodded, and she prayed he wouldn’t say nipple next. She couldn’t think of a single alternative, except for teat, and that came after N.
“All right. Number four.” His gaze slid over her arms, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “I think we’ll have … kiss.”
His voice was a little lower, a little hoarser than before. She cast around for an alternative.
“Peck?”
He gave a disapproving little tsk. “Wrong half again. And a peck sounds like something you’d get from a chicken.”
She let out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine … buss, then.”
“Neither of those words really convey passion.”
That was true. The kiss they’d shared at the beach could never have been called a peck.
He propped his elbows on the chair arms and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “Considering the numerous ways one can kiss, I’m surprised there aren’t more words for it, to be honest. A kiss on the cheek between friends, for example, is very different from the passionate kiss one might get from a lover.”
The gravel in his voice brought a heaviness to her limbs. He’d used his tongue to kiss her. Would he do it again, if she lost?
He shifted slightly in his chair. “All right. Number five. Taste.”
“Taste as in style?” she said quickly. “Or taste as in eat?”
His eyes glittered. “Taste as in consume.”
Oh, goodness. The way he said it made her stomach flip.
“Uhm. Sample?”
“Wrong half.”
“Lick?” she managed weakly.
His smile widened. “Ah now, lick is an excellent word. And this is clearly too easy. I’m going to have to raise the stakes for number six. Let’s move on to words that would have shocked Samuel Johnson.” He uncrossed his legs and placed his feet flat on the floor. “Give me another word for … testicles.”
Maddie suddenly understood his devious plan. He was going to make her say every naughty word she knew. He probably thought she’d cry off in mortification—or fail due to her own sheltered innocence. Well, she had a few tricks of her own. She’d heard the curses bandied about by the stable hands. She’d listened to the teasing and muttering of the men she hired to help on her dig sites.
She met his gaze head on. “Balls. And for a bonus point, I’ll give you bollocks as well.”
This time he couldn’t contain his amusement. “Excellent! I’ll give you the points. Which means you’re on seven now. Only three to go.”
His smile grew wider, more wicked. “For eight, give me a synonym for the male appendage. My half of the dictionary has plenty, even if old Johnson did leave out penis. I have prick. Shaft. Rod.”
Maddie couldn’t help it; her gaze dipped to his lap. He dropped his hands, obscuring her view of the front of his breeches. Oh, this was a dangerous game. But it was also wickedly fun. There was nothing she enjoyed more than their verbal sparring.
“John Thomas.”
He shook his head. His eyes seemed darker, almost completely black. “That’s two words. Try again.”
She summoned all her bravado. “All right. Cock. How’s that?”
“I commend your clear enunciation.” He was definitely laughing at her, the beast. “Now for point number nine, another word for … pleasure.”
The way he drew it out was positively indecent. His lips pouted to make the P, and his tongue licked the underside of his top teeth to make the L. Her face felt flushed, her blood slow and sluggish in her veins.
“Enjoyment,” she breathed.
He made a face. “Such an insipid word. I would have said ecstasy. Or climax.” His gaze roved her face, and his wicked, gleeful expression told her he’d saved the best for last. “Oh, dear. I only have one more chance to win.”
“Get on with it, then.”
“For ten points, and my half of the dictionary, give me another word for…”
He was going to say something dreadful. Like shit. Or bugger. Or—
“Tongue.”
Maddie’s mind went completely blank. Tongue? What was another word for tongue?
She tried to think of a scientific term, and failed. What was it in French? Langue, that was it. Like the English word languid. And language. But in English there wasn’t—
Gryff’s gleeful chuckle was a wicked thing in the still room. “You might as well accept defeat. There really is no substitute for tongue. Trust me.”
His wicked intonation suggested he was making a joke. Presumably some double entendre she was too inexperienced to understand. Of course, she couldn’t help thinking about his tongue. The way it had slid against her own in a delicious, lazy glide. What if he were to use it on other parts of her body? The thought gave her a funny gnawing sensation in her belly.
“Do you have an alternative word?”
She shook her head.
“You admit defeat?”
“Yes.” She let out a thoroughly irritated sigh. “You win, Davies.”
“It delights me to hear you say it.” His gaze was back on her mouth. “That means I get my kiss.”
He stood abruptly, so she did the same, her pulse beating in alarm. How had she not noticed how tall he was? How broad. His shoulders seemed to fill her vision.
Not wanting to show how flustered he’d made her, she stepped closer and lifted her face in preparation. Her lips were already tingling. She closed her eyes.
He leaned in, so close she could smell him, could feel the heat radiating from his chest. His warm breath tickled her mouth, but he paused a hairbreadth away from her lips.
“I never said where I would kiss you.”
Her eyes snapped open.
Oh, bloody hell.
He turned his head and his lips skated across her cheekbone to her ear. It was the lightest of touches, like gossamer, and it caused every nerve in her body to come alive. Her skin fizzled in awareness.
His long fingers slid beneath her hair as he cupped her nape, and when his thumb rubbed the sensitive patch of skin behind her ear she shivered.
Oh, he was a master at this, this beguiling. And she was in a whole world of trouble.
She swayed toward him, utterly bewitched, but he ducked his head and trailed his lips down the side of her neck, then along her collarbone.
He paused at the dip at the bottom of her throat. “Here?” he murmured absently.
The word was a humming vibration against her skin.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, answering his own question. He trailed lower, over the top curve of a breast that was exposed like half a peach by the scandalous bodice of the dress.
Maddie could scarcely catch a breath. The scrape of the slight stubble on his cheek against her skin was like the rasp of fine sandpaper. It caused a heavy, throbbing fullness between her legs. She fisted her hands at her sides, clutching her skirts, fighting the impulse to grab his hair and pull him even closer.
He made a low sound of pleasure as his chin slid into the valley between her breasts. She sucked in a scandalized breath, but all that did was to push them up even further, like an offering.
“Here, maybe?” His voice was dreamy, low. “Would you like that, Maddie?”
/> Speech was beyond her. Her blood was pounding—her injured arm throbbed, but even that was no more than a vague irritation, scarcely worth thinking about. Her entire focus was on him. His wicked words. His wicked touch.
“I’ve dreamed of tasting you.”
Her knees almost gave out. She gave a little squeak of surprise as his tongue flicked against her skin.
“That’s not a kiss,” she gasped. “That’s a lick.”
“Semantics.”
He straightened and caught her in his arms. His hands smoothed down her back and ventured lower, over the rounded curves of her bottom, molding and pressing the fabric of her dress into the cleft.
Maddie gazed up at him in shock. No one had ever touched her so intimately. Even through the layers of dress and chemise, she could feel the warmth of his fingers. She was loose-limbed and coiled tight, all at once.
“Perhaps I should kiss you here?” he said, and his voice reverberated through her with thrilling intensity. “Between your legs. Did you know that people do that?”
She gave the tiniest of whimpers. She was so hot, she was going to faint.
His eyes lost a little of their intensity, and a sparkle of amusement appeared. “No, I don’t think you’re quite ready for that. I’d better kiss that wicked mouth of yours, then.”
He bent down and drew her into a kiss that was a hundred times more passionate than the one they’d shared at the beach. His lips caught hers and his tongue demanded entry, and Maddie didn’t even consider pulling away. With a moan of delight, almost relief, she brought her hands up to his shoulders and kissed him back.
He growled low in his throat and framed her head in his hands, angling her jaw to his liking then sweeping inside with his tongue.
This was no slow stoking of the fire. This was an immediate conflagration: heat and desperate urgency. Ten years of teasing and flirting—yes, that’s what it had been, she could admit it now—had always been coming to this. This bonfire.
Chapter 26
He didn’t stop at one kiss, and Maddie would have killed him if he had. He took her mouth again and again, teasing and coaxing, fanning the flames.
Maddie tangled her fingers in his hair and lifted herself up on tiptoe, pressing into him, desperate to get even closer. She wanted to crawl inside him and never leave. She wanted the taste of him imprinted on her soul.
When he finally wrenched his mouth from hers they both gasped for air.
“Christ,” he panted raggedly.
Maddie suppressed the bizarre urge to laugh. He looked as ravished as she felt. A lock of his hair had fallen over his brow, and a pink flush colored his cheekbones. Her whole body felt light, weightless, as if her heart were singing. And in that moment everything became clear.
She wanted to do more than just kiss Gryff Davies. She wanted everything from him. Everything he’d teased her with: his tongue on her breasts, his hand between her legs.
Everything.
A jolt of desperation seized her. This might be her only chance. He would be going back to London soon. And if Father couldn’t find the money he needed, they’d have to sell Newstead Park and live in genteel poverty somewhere. Gryff wouldn’t be her neighbor. She’d never have the thrill of wondering if she might run into him in the village, or stumble upon him on her morning ride.
As of this moment they were still equals, both in social standing and—as far as he knew—in fortune. The coming weeks might force her to accept a pragmatic, passionless match, even if it wasn’t with someone quite as bad as Sir Mostyn, but there was only a slim chance that she’d grow to love the man she chose. How likely was it that she’d find the same scorching passion she experienced with Gryff?
Almost impossible. It was the depth of their shared history that added the spark to every interaction. Each kiss was a delicious revenge for some previous slight. An adult remedy for a childish tease. No one else in whole world would kiss her the way Gryff kissed her, nor elicit such a passionate response.
The thought was both depressing and oddly empowering, and Maddie gazed up at him in wonder. He was her shadow, her blight, and her curse. But she couldn’t imagine a life without him in it, even only as a memory. She was grimly certain she’d never desire anyone more.
If there was one thing being struck by lightning had taught her, it was to seize the moment, to live while she still had the chance. That didn’t mean being reckless or taking stupid risks, but she’d vowed to stop being so timid, to stop being so afraid of failing that she didn’t achieve anything at all.
She tightened her fingers in his hair and pulled him back down toward her.
“More.”
He caught her firmly around the waist and lifted her up, up, until her face was level with his. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’ve had a shock,” he said, as if he was explaining something simple to a stupid child. “This is a natural reaction to a close call. I’ve seen it after battle: The survivors want to reassure themselves they’re still alive in the most basic way.”
“That’s not what’s happening here.”
He shook his head, even as he tightened his grip. “This is madness.”
She slid her arms around his neck. “Of course it’s madness. You’re a Davies. I’m a Montgomery. The world will probably implode if we keep going. I don’t care. I want you to kiss me. Now.”
For a moment his dark gaze glittered down at her, and she knew a moment’s panic that he would refuse. And then he kissed her.
Heat and darkness enveloped her. Spirals of excitement corkscrewed through her body. He staggered back and sat heavily in the wing chair, tugging her down with him, and she straddled him, bending her knees, settling on his lap in a billow of scarlet skirts.
His hands began a devastating exploration. He shaped her ribs, then cupped her bottom again and she groaned deep into his mouth in encouragement.
Yes!
He hooked his fingers into the top edge of her bodice and pushed it down, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze. She gasped, but didn’t have time to feel embarrassed before his mouth descended to her skin.
Sweet heaven!
“Madness,” he repeated thickly.
He palmed one breast and caught the nipple of the other in his mouth, and Maddie almost swooned at the wet rasp of his tongue against the stiffened peak. She lifted herself up on her knees, lost to sensation, arching her back to give him even better access.
“More.”
“So demanding,” he chuckled.
The pad of his thumb flicked over her crest and she let out a low groan. There seemed to be an invisible line from her breasts to between her legs; every flick produced a corresponding throb of need. She clutched at his head, scarcely able to catch her breath as he showered kisses over her, squeezing and fondling until she thought she might die of pleasure.
When he finally reclaimed her mouth she was almost glad of the reprieve, but he had even worse torments in store. His hands stroked down to her ankles and slid under her skirts. She shivered in delight as he reversed the motion, fingers gliding up over her stockinged calves and higher, to the ribbons of her garter.
The jolt of skin on skin as he slipped beneath the silk of her chemise was like a tiny bolt of lightning. The thrill of his work-roughened palms smoothing the back of her thighs made her pant.
She wasn’t wearing drawers, and she whimpered with a combination of nervousness and desire as he cupped her bare bottom, gently squeezing the soft mounds in a wicked counterpoint to the slide of his tongue in her mouth. She pushed her hips forward, following her instincts, grinding against him with abandon. She could feel the hard length of him pushing against her belly, through her skirts.
He let out a tortured groan. At least she affected him too.
His fingers curved around her inner thighs, stroking upward, and Maddie held her breath, desperate to feel him there, where she ached and throbbed. She needed … something, with a
desperation that made her want to scream.
“HALOOOO!”
A door banged and an earsplitting shout echoed down the hallway, quavering with the singsong cadence of someone deep in his cups. “Gryff, you lazy dog, where are you?”
Gryff froze, his hand so agonizingly close to where she’d wanted him to be that Maddie almost screamed in frustration.
And then he moved faster than she’d ever thought possible. He plucked his hands from beneath her skirts, caught her by the waist, and practically threw her off him like a sack of coal. She toppled back into her own armchair just as he shot to his feet and sent her a look that could have stopped a charging bull in its tracks.
“Rhys,” he whispered hoarsely.
Maddie’s stomach plummeted in dismay. Gryff’s brother? What on earth was he doing here? He was supposed to be in London.
“Surpriiiise!” A second voice reverberated through the library door. Whoever it was sounded equally inebriated. There was a crash as someone walked into one of the suits of armor. “We’re hooome! Blast it all, where is everybody? Beddow? Nanny Maude? It’s not even nine o’clock. They can’t all be asleep, surely?”
Gryff’s eyebrows lifted in almost comical shock. “Morgan?”
Some boisterous singing began, a rude mariner’s song to do with cockles and Sally in the alley. Pounding footsteps came ever closer, and Maddie shot Gryff a horrified glance.
She tugged up her bodice and leapt to her feet, smoothing her hair with frantic movements. She must look an absolute fright; her lips felt swollen from kissing, and her body was a pulsing jangle of nerves. Anyone with eyes would instantly know what they’d been doing.
What they’d been about to do.
Embarrassed heat flushed her face. Dear God. She’d been seconds away from letting Gryff Davies make love to her in an armchair!
Gryff was already striding for the door, raking his hair to put it in some semblance of order. He shot her a stern, almost desperate look over his shoulder.
“Stay here. I’ll get rid of them.”
Without another backward glance he slipped out into the hall, closing the door firmly behind him.
Maddie listened, her heart pounding, as his brothers greeted him.