And he hadn’t even kissed her yet!
Heat scalded through her, immediately chased by a shivery cold, her breathing unsteady while she awaited his next move. Moments later, something slippery and cool brushed across her bottom lip.
“What is this?” His words held a faintly teasing quality, his tone deep, dark and delectable, like a cup of the most incredibly rich cocoa ever brewed. She struggled to focus on the task at hand rather than on his nearness.
She considered the texture, tried to catch a hint of fragrance, but the soft whatever-it-was against her mouth remained a mystery. “I don’t know.”
“Come now, this is an easy one. Something you’ve eaten often.”
He rubbed again, grazing her upper lip this time, then her lower. Despite the touch, she was perplexed. Why hadn’t she paid better attention to the fruit and treats on the plate? Because she’d been too busy thinking about all the soul-stirring things Kit was going to do to her. And so far, he had not disappointed her.
“Here, taste it and you’ll know.”
Parting her lips, she let him feed her. Round and slick, the treat was light and unexpectedly firm. Biting down, a sweet, tangy squirt of juice filled her mouth.
“A grape,” she declared after she swallowed. “It is a grape.”
“Hmm, and so it is. Here, let me have a sip.”
Bending across, his mouth claimed hers, playing in a lazy exploration that teased and cajoled. She sought to return his kiss, meeting his tongue as he dipped inside to gather the flavor of the fruit in a most thorough and pleasing way.
“Tasty,” he said, easing away. “Something else now, I think. Eyes closed,” he warned.
She quivered and waited. She didn’t have long before he pressed another selection against her lips. Unlike the grape, this delicacy wasn’t cool, nor was it slippery, an almost flowery fragrance teasing her nostrils.
Fruit of some kind, she concluded.
“Take a bite,” he urged.
She did, sinking her teeth into what seemed like living velvet. Peach pulp and juice flooded her mouth in a sugary wash, enchanting her senses. Chewing and swallowing, she tried to catch every drop but a single one escaped, sliding over her cheek. Reaching up, she moved to wipe away the errant drop.
But Kit caught and held her hand. “No, no, this one is mine.”
Her eyes popped open as his lips glided over her skin, dropping kisses and giving tiny licks to erase the line of sticky juice. He laved her cheek until not so much as a trace remained. Her feet arched inside her slippers, body humming from scalp to toe.
“One last,” he pronounced.
She stopped him. “Wouldn’t you like something first? Let me feed you. Anything you want.”
His eyes flashed emerald and gold. “You shouldn’t make such suggestive remarks, my little wren. Another man might take you at your word.”
“Any sort of food you want, then,” she amended.
He considered for a moment. “Very well. You can pleasure me with a slice of fresh fig.” Reaching out, he plucked one off the plate, then used a small knife to cut the fruit into quarters. Setting the blade aside, he handed her the section.
“You know what they say about figs, don’t you?” he remarked, angling his body forward, his arms braced on either side of her waist.
She shook her head, extending the offering so he could partake. “No. What do they say?”
“That figs are erotic, their centers resembling the core of a woman’s most secret place. I’m surprised that naughty little book of yours didn’t make mention.”
Her eyes widened as he bit deep, his lips grazing the tips of her fingers as he caught the fruit and drew it into his mouth. Chewing, he gave her a thoroughly wicked grin, one that shot straight to the spot he’d mentioned.
She shifted, her legs abruptly restless.
“I’m sorry, Eliza,” he said, once he’d consumed the fig. “I oughtn’t tease you so. It only makes you confused and me deuced uncomfortable.”
He leaned over, stretching to choose yet another offering from the plate. As he did, she got a glimpse of precisely how uncomfortable he was, his dark blue trousers no longer fitting with their usual easy drape and flat lines.
A starburst of heat flashed through her like a log popping on a roaring fire. She forced herself to calm, despite the near impossibility of the act, watching him when he turned back to see if he might be dismayed. But Kit appeared his usual self, obviously unconcerned and showing no signs of awkwardness or discomfiture.
So, she concluded, if Kit wasn’t discomposed by his body’s unfettered response, then neither would she let herself be. She remembered the way the men had looked in the illustrations she’d viewed, realizing that such reactions must apparently be normal. And if she had any lingering doubt about the honesty of Kit’s desire for her, she didn’t any longer.
Propped on his bent elbow, he settled full-length next to her. “This,” he stated, holding up a small, round ball of creamy white, “is a confection not to be missed. They are known as Capezzoli di Venere.”
Instantly, she translated the phrase, the tips of her ears turning warm and, no doubt, pink. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you? They are not really called…” she couldn’t bring herself to say the words in English, “what you just said?”
He tossed back his head and laughed. “They most certainly are. Do you really believe I could make up a candy called Nipples of Venus?”
One of her eyebrows arched upward. “Actually, I do.”
He chuckled again. “Thank you for complimenting my imaginative powers, but I fear I cannot take credit. I discovered this particular confection on the Continent in a most amiable Viennese sweet shop. The owner was delighted to make up an entire box for my exclusive delectation. I assure you I enjoyed each and every one.” He held the sweet toward her lips. “Here, try a nibble.”
A nibble of a nipple, she mused with scandalized humor. There seemed something intrinsically wrong with that to her way of thinking. “What are they made of precisely?”
“Well, in plain and simple English they are brandied chestnuts dipped in a sugar cream coating. You like chestnuts, don’t you?”
“Hmm, I do. But it isn’t winter. Where did you come by chestnuts this time of year?”
He gave her a slow smile that displayed the dimple in his chin to devastating effect. “I have my ways. Now, I insist you take a taste and tell me if you don’t agree this is one of the most sinfully divine experiences you’ve ever had.”
All her experiences with him this afternoon were sinfully divine as far as she was concerned. Yet wasn’t that the point? she reminded herself. To indulge her emotions and inclinations, to yield to passion and persuasion in ways she never had, enjoying everything each had to offer? To savor and be savored, and in doing so prove to Kit that she was the perfect woman for him.
Mustering her courage, she raised her head and bit into the sweetmeat, the rich, buttery chestnut flavor filling her mouth. As luscious as promised, the Capezzoli di Venere melted with pure decadence against her tongue, making her smile. She took a second small bite, and when she did Kit joined her, biting down from the other side so that their lips met around the confection. They finished the treat that way, laughing and sharing, their mouths awash in sugar and sensation.
But once they were done, all laughter ceased, playful candy-coated kisses turning into long, deep, drugging forays that made her mind whirl like a strand of dandelion fluff caught in a blustery summer gale.
Giving herself over to the passion singing through her blood, she followed Kit’s lead, letting him take her on a journey of carnal exploration, exactly as he had promised he would. Held tight inside the safety of his arms, she kissed him with all the meager skill at her command, taking his lessons and putting them to what she trusted was good use.
Kit certainly had no complaints, murmuring encouragements even as he paused occasionally to make a suggestion or show her a new trick designed to maximize her plea
sure and his own.
Then, as though his kisses weren’t satisfaction enough, he began to touch her.
Light caresses at first. The brush of a fingertip across her cheek. The slide of his hand along the length of her throat. The devastating pressure of his teeth as they clamped, ever so lightly, around the fleshy end of her earlobe. She nearly swooned, right then and there, when he added a final, tiny nip, a sound that was part sigh, part whimper escaping from her lips.
He smiled and moved to nuzzle the underside of her jaw. Laving her collarbone, he dappled kisses across the narrow area of exposed skin that lay above her bodice. She groaned, her heart kicking hard when he stopped his kisses to lay a hand over her breast.
For a long moment, he did nothing, letting her adjust to the weight and shape of his palm cupping her. On a deep breath, her chest rose, unconsciously pushing her muslin-covered breast more fully into his grip. He added a second hand and held her, then slowly rubbed his thumbs over her aching flesh.
As if governed by a will of their own, her nipples sprang to attention, peaking fast and hard beneath the deft, clever stroke of his fingers. She gasped for air, her mouth growing dry. His every caress set her afire, making her yearn in ways she hadn’t known she could.
A ravenous hunger flashed like glittering emeralds in his eyes seconds before he lowered his head and crushed her lips to his. Savaging her mouth, demanding she match him kiss for kiss, he fondled her more fully, each squeeze and stroke and brush of his dexterous hands shooting straight to her core as if the two were somehow connected. The ache between her legs intensified, leaving her quivering and incautious, focused only on him and the wicked, wonderful things he was doing to her body.
She was barely aware when his nimble fingers went to work, loosening the buttons and ties of her bodice and stays. Material sagging, he smoothed the cloth downward and revealed her naked breasts.
Their gazes collided for an explosive moment as she lay exposed before him.
“Now, these,” he murmured, “are real nipples of Venus, worthy of the goddess of love herself.”
He flicked a thumb over one taut, pink peak, wringing a moan from her lips. He touched the other breast, lightly rubbing around the aureole in a circular glide before tweaking that nipple in a way that made her writhe.
“God, you’re beautiful, Eliza. And so passionate, so perfect. Where have you been hiding all these years?”
Right here, she thought, half-dazed. Always right here, waiting for you, for this.
He played upon her, how long she didn’t know, too caught up in the sensations, in the rhapsody of his touch, to do more than feel. When she thought she could bear no more, her nerves so sensitized she wondered if she might shatter, he did something that stunned her afresh.
He took her nipple into his mouth and rolled his tongue around her flesh before giving a drawing pull.
“Hmm, I was right,” he said. “The Capezzoli di Venere taste delicious, but you, my little wren, are as scrumptious as they come. I could literally eat you up.”
And then she could barely think, her brain turning to the consistency of porridge as he kissed and laved and suckled. Sinking her fingers into his hair, she stroked his head and his cheeks while he pleasured her.
She let him do as he wished, caught in the grip of a fever she had no will to resist. His hand dipped beneath her skirts, traveling in an unhurried slide from stocking-clad calf to bare hip. Fondling her curves, he stroked her below, even as he kissed and caressed her above. Around her knee, over her thigh, across her hip bone, he wandered, lightly skimming in lazy, gliding circles. Curving his palm around the fullness of her upper leg, he fanned a thumb across the tender flesh of her inner thigh, back and forth, each stroke inciting an increasingly fierce ache. She shuddered, her eyes rolling back in her head, when he blew a stream of breath across one kiss-dampened breast. His fingers glided, creeping higher against her thigh. Just when she wondered in some vague recess of her brain where his touch might journey next, he stopped.
Muttering what sounded like a curse, his fingers curled together, squeezing into a steely fist. Burying his face between her breasts, he lay silent and still, a shudder running through his muscles like a man in the midst of a terrible battle. The inner struggle raged for several tense moments until, with obvious reluctance, he withdrew his hand from beneath her skirts.
Pausing to drop a lingering kiss upon each of her naked breasts, he huffed out a ragged groan, then levered himself away.
Without the sheltering warmth of his embrace, Eliza lay confused and bereft, dismayed by his hasty withdrawal. “Kit?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of him, seated with one knee raised, a hand spread across his face like he was in the grip of some dreadful agony. Considering the hunger still burning in own her body, perhaps he was.
“Kit, come back,” she beckoned.
Yes, she thought, please, please, come back.
Splaying a pair of the fingers on his face, he peeked out at her from between the spread digits. “Can’t, my dear. We have to stop.”
But why? she wondered, when everything he did felt so exquisite, his every touch and kiss like tiny glimpses of heaven. “But I don’t want to,” she complained, petulant for perhaps the first time in her life.
The corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. “I don’t want to either, but we must. We dare go no further, not today.” He paused, drew a deep breath, then blew it out in a sigh. “Anyway, there will be other chances, with more lessons ahead. No need to rush the process along too quickly.”
Lessons? Somewhere along the way, she’d forgotten all about the lessons, their lovemaking going far beyond her imaginings, her senses focused solely on Kit and the sheer glory of being in his arms.
But now, as the misty haze of passion began to clear from her mind, she supposed he was right. Calling a halt before their passions truly escalated beyond any semblance of control was the prudent course to take. Honestly, she didn’t know how he had mustered the fortitude to stop. Having never before been caught in the clutches of unfettered desire, she hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to tear herself away. If he hadn’t ended things when he had…well, she supposed her innocence would now be lost. Of course, she wouldn’t really have minded, since Kit was the man to whom she would have gifted her maidenhead, the man she wanted to be her first, her last, her only.
But a gently bred lady didn’t give her virginity away except inside the bonds of matrimony. Would Kit ever wish to wed her? Or was she a simpleton to pin her hopes on such an outcome, believing one day he might come to love her and ask her to be his wife?
Yet all these years of waiting primly for him to notice her hadn’t worked, so perhaps passion was the way to win his heart. At least he wanted her now, saw her as a desirable woman instead of his sister-in-law’s ordinary little friend. And she was making progress, this afternoon her proof. If someone had told her a month ago that she and Kit would do all the wonderful, passionate things they had done today, she would not have believed them.
And so she would let this whatever-it-was between them play out, hoping in the end his need for her would lead to love. She tingled inside at the idea of more lessons, her body still aquiver from the one he’d given her today. Truly, she had no notion what might come next, and she could hardly wait to find out.
Outside, a cloud passed, blocking the rays of warm sunlight shining in through the upper-story windows. She shivered, becoming acutely aware that her breasts were still bared. With a trembling hand, she tugged at her bodice and stays, pressing both garments flat against her chest as she struggled to sit up.
“Here,” he said, “let me help you.”
She glanced downward, unaccountably shy. “I am fine.”
Tucking a finger beneath her jaw, he raised her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “What did I say about no shyness when we are together? There is to be no shame either. Please do us both the favor of remembering that.”
&nbs
p; Beneath his patient, accepting gaze, her discomfiture faded. “Yes, Kit.”
“Now, if you’ll release that death grip you have on your bodice, I can help lace you up again. I ought to act as your maid anyway, since I’m the one responsible for putting your clothes into such disarray.”
She chuckled softly. “Do you know how to act as a lady’s maid?”
“I’ve had a bit of practice in my time, enough to do the job properly,” he said, moving around behind her. With a skillful hand, he reached for her laces. “Seems a damned shame to conceal those beautiful breasts of yours, though, since they truly are magnificent. Then again, it will only give me something to look forward to, wondering when I shall next feast my eyes upon them.”
“Kit!”
Laughing and clearly unrepentant, he skimmed a kiss over one bare shoulder, then proceeded to cinch her in. With her dress once more in place, he stood, then reached down a hand to lift her to her feet. Plucking at her coiffeur, he set her hair to rights, then brushed a hand over her skirts to free them of wrinkles.
“Good as new,” he pronounced.
To return the favor, she gave his waistcoat a tug, then reached up to straighten his neck cloth.
Finished, she brushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. “When shall we meet again?”
“Hmm, I am eager too, but we shall have to see. I suppose it would look odd if you started coming down with lots of unexpected ailments.”
She nodded. “Yes, it would be suspect. Violet would insist I see Dr. Montgomery, sure something is dreadfully wrong.”
Sliding his arms around her, he pulled her close. “Perhaps I will surprise you, then. That way you’ll never know when a kiss might be waiting just around the corner.”
Her mouth grew suddenly moist in anticipation.
Bending his head, he kissed her, long and lingering.
“My thanks for a most exquisite afternoon,” he said after their embrace ended. “I shall cherish it always.”
The Wedding Trap Page 21