A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4)

by Meara Platt

  Laurel’s heart tightened at the recollection of Rose’s remark. Her distress mounted as she watched Graelem stride toward her on his crutches, still needing them to get around. It was a grim reminder of how badly his leg had been injured. “Lass, I’ve never seen you look so scared,” he said in a husky murmur. “We have a lifetime together. I’ll not force you to—”

  “It isn’t that.” She blushed as he set aside his crutches and reached out to caress her cheek. She loved his touch. “I don’t wish to disappoint you. And you said it yourself, I don’t know what I’m doing, so how can I possibly please you?”

  He groaned as he gazed at her with a tenderness that warmed her heart. “Is that all? Sweetheart, you will please me. You do please me. Making love isn’t meant to happen with the precision of a Swiss clock or a perfectly rehearsed waltz. It’s best when awkward and unrestrained, especially good with a dollop of wantonness thrown in.”

  She laughed softly and shook her head, forgetting that her gold curls were unbound, so that the unruly strands swayed and tumbled over her shoulders with each shake. “I’m not lacking in that. Even now, my fingers are itching to fling the dressing gown off you so that I can admire your naked body.” She blushed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  His eyes were gleaming with a mix of amusement and heat. “Do you mean it?”

  She nodded. “Of course I do. I’ve been curious ever since I burst into your room on that first day and caught you with your clothes off.” She traced a finger along his exposed chest, absorbing the heat of his lightly bronzed skin and the tickle of his dark chest hairs against the pad of her finger.

  He responded in kind, his finger sliding across the mound of one breast and then the other in a languid motion that immediately stirred her blood and caused the private recesses of her body to pulse and throb. The silken fabric between them seemed to heighten the sensation of his rough skin against her breasts.

  She closed her eyes and leaned back in the cradle of his arm while he continued to stroke her breasts, his palm now cupping one and gently kneading it. His thumb now rubbing across the hardening nipple. Sweet Mother of All Crumpets! He’d barely started and her body was already a hot, wanton flame of desire.

  He lowered his head and replaced his fingers with his mouth, teasing the taut peak as he suckled her through the silk and then flicking his tongue across it, mercilessly heightening the unbearable heat now coursing through her body like a river of hot, fiery lava. In the next moment, her gown was off and pooled at her feet, and his mouth was on her breast again, this time without the fabric barrier.

  “Oh, Graelem!” She buried her fingers in his hair and then clutched his shoulders, for her legs had turned to butter and she hadn’t the strength to stand up. She would have fallen had he not held her in his arms.

  She was naked and she wanted him that way, too. She tugged at his dressing gown, too late realizing she had tugged the knot at his belt the wrong way and now she’d hopelessly tightened it. He looked up and grinned. “Let me help you, love.”

  She grumbled. “I told you I’m no good at this.”

  “Do you hear me complaining?” He released her to quickly loosen the knot and shrug out of the garment. No barriers existed between them now.

  She took the opportunity to study his big, muscled, male body, her breath hitching at the unmistakably hard and erect bulge between his well-formed legs. “What shall I… am I supposed to…?”

  He took her hand and led her to the bed, lifting the covers so she could slip between the sheets. He joined her there and nudged her onto her back while he settled atop her, propping on his elbows in order not to crush her, although she liked the weight of him on her body. “I’ll show you, sweetheart. There’s no rush. We have all night.” He stroked his hand through her hair that was splayed across the pillows. “Honey and silk,” he murmured, running his fingers through the strands once more and gently brushing them off her shoulders for an unobstructed view of her breasts.

  He liked her breasts. A lot.

  “You’re beautiful, Laurel,” he said in a reverent whisper.

  “So are you, my love.” She raised her head off the pillow to meet his lips in a kiss that was unrestrained, for they wanted each other and neither wished to hold back. He certainly wasn’t. His hand slid down the length of her, coming to rest atop her breast and teasing it once again until she bucked beneath him, she was that hot and wanting.

  He kissed a trail starting from her lips, down her jaw, to the soft arch of her shoulder, to the taut bud of her breast, taking it gently between his teeth and rousing more exquisite sensations as he nipped and licked with his tongue until she couldn’t recall her name or her country of birth or anything but Graelem. Then he moved lower, kissing her stomach, the inside of her thighs, and finally nudging them slightly apart to place his mouth on her nether lips.

  Mercy!

  He felt so good against her. She felt shameless, but had no desire to stop him even as he tucked his shoulders under her legs for a better angle to probe and swirl and—the moans tore from her throat before she could stop them as a tingling heat began to wash over her body and threatened to sweep her away on a hot, pulsing tide. “Graelem,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “I love you.”

  She was still hot and throbbing when he drew his mouth away from the intimate part of her body only to replace it with his erect member. He positioned himself between her legs and rubbed it along her slick opening, then slowly began to push inside her, ever so gently at first, then a little harder. “I love you, too.”

  He thrust into her, still careful not to hurt her, but he was big and hard and she’d never experienced this sensation before. She thought it would hurt much more than it did, but the discomfort was only at first. As she curled her legs around his waist, any sensation of pain was quickly replaced by wonderfully intimate waves of heat that increased in intensity as he began to thrust in and out of her.

  The building desire she’d experienced a moment ago stirred again. She began to move with him, arching upward to meet him and clinging to his shoulders as he pulled away and then came back to her. Like waves rolling toward her shore, some of them hard and pounding, while others were gentle. His thrusts came in steady intervals, once again like waves cresting and ebbing, and then they were only cresting, so that the two of them were lifted so high they floated among the stars, their bodies joined, their hearts entwined forever.

  She cried his name over and over. She kissed him on the mouth, kissed his jaw, pressed her lips against the hard curve of his taut, muscled shoulders. Whispered his name until they collapsed, moaning and their bodies damp, in each other’s arms. “How do you feel, love?” he asked, easing out of her and rolling her atop him as he fell onto his back, sinking into the soft mattress.

  Her long hair fell over his chest and shoulders as she rested her cheek against his heart, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. Indeed, he seemed to like the feel of her hair between his fingers and the way it fell in unruly waves over her shoulders and onto his body. “I feel…” Wonderful, spectacular. “I feel like a baroness. An enchanted baroness caught up in a magical dream that I hope never ends. Graelem, thank you for waiting for me. I’m so glad you didn’t give up on me and marry someone else.”

  He let out a throaty laugh. “I would sooner give up my heart than ever give you up.” He absently stroked his hand along her spine as he seemed to sober. “No one has ever fought for me as you have, Laurel. No one has ever loved me as you do. When you came to me with your list of demands and told me what they were, I wanted to sweep you into my arms and kiss you into forever. They weren’t demands. They were confirmation that I existed, that my life had meaning. That someone cared if I lived or died.”

  She hugged him, wanting to cry for all the joy he’d missed as a child. Loving him all the more for becoming the wonderful man he was today, the man who’d stolen her heart. “I hope you remember these words the next time I do something headstrong and foolish and you wi
sh to throttle me.”

  “You may be headstrong, but you’re not foolish.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll remember, and always be grateful for finding you. I’ll remember our wedding and especially this wedding night.”

  A grandfather clock chimed in the downstairs hallway. Laurel gasped. “It’s almost midnight.”

  “So?”

  She scrambled to her knees. “The day is almost over.”

  He quirked an eyebrow, still obviously confused. “I repeat, so?”

  “You have to kiss me, Graelem.”

  “Haven’t I been doing just that? And won’t I continue to do that in about thirty seconds because your pink, naked body is making me hot and wild again?”

  She nodded. “But before that happens—”

  “Too late.”

  “Before that happens, I’d like you to make it a pure kiss, one that is from the deepest recesses of your heart, one not guided by lustful thoughts, although I’d forgive you if you failed to keep it completely pure. I’m having trouble ridding my mind of lustful thoughts, too. You’re excessively handsome in your naked splendor.”

  The clock continued to chime. Eight. Nine. “Quick, Graelem. A kiss I’ll never forget.”

  “A midsummer’s kiss,” he said as the clock chimed ten. Eleven. He took her into his arms and closed his mouth over hers. More important, he took Laurel into his heart forever and completely as the clock chimed twelve to mark the end of Midsummer’s Day.

  THE END

  Interested in reading more books in the Farthingale series? Click Here to see what romantic misadventures the Farthingale sisters are up to next!

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading A Midsummer’s Kiss. Sometimes love happens at the most unexpected times and in the most unexpected places. Sometimes it quietly sneaks up on you, and sometimes it knocks you over on a London street, just as it happened to Graelem Dayne when meeting Laurel Farthingale in a most unusual way. Laurel’s horse ran him over and broke his leg. Add the pressure of Graelem having to find the perfect wife in a mere thirty days or lose a large inheritance, and you have Laurel and Graelem’s story. To Graelem, finding the right bride seems an impossible task until he sets his fuzzy gaze on Laurel. But Laurel has other plans and isn’t so eager to give her heart to this handsome stranger. Farthingales marry for love and Laurel will settle for no less. Only by treasuring Laurel’s heart above a baronial fortune will Graelem stand any chance of gaining it all.

  Book 5 in the Farthingale Series is The Viscount’s Rose, the prequel to A Midsummer’s Kiss, Rules For Reforming A Rake, The Duke I’m Going To Marry, and My Fair Lily. Yes, I’m finding that I think best backwards, especially with this Farthingale Series. The sisters have decided the order of these books, and I am helpless to do anything but obey. So, next is Rose’s story, and if you think the course of Rose and Julian’s courtship runs smoothly, think again. Their first meeting is explosive, literally, and then the two of them are abducted. Julian blames himself for putting Rose in danger and vows to do all in his power to keep her safe until they are rescued or can escape. But Rose isn’t as innocent in this abduction scheme as he believes and can’t risk Julian ever finding out. I can’t wait for you to meet Rose and Julian, and I hope you enjoy their bumpy path to love. Read on for a sneak peek at Rose’s story, the fifth in the FARTHINGALE SERIES due in early summer 2016.

  SNEAK PEEK

  The Viscount’s Rose

  by Meara Platt

  Chapter 1

  Mayfair District, London

  June 1813

  “JULIAN, PLEASE. I wish you’d meet Rolf.”

  “Not today, Nicola.” Lord Julian Emory, the tenth Viscount Chatham, stifled a groan as he assisted his sister down from his carriage in front of Number 3 Chipping Way, the stately residence of her best friend… whose name he couldn’t recall at the moment. Nicola always referred to her friend as Rolf. Who gave a young lady that sort of pet name anyway? It was the sort one gave to a dog.

  Nicola frowned at him. “She’s wonderful and so much more interesting than any debutante making her come out this season. Much nicer than those supposedly elegant ladies you keep company with. Please come in with me, Julian.”

  He was about to decline, as he had every day this past week, when a small explosion suddenly rocked the quiet street. “Nicola, get back in the carriage. Now!”

  “But Rolf— Ack!”

  He tossed his sister into the carriage, ordered his coachman to drive a safe distance away, and then leaped the gate, for he’d heard several high-pitched cries for help coming from the garden of the very townhouse his sister was about to visit. He ran toward the screams and noticed a small funnel of black smoke rising from a makeshift structure in the far corner of the garden.

  Two young girls were being held back by two older women, but the girls were obviously struggling to break free and run toward the danger. He couldn’t allow that to happen. “Is anyone in there?” he demanded to know, removing his jacket and intending to use it to smother any spreading flames, although the fire appeared to be contained.

  “Our sister’s in there,” one of the girls replied, gazing at him through tearful blue eyes.

  “Her kiln exploded,” the other girl said, gazing at him through identical blue eyes. Had his vision suddenly blurred? He was seeing identical faces.

  No matter, he’d sort it all out once he’d rescued their sister.

  Julian placed his jacket protectively over his nose and mouth, dropped to a crouch, and nudged open the door that had almost blown off but was still hanging on one hinge. The black funnel of smoke quickly dissipated as it wafted outside, which meant the fire had burned itself out. He had only to find the sister.

  Don’t let her be dead or injured.

  He’d engaged in enough battles on the Peninsula to understand the damage that wounds caused, leaving not only visible scars but invisible ones as well, the sort that pierced deep under one’s flesh and festered. Damn. He didn’t even know the young innocent’s name to call out to her. “Miss? Can you hear me? Where are you?”

  His eyes watered and stung as smoke and dust enveloped him. He wasn’t half way into the small enclosure when he heard a soft moan coming from behind an overturned table. The girl was alive, but in what condition? As he approached he saw that her ankle was pinned under the table, so he quickly righted it and then knelt to check for broken bones before he dared move her. With no fire to worry about, the bigger risk to her was a break, a bump on the head, or other unknown internal injury.

  He brushed a few stray locks off her forehead and spoke gently, relieved to feel no lumps forming on her brow. “Can you move your fingers?”

  “I… I th-think so.” She appeared to do so without much effort.

  “Now raise your arms, one at a time.” Again, she managed with little effort. “I’m going to touch your legs, don’t be alarmed.”

  “Nothing will alarm me after this,” she said, punctuating each word with a cough. Even so, the gentle amusement in her raspy voice sent an unexpected warmth coursing through his blood. There was a sweet, melodic quality to her voice.

  “Good, because I need to make certain you have no spinal damage and then get you out of here before the roof collapses atop us.” He touched her leg. “Can you feel my hand on you?” Because he sure as hell could feel her soft, shapely leg, and that warmth flowing through his blood had just turned fiery.

  “Yes, I can.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m going to take off your slippers and I’d like you to wiggle your toes, one foot at a time.”

  She winced as she tried to move her injured ankle, which appeared to be the only damage she’d sustained. Of course, she’d inhaled some smoke. That was worrisome, depending on how much she’d taken in. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  He lifted her into his arms once she did so and carried her out into the cool, fresh air. She coughed again as her lungs took in the cooler air and—merciful heavens!—he felt each
heave of her ample breasts against his chest.

  Fiery did not begin to describe the heat now raging through his body.

  Bloody nuisance.

  He didn’t even know her name. “Who are you?” he asked more sternly than intended, but it couldn’t be helped. She was turning him inside out and he didn’t know who she was, nor could he see her clearly because smoke still stung his eyes.

  A cool, gusting breeze surrounded them the moment he carried her out. The bright sunshine caused his eyes to tear up worse than they had done inside, but he managed to set her down on the grass under a shade tree without stumbling. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, which wasn’t the cleverest idea for his sleeves were covered in soot, and now so was his face.

  He knelt beside her.

  The little girls with identical faces fell to their knees on the opposite side of their sister, excitedly chattering and obviously relieved she was safe and relatively unharmed. “I didn’t hide my box of explosives in your kiln, Rose,” one of them said. “I’d never do anything so foolish.”

  What?

  He now knew the name of the girl he’d just carried out. But what were her sisters doing with explosives? In elegant Mayfair, no less? He’d question the young girl later, but right now his attention was focused on the one he’d just carried out. He cleared his throat. “Your name is Rose?”

  She nodded. “It is, sir. Thank you for saving me. May I ask—” That was as much as her still raspy voice managed before she erupted in a fit of coughing that alarmed the small crowd of servants who must have run out of the house when they heard the explosion and were now gathering around him and Rose.

  A tall, older gentleman seemed to be in charge of the worried staff, no doubt the Farthingale family’s head butler.