She toyed with the stem of her empty wineglass. The firelight lent amber tints to her hair, gathered up in a tumble of curls. He itched to bury his hands in that silky mass.
This evening, she wore the most elaborate of her gowns – or at least the most elaborate one he’d seen. It was still rather plain, certainly in terms of the Derwents and their milieu. But the sky-blue color made her skin look like warm cream and the bodice, while modest, hinted at the rich curves beneath.
He was hungry for her, hungry to bolster the connection between them. When she took him inside her with such sweetness in the carriage, all his boredom and restlessness had vanished. She thrilled him as no woman ever had. Tupping Selina Martin was fiercely exciting, but the greatest gift she gave him was the peace deep in his soul, a peace he’d never experienced in all his wild, wanton seekings after bliss.
"It’s still early," she murmured, staring at the wineglass.
As if to confirm that statement, the mahogany clock on the mantel struck nine. They’d lingered over dinner. As if by common consent, they’d avoided contentious topics. Neither had mentioned Cecil or money, or how fast their time together would pass.
Brock enjoyed talking to Selina. He’d always appreciated women’s company. He wasn’t the sort of scoundrel who had no use for a mistress once he’d fucked her. Beyond his interest in Selina as his partner in sensual exploration, he liked her. He even liked her strength of character, although it had proved damned inconvenient when he offered her financial help.
As the evening progressed, it became clear that Selina considered any sacrifice worthwhile for her son’s sake. She didn’t view her future with Cecil in a spirit of self-pity, but with grim endurance. It was the price she paid for her child’s future, and she paid it without complaint.
Brock couldn’t despise her stalwart love for Gerald. Damn it, he admired it. He wished to heaven his mother had loved him with such constancy.
"Then shall we go to the drawing room?" he asked with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
He wanted her in his arms. He didn’t want to wait. But on the other hand, he didn’t want her to think he was a man without any graces at all.
Her faint smile only deepened her air of mystery. He bit back a groan. His interest in swiving her heightened by the second.
She lifted her gaze and stared straight at him. The heat in her eyes shot a bolt of lust right to his balls. "I’d rather go upstairs and…fuck."
The sound of the profanity in her soft, precise voice made him see stars. "Selina…" he choked out, as his hands fisted on the damask tablecloth.
She watched him, her eyes devouring him, as if he was even more delicious than Mary’s bœuf en daube. "I want you." The wry humor, that proved such a beguiling surprise now he came to know her, gleamed in her eyes. "I want you in a bed where I don’t feel like I’m going to end up on the floor if the carriage hits a bump."
He gave an appreciative grunt of laughter. "That was all part of the experience."
Her bold, assessing gaze focused on him again and made his balls tighten. At this rate, she’d be lucky if she escaped a fast tumble on the dining table. "I’m sure you’ll think of something else to keep me occupied."
His laugh this time held a touch of surprise. "No doubt I will. I am a notorious rake after all." He paused. "I like that you’re not shy."
Color edged her cheekbones, putting the lie to that statement. "We don’t have time for coyness."
"Aye, that’s true." A slow smile curled his lips. Selina had surprised him from the first, and she kept surprising him. No wonder he found her so damned enchanting. He stood and held out his hand. "Shall we?"
She surveyed him as if he was the best thing she’d ever seen in her life. He knew she had no idea how her expression betrayed her, but every time her eyes lit with pleasure at the sight of him, she knocked another chip off the cynicism encasing his heart. He’d had so many lovers, but he already knew this was the lover he’d miss all his life.
Taking his hand, she rose with the natural grace that had drawn his attention the first time he saw her. "We shall."
He drew her into his arms for a kiss. At the first touch of her lips, the air caught fire. She’d left last night’s innocent hesitation far behind. This was a woman who knew what she wanted. The searing candor of her desire sizzled through him like lightning.
By the time they drew apart, he was shaking. So was she. She had that lovely dazzled astonishment on her face that always made him want to kiss her again. Which, by God, he couldn’t do. If he kissed her here, Mary would never get in to clean up. And upstairs, as Selina had been brazen enough to point out, there was a large bed. A bed he’d never shared with a lover. It seemed appropriate that the one woman who would sleep with him there was the one woman he’d never forget.
On a practical level, as she also noted, a bed offered privacy and potential that his carriage lacked, however incendiary their exploits on the way to the hunting box.
"I want to run," she said with a breathless laugh.
"Do you want me to chase you, you wee hussy?"
"You know…" She paused as though she contemplated the secrets of the ages, before a joyous giggle escaped her. She whipped out of his arms and darted for the door. "I think I do!"
Between her head start and his surprise at discovering this playful aspect to her character, he didn’t catch up until he reached the landing off the bedrooms. "Devil take you, you’re quick," he said breathlessly, as he hauled her into his arms for another passionate kiss.
He loved the sound of her laughter, carefree and bright. "No, you’re slow. You’re not used to doing the chasing."
By God, she might be right. Too many easy victories left him spoiled. No wonder that until he met Selina, he was bored and utterly sick of himself.
"Now I’ve caught you, what the devil am I going to do with you?"
"Take me to bed, Brock," she whispered. As the laughter faded from her eyes, he read a desire as potent as his own. "I need you. I need you now."
"My darling…" he said, moved by her honesty.
Words escaped him as he swung her up into his arms and covered the distance to the bedroom in a few swift paces. He shouldered open the door and set Selina down in the center of the room.
Outside, the snow had set in, but here in this room, fire blazed in the hearth and blue velvet curtains enclosed them in cozy warmth. He stepped back. "Let me see you. You’ve no idea how often I’ve imagined you naked."
She cast him a knowing glance. "I can guess."
"The moment I saw you, so subdued and beautiful, you took over my every thought. You still do."
Pleasure softened her features, made her so lovely he couldn’t believe his good fortune in winning her. "And I saw you, so striking and tall and handsome – and wicked. I hated that I wasn’t the sort of woman who would ever attract your notice. Even though attracting your notice put my whole future at risk."
He felt a satisfied smile curve his lips. "Now you’re a rake’s mistress."
"And I’ve never been happier."
Unaccustomed emotion cracked his heart. She was such a superb woman. She ought to have the world at her feet. Yet her expectations for happiness were so humble.
Now wasn’t the moment to dwell on whether she deserved better than this week of self-indulgence. Passion beckoned too powerfully. He waved at that becoming arrangement of upswept curls.
"Take down your hair. I’ve dreamed of seeing your hair flowing about you." Detailed, sensual dreams where tresses of rich blonde draped across his bare skin like ropes of silk.
The softness lingered in her eyes, as she sidled closer to the dressing table. The mirror behind her offered him two views of her, tall and slim and lovely. With more of that grace that stole his breath, she raised her arms and began to slide the pins from her hair.
They’d rushed up here like children promised cake. Now Brock felt like they had all the time in the world. Selina must feel the same, because her moveme
nts were unhurried as she removed each pin and placed it on the dressing table.
A long lock unraveled over her shoulder, then another. The tresses uncoiled one by one, until a veil of hair covered her shoulders. His blood began to beat a pounding tattoo of need. He stepped back to lean against the bed, fumbling behind him to curl his fingers over the elaborately carved baseboard.
His hunger was devilish sweet. He’d wanted enough women in his life to know that this keen craving was a gift.
"Run your hands through it," he said in a harsh voice, as his gaze ate up the cascade of hair. It was long and thick, cloaking her to the waist. In the mirror, it rippled down her back, hinting at russet and gold and flaxen blonde.
Building need turned her eyes dark. The urge rose to grab her and rip off her clothes and slake himself in her. But stronger yet was the urge to linger on each moment. Later they’d have the chance for a fast coupling.
This first time she uncovered her body for him, he didn’t want his greedy impulses to rule. He wanted to treasure each moment like a pearl threaded onto a necklace. So when she left him, he kept this exquisite memory of every step in her surrender to take out and cherish.
As if under a spell, she obeyed. The flush on her skin and the erratic susurration of her breath told him that undoing her hair in front of him excited her, too. She lifted the heavy weight of hair and released it to drift about her.
Brock heaved a lengthy sigh born in appreciation and rising arousal. His hands clutched the baseboard as he battled not to step forward and snatch up handfuls of that silky glory.
"I want to see you naked," he said in a choked voice.
She surveyed him with eyes luminous with desire. "I’ve never been naked for a man before." Her voice was low and husky and made his skin tighten for want of her.
"Are you afraid?"
When she shook her head, that mass of hair shifted around her. "No."
"No?"
"Perhaps a little." A faint smile lengthened her lips. "But I’m glad that my first time is with you."
Painful emotion stabbed him. Only Selina had this power to slice through his physical yearning. She was so vulnerable. Yet she was powerful, too. Purity of heart made her the strongest woman he’d ever known. "Selina, you do me too much honor."
She made a bewildered gesture with one hand. "What shall I do now?"
"Let me watch you undress." His voice turned hoarse, as the prospect of seeing her unclothed shot a shuddering thrill through him.
She didn’t move to cooperate, and the comprehensive glance she cast him seared like fire. "I hope you intend to return the favor."
"By God…" He straightened to reach for her, then sucked in a huge breath and told himself to wait. His roaring impatience was part of the rich mix of pleasure.
That smile flirting with her lips deepened, and he saw her uncertainty fade as she recognized the dominion she wielded over him. With taunting languor, she picked up a chair and placed it on the rich red and blue rug in the center of the room – and in the center of his view.
Selina cast him a sidelong glance, to confirm she caught his attention. As if any red-blooded man could look away. She lifted one foot to the chair and slid her skirts up to reveal the shapely legs he recalled so vividly. But there was a difference between catching a glimpse in a rattling, swaying carriage and now, when time spun away from them along a bright path.
His gaze traced the neat ankle in its white stocking and the taut calf. Up to the sweet little knee and the pretty blue garter he’d already remarked upon. Pale, slender thighs disappeared into a tumble of skirts. A growl of hunger escaped him, and he tightened his grip on the baseboard.
He expected her to fumble with the ribbon around her ankles as she removed her shoe. But while his turmoil grew, she seemed to become calmer. Blood thrummed like thunder in his ears as she took off the blue satin slipper, then untied her garter to slide the fragile stocking down.
Even her feet were pretty. His eyes feasted on the high arch and the small toes. By the time she did the same with the other leg, he was in such a lather, he was close to forgetting his own name.
Brock retained just enough sense to notice at least one thing. "You’re not wearing drawers," he forced out of a tight throat.
She lowered her foot from the chair and faced him. To his regret, her skirts slid down to lend her a spurious modesty. "No."
"I wish I’d known when we had dinner."
This smile was sly with sensual awareness. "I thought you might like a surprise."
"I do." His voice scraped out. Only she had the power to steal his ability to speak. "Don’t."
She raised her eyebrows. "Don’t?"
"While we’re together, don’t wear them."
When her eyes met his, he saw that this teasing game lured her to the edge of madness, too. "Very well."
Satisfaction filled him. He gestured toward her gown. "The dress next."
"You’ll have to help me. It does up the back."
"You want me to play your maid?"
"Yes."
He straightened. His cock swelled against his breeches. She already knew that. When she’d completed that slow inspection, her attention had lingered on his arousal. "Come here then. Although I can’t promise I’ll be too deft."
"Shall I call Mary?"
"No, damn you."
She gave a brief laugh and sauntered across with a sway of her hips that heated his blood. "Here, my lord."
She turned and bundled that wealth of hair up in both hands so he could reach her lacing. He leaned in and breathed deep of her jasmine scent, before he worked at the back of the dress. With each inch of flesh he uncovered across her shoulders, need escalated.
He forced himself to concentrate. The task took far too long, but at last the gown gaped open to reveal stays over a sheer white shift.
Brock told himself he wouldn’t touch her while she undressed, but he couldn’t resist placing his mouth on the graceful curve where her neck met her shoulder. She released a long sigh of surrender as he scraped his teeth over the sensitive flesh.
For a luscious moment, she sagged against him. Then she straightened and stepped away.
"What about your corset?" he asked, voice raw with desire.
When she bent her head, he stifled the urge to taste the nape of her neck. "It hooks in the front. I can do it."
Probably better she did. This drawn-out seduction became unmitigated torture. "I want to see your breasts."
Without turning around, she wriggled out of the gown and let it pool at her bare feet. His eyes feasted on the rear view of Selina wearing only her undergarments and that extravagant wealth of hair.
All the moisture dried from his mouth when she untied the tapes holding her petticoats and they slipped down to froth at her feet. The white globes of her buttocks pressed against the frail shift. His hands curled into fists, as another jolt of arousal shook him. His breath emerged in rough gasps.
She stepped away just before the temptation to shape that round softness overcame him. When she turned, the view from the front was even more enticing than the view from the back. The corset pushed up her breasts. Dark pink nipples, hard and needy, were visible under the linen. The loose shift hinted at shadowy secrets between her legs.
The long delay must eat at her, too, because her hands were clumsy with haste as she ripped at the hooks down the front of her plain corset. If she was his and not just a temporary lover, he’d array her in underclothing to make a courtesan blush. That magnificent figure deserved a magnificent setting.
His anticipation rose as she slid the corset off and dropped it on the floor beside the rest of her clothes. Then with a determined air, she grabbed her shift and hauled it over her head. As she tossed this last garment aside, she raised her chin.
"You beggar my dreams," he whispered in awe. He straightened, his gaze fixed on her. "You’re perfect."
"I want to be perfect for you, Brock." Her features were stark with need. "I want t
o cut so deep into your soul that you never forget me as long as you live."
"You have," he muttered, too overcome to hide the truth.
His gaze traveled over her creamy curves, the high breasts with their crests beaded with arousal. The plain of her stomach above the nest of golden brown curls.
Color tinged her cheeks, but she remained unmoving as he stepped closer. He brushed the fall of hair back from her shoulders, until he gained an unhindered view of her body.
His touch was light, even as devils of lust and possessiveness warred inside him. He skimmed his hands down her arms and along her spine and felt the quiver that belied her defiant stance.
Deliberately, he didn’t touch her breasts. He caught up one silky skein of hair and brought it to his lips. Her scent rose to his nostrils, rich and heady, tinged with jasmine. With a hum of pleasure, he rubbed the silky tress against his face. She made a choked sound and leaned forward.
His control shattered. He dragged her into his arms and kissed her with all the passion he’d leashed until this moment. She twined her arms around him and pressed closer with an untamed hunger that made his blood pump hot and hard.
He swung her in his arms until she bumped into the bed and collapsed back in a beguiling jumble of bare arms and legs and drifting hair. He didn’t follow her down. Instead, he ripped off his neck cloth and coat and flung them aside.
She watched him, eyes avid with hunger. "More," she said in a low growl that threatened to set him alight.
His laugh betrayed a crack. "I’m madam’s obedient servant."
"Good." She lifted herself on her elbows so she could see him better. The movement jostled those lush breasts.
Before she came to him, he’d wondered whether she’d be a timid lover, reluctant to step outside the bounds of propriety. He loved how wrong he’d been.
Now Selina made no attempt to cover her nakedness but seemed to bask in his admiration. He took a moment to relish the sight of her white body sprawled over the sheets. Her wild mane of hair fanned about her in rippling amber and flax.
The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress Page 8