She pressed her body against his, expressing without words the primitive need to meld their bodies into one. She flattened her breasts against his chest, slid her thigh between his.
James stumbled slightly, alerting them both to the precariousness of their position. Kate instinctively tried to draw back but he wouldn’t allow it. He gave a frustrated groan and shoved his crutches aside. They landed on the marble floor with a sharp clatter. James wrapped his arm around her waist and edged backward, pulling her along with him.
They fell together, collapsing clumsily on the damask settee. Kate straddled his lap, her body braced on top of his, her skirts bunched up around her knees.
Before she could adjust her position, he lifted her as if she weighed no more than a child and settled her sideways onto his lap. Lifted her with an ease that forced her to take a new reckoning of the man. In his injured state, she had fused James with previous weakened patients for whom she had cared.
She realized now the absurdity of her error. True, he needed help regaining the strength in his leg, but that was healing quickly. In focusing only on his injury, she had underestimated his innate strength.
James Lancaster was a tall, powerfully built man, so opposite in every way to her own feminine form. As that fact impressed itself upon her brain, a shiver of excitement coursed through her. The sheer maleness of his body thrilled her in a way she’d never anticipated. She was possessed of a sudden, urgent need to explore every inch of him.
The cool linen of his shirt, so lovely just seconds earlier, became an annoyance not to be borne. She reached for the collar. Clumsy with haste, she slipped the stays free and tugged the offending garment from his chest and arms, giving her unrestrained access to his skin.
She couldn’t stop moving her hands over his broad chest, tracing the rippled lines of his flat stomach, his brawny forearms, his steel biceps. His muscles quivered and bunched beneath her touch. His reaction gave her a heady, intoxicating sense of power, emboldening her to continue her daring explorations.
His body was darker than hers, a rich masculine hue, pale cocoa to her own soft cream. He was hotter as well, as though his inner core burned a few degrees warmer. His skin felt like rough velvet to her touch. A light smattering of chest hair tickled her fingertips. The wound at his shoulder was a jagged pink line, still slightly puckered and swollen. She pressed her lips to the injury, then moved on, drinking in every subtle nuance of his body.
He threw back his head to give her greater access to his skin. She trailed light kisses down the column of his throat and across his collarbone.
Wondering if he would derive the same pleasure as she had, she flicked her tongue lightly against his masculine nipple—a nipple so unlike her own, so broad and flat and dark. Yet the nub stiffened slightly when she teased her tongue over it. Seized by a kittenish impulse she couldn’t restrain, she brought it between her teeth and gave a gentle bite.
James emitted a hoarse sound that fell somewhere between a laugh and a moan. “Oh, God,” he rasped out. “You’ll ruin me, Kate.”
“Ruin you? Why?”
“Because it’s even better with you than I imagined it would be.”
She pulled back slightly and searched his face, thrilled by his admission. “You thought about me?”
He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Yes, Kate. I thought about you. Far more than what is decent. More than any man should think about a woman.”
Her heart raced. “What did you think about?”
His eyes burned with a faraway fire. “I fear I would shock you if I admitted it all. Let us start here, with something I’ve wanted to do from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”
James reached for her. She drew in a breath, expecting him to loosen the buttons of her gown. Instead, he removed the pins that secured her white nurse’s cap and lifted it from her head. “If there were a fire in that grate,” he said, nodding toward the cold hearth, “I would be delighted to set this hideous thing burning.”
“No, you would not. It’s part of my uniform.”
“It’s ugly.”
“It’s proper.”
He ignored her words, his attention fixed instead on removing the heavy clips and combs that bound her hair, releasing it from the thick knot at the base of her scalp. Kate’s hair tumbled down her shoulders in rich golden waves, nearly reaching the small of her back.
“Now this,” he said, his voice low and husky as he gently combed his fingers through the thick blond mass, “this is beautiful. Such a shame to keep it hidden. You should wear it like this always.”
She laughed at the scandalous suggestion. “I couldn’t possibly.”
A strange light entered his eyes as he stroked her hair, absently toying with it. “Yes, you’re right. That’s the way it should be. I’m the only man allowed see you with your hair down. The only man who can touch you like this.”
James’s possessive words sent an unexpected surge of pleasure through her. Another woman might have seized the opportunity to strike a jealous chord and suggest there were others vying for her hand, but that was not the sort of game Kate was interested in playing. Her surrender to James was absolute. “Yes,” she said. “Only you. You’re the only one.”
“Yes. My Kate.”
His fingers worked the buttons of her gown. She wore a serviceable brown wool. It was her least favorite gown, and she’d hated putting it on earlier that morning. She’d only done so because her other gowns had recently been laundered and the persistent wet weather left them soggy and damp. But as James peeled away the drab garment, allowing it to pool at her waist, Kate wondered if the selection hadn’t been perfect. She felt like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.
She wore a corset of shimmering gold silk edged with soft ivory lace. The garment had been fabricated with sturdy stays, designed to lift her lush breasts and thrust them upward. An engineering marvel. No fabric hid her breasts, no netting or silk. The creamy globes of flesh were fully exposed, her tight pink nipples tilted skyward. All laid out before him like a banquet, inviting his mouth and tongue.
James drew in his breath, then let it out with a long exhale. His eyes grew dark. “Right,” he murmured, as though her body was the answer to some long-held, unformed question. “That’s exactly right.”
He studied her the way an artist would frame a model, his gaze raking over every detail as though posing her for a formal portrait. He arranged her hair, letting it spill past her shoulders and tumble down her back. A single strand drooped off her shoulder. She reached for it but James stopped her. He shook his head. “Don’t move. Let me just look at you they way you are.”
Then, after he drank in his fill of her, he swept his tongue into her mouth. It was a kiss of fire and heat and yearning. A kiss that left her gasping and panting for more. She dug her nails into his shoulders, pressed herself against his chest, writhed in his lap.
James tore his lips away from hers and trailed a line of kisses down her throat. When he reached her breasts, he drew one luscious nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. He traced tight circles around the rosy peak until shivers ran down her spine and heat built between her legs. Then he paid the same loving attention to her other breast.
Her breathing rough and uneven, Kate dragged her fingers through his dark hair, arched her back, and thrust her breasts in his face.
More. She wanted—needed—more.
James shifted her on his lap. Grasping her hips, he turned her until she was facing away from him, looking forward and straddling his thigh. He kissed the tops of her shoulders, then went to work loosening the deep gold ribbons that laced up her spine. The corset fell away, leaving her naked from the waist up.
His large hands neatly encircled her waist. James brought his palms up, softly skimming her ribcage, then placed one hand on her spine and gently positioned her in a forward-tilted angle, so that she sat with her her skirts splayed over his rock-solid thigh, her toes lightly brushing the rug.
Once h
e’d satisfactorily positioned her, he reached forward and cupped her breasts in his hands, pulling her back against him.
Kate heard herself moan with pleasure. She’d developed early, blossoming into womanhood at a younger age than most of her friends. For years she’d harbored a secret embarrassment at the size of her breasts, considering them too large and unseemly, yet they fit perfectly into James’s hands.
His hands were unlike the smooth hands of most of the English gentry she’d nursed. His hands were slightly rough, almost coarse—calloused from his soldiering days, perhaps? The delectable friction of his palms scraping against the her nipples, kneading and massaging her breasts, nearly drove her wild.
He shifted his knee upward and she slid back a bit, coming to rest against his groin. Kate felt his erection stiffen against her ass, his trousers bulging against the bunched fabric of her skirts. He moved slowly, rocking his knee up and down as he massaged her breasts.
She arched her back, absorbing his steady gait, happily riding him astride. His thigh felt hot, hard between her legs. Her thigh muscles tightened around him as a steady, rhythmic pressure built at the juncture of her sex. She drew up her arms and locked her hands around James’s neck.
“Talk to me, Kate,” he whispered against her temple. “I want to hear your voice.”
She shook her head, breathless and wild, lost in the sensations building within her. “I can’t…I don’t—”
“Tell me about the corset. Where you found it, why you bought it. Anything. I want to know you.”
“I bought it at Madame Terreau’s,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. “I heard them giggling about the shop and I followed them there one day.”
“Them? Who?”
“The nurses. Not the nurses like me—the other ones. The nurses who meet their lovers outside by the wall.” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I pretend not to know what happens there, but I do. I’ve known about it for months now.”
“Tell me, love.” A note of excitement entered James’s voice. He rocked his thigh a little faster, increased the pressure on her breasts. “Tell me about those nurses and their lovers. Are they friends of yours?”
“No. I hardly know them.” She shook her head, catching her breath. “There is a wall that divides the hospital grounds from the gardens where those nurses meet their beaus. They kiss and embrace and...do other things. Sometimes I go there.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure—”
“Because you like to watch.” His voice was a beacon, guiding her toward some heavenly destination.
“Yes.” She nibbled her bottom lip and wrenched out a confession. “Once when I was walking by I heard the sounds a couple was making. They made me feel weak inside. Hot and flushed, even though it was a cool day. I slowed my steps to listen. To look.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw a man with his hand up a woman’s skirt.”
“Like this?” James drew his fingers up her leg, caressing the tender flesh between the tops of her stocking and the juncture of her thighs.
Kate’s breath hitched. “Yes,” she said. “Just like that. Touching her. Kissing her. Then he brought his hand between her legs and I saw her tremble. I heard her sigh so softly, then moan with pleasure. Her face changed. She looked helpless at first, then overcome...rapturous. She shook and cried out as though she were in pain, though I could tell she was not.”
James traced his hands over her thighs. A ragged hoarseness filled his voice as he said, “When you watched them, what did you feel?”
“Heat. Longing. Envy.”
“Envy?”
“I wanted that. I wanted to feel what she was feeling. I wanted to take that wicked pleasure and have it all for myself.”
“You will. I promise you that.”
He grasped her hips and pressed her down against him. The tight nub of pleasure at the entrance to her sex began to swell and throb as she rocked against him. She arched her back, straining toward a faraway goal she could instinctively feel but couldn't identify, when James slowly drew back, then went still.
“But now here, love. Not now.” He tilted her head against the wall of his chest, his arm a steel band around her ribs, gently supporting her.
“Is it over?” she managed, feeling suddenly bereft. She was panting as though she’d been running, heading blindly toward a beautiful abyss, when she’d been rudely pulled back.
“Over?” he echoed with a harsh whisper of a laugh. “No, sweetheart. It isn’t over. Not even close.” He took a breath, then let it out slowly. “But this is where we stop today.”
Chapter Six
James shifted Kate slightly, relieving himself of the exquisite torture of her lovely ass grinding into his erection. He positioned her so she was no longer riding astride his thigh, but resumed her position side-saddle, as it were, with her head tucked beneath his chin and her legs draped over his knee. He stroked her hair, allowing them both a moment to compose themselves and slow their rocketing pulses.
He listened to the sound of retreating footsteps in the outer corridor. He felt Kate tense against him and knew she was listening as well. The sound had finally penetrated the hazy fog of her passion.
Although he’d heard the good doctor amble down the hallway moments earlier, Kate obviously hadn’t. She jerked upright like a sleepwalker who suddenly found herself standing outside in the rain, rather than comfortably snuggled in bed.
Her panicked gaze flew to his. “Dr. Michaelson—”
“Went the other direction,” he murmured softly. “We have a minute.”
Moving with deliberate care, he re-tied the ribbons on her corset, helped her into her gown, and collected the scattered pins he’d pulled from her hair. He watched as she twisted the glorious blond mass into a tight knot, then affixed her ugly white cap to the top of her head.
He longed to pull her back into his arms and undress her all over again, but she had already removed herself from him, both physically and emotionally. The glorious harlot he had caressed disappeared entirely as Kate once again assumed the role of dutiful nurse, stepping back into character like an actress on a stage.
She gave him a nod and then slipped out of the room. He heard her join the doctor in the hall. They spoke for a moment, Kate’s tone at once cool and perfunctory, then their footsteps echoed away. In the distance he heard the sound of his footman bidding them good afternoon, followed by the door opening and closing.
Stillness rang throughout his home.
James heaved a sigh and sank back onto the settee. It was barely necessary to put his hand to his throbbing member to find his release. Two quick strokes and he came with an explosive force, akin to letting the steam escape a pipe before it erupted. The subtle pressure of his trousers rubbing against his erection had nearly been enough to set him off.
He lifted his discarded shirt from the floor and cleaned himself. Then, like a guilty schoolboy, he looked around for a way to dispose of the garment—it was certainly not an item he’d expect Sally to launder with Thursday’s linens.
The grate had been stocked with kindling but hadn’t been lit. He removed a box of matches from the hearth and saw to the task. Once the blaze roared in earnest he tossed in the shirt, his thoughts wandering as he watched the flames lick the edges of the cloth.
He’d bed skilled lovers before, but none had had the effect on him that Kate had. It was almost too much for a man to take. The feel of her silken masses of hair against his chest, the incredible softness of her skin, the delectable curve of her hips, the juxtaposition of the heaviness of her breasts against the delicate lightness of her frame. All of that, combined with her magnificent carnal curiosity.
No dainty, simpering embraces for her. Kate liked it rough and wild, coupled with a touch of sin. Thank the Lord Almighty. Here was a woman who could meet his passion with her own. His cock swelled again just thinking about it. The games they could play…
He contemplated the fire, wishing he
truly could have thrown her starched cap in the hearth. Her dress should have joined the flames as well. He’d seen more attractive smocks on scullery maids. The thought troubled him. While he understood that in her position as a nurse she wouldn’t want her to draw undue attention to herself, there existed a multitude of demure things she could wear.
Women had invented all manner of horrid fashion for the sole purpose of hiding the beauty of their bodies. Starched aprons, thick muslins, hems that dragged past their ankles and collars that buttoned up to their ears.
But the frayed, outdated clothing Kate wore bore the mark of neglect. Indifference. If he had a sister, which he didn’t, he certainly wouldn’t permit her to leave the house dressed in rags. Kate had two brothers, both surgeons, presumably capable of providing better. So why did they allow her to dress in such a fashion?
Kate had too much spunk and intelligence for him to risk asking her directly—no doubt she would be mortified if she even guessed his thoughts. But it bothered him, and he resolved to discreetly look into the matter.
The sound of wheels against the crushed gravel of his drive alerted him to the arrival of guests. His footman, Owen, appeared in the doorway moments later. “The viscountess has arrived,” he said.
James let out a breath. His mother. He gave Owen a curt nod. “Show her into the library.” He waited for his footman to return with a fresh shirt and jacket, then went to join her. He found her pacing back and forth in a state of high agitation.
“It is simply not conceivable,” his mother said without preamble, “that Miss Kittworthy should have been so duplicitous. She knew the ball I’m throwing was meant to be an announcement of your betrothal. The invitations have already been sent. Now word is all over London that she has broken off with you and taken up with the Duke of Ellerbee. It’s humiliating, that’s what it is.”
“Humiliating to whom?”
“Why, to you, of course. And to me. I will not be trumped in my own home.”
Out Of Her League, An Erotic Romance Page 6