Nick’s head snapped sharply back in shock. What in hell? He stared at her for several heartbeats, his eyes slightly glazed, his confusion more than obvious. Softly, he groaned, “Damn you,” and clearly blamed her for his inability to resist.
His mouth claimed hers in earnest. She never noticed his arms gathering her close. His lips nearly ravished her mouth in his need to search out her taste. The need was overwhelming. He’d never suffered anything like it and vaguely wondered if he might never stop. The instant intense degree of wanting left him shaken to the core. He had to discover the lusciousness that was only hinted at beyond those generous lips.
His mouth was hot, clean, and delicious. His lips moved determinedly against hers and Emmy felt her knees threaten to give way. Her surprise obvious, she gasped for breath and took the scent of him deep into her lungs. A wave of dizziness assaulted her. The feelings that sped through her weren’t anything like those she’d known when in Darien’s arms. This was more, so much more. Lord, she’d known it could be like this. Somehow, she’d just known that the coming together of lips, in the arms of the right man, would rock her world.
He smelled so good. She’d never realised a man could smell like this, like a faint hint of tobacco, like a scant suggestion of whisky, like a man. She might have wondered if all men smelled like him, but she knew they did not. The few short moments spent with Darien had proven they did not.
Oddly enough, his lips began to pry hers apart. She might have pulled back in surprise, for she wondered what in the world he was about. Only she didn’t. Trusting, she forced aside her surprise and allowed the intimacy. Then his tongue touched her. She shivered as it gently danced over her bottom lip to slip just inside, to sip, to sample of her taste.
Lord, she’d never imagined anything like it. Was this a real kiss? Why had she waited so long? Why hadn’t she long ago come to know the pleasure of this magic?
She made a low sound deep in her throat, a sound that told clearly of her surprise, a sound that seemed to beg him for more. He didn’t hesitate to accede to her wishes as his mouth coaxed her lips even further apart.
Almost immediately, he realised she didn’t know how to kiss, not a real kiss, not a kiss between a man and his woman. Not a kiss born of passion, of need. Caught up in a flash of overwhelming desire, Nick distantly realised some confusion at the thought. She’d been married for months. Hadn’t Richard taught her how to kiss? How in God’s name had he resisted carnal knowledge of this mouth?
Nick dismissed his thoughts. Her mouth felt too good, tasted too good to allow any thought but to know more of this lush enchantment. His lips brushed over hers, back and forth, back and forth, barely touching then touching with purpose then barely touching again, leaving her mouth tingling, aching and on fire.
Her hands came to his neck then his face. She cupped his cheeks, delighting in the feel of his rough cheeks, the hardness of a chiselled jaw, the deliciousness of his silky hair. She couldn’t believe a man could feel this good, smell this good. A hunger began in the pit of her belly. She’d never imagined a kiss could be so wonderful. Why had she waited so long to find out? She wondered if he could kiss her enough and only prayed he’d never stop.
Emmy never realised how his play enticed her mouth to open, her lips to soften, and when they did, to his satisfaction, he couldn’t hold back yet another groan even as he wondered if he could stop, if he could ever stop.
He claimed her mouth then with a searing kiss as his tongue slipped inside, rolling, searching, sipping at her taste, plundering every dark sweet corner, discovering all there was to know. And Emmy could only gasp in wonder at the pleasure gained by parting her lips.
Could this be happening? He’d tried so hard to ignore his attraction, struggled for years, wanted her forever. And never had he dared believe the possibility of kissing her, really kissing her, of having her.
God, could it be true? Could it be she felt the same?
He gathered her closer, all his yearning hard muscle against her softness. His mind swam with the deliciousness of her. His hands held her tightly against him. Even as he shivered, he knew it wasn’t enough. Gently, his hands skimmed over her back, drifting down lower, lower until he slid them under her ass, pulling her, lifting her so their hips might meet. He felt the warmth of her through her clothes. How hot was this woman that he could feel that heat through the many layers of skirt and petticoats? God, he had to know the taste, feel and smell of her. He reached between her thighs and lifted her so their mouths grew even. He wanted to feel her against him. He wanted to feel her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
His body pressed hers hard against the wall, holding her in place with his hips as his mouth ravished hers. And muttering a sound of displeasure as if it was against his will and he was forced to stop, he tore his mouth from her heat and raised her higher.
Her breasts, white, gorgeously round and full were bare to his delight, and she gasped her surprise and groaned in equal pleasure as his mouth suddenly sucked a soft pink nipple deep into a furnace of blazing heat. She hadn’t realised her dress had opened. She’d never imagined he could have unbuttoned it without her knowledge. The world spun dizzily around her as she groaned and succumbed to this wildly ecstatic enchantment. Nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing ever would again.
His hands gathered her soft flesh together so his mouth could easily sample one then the other, biting, licking, sucking back and forth until madness threatened. Her nipples ached and she only wanted more of the pain.
“Harder,” she murmured. “Oh God, harder please.” She couldn’t bear another minute of it, yet she never wanted him to stop. Her eyes closed, and her breath hissed between her teeth as her back arched in silent invitation. “Nicky, oh God, Nicky.”
It wasn’t enough, this meagre tasting of a woman who’d dared to fill his mind, his senses with aching enticement. He hadn’t the will but to accede to her siren’s call. His need for her was suddenly, desperately, overpowering. Later, he’d wonder how he’d managed to keep what little sense he had and not take her in a haze of sexual madness, sprawled upon the drawing room floor.
At her lips again, he couldn’t get enough. How had a mouth grown this soft, this sweet, and this delicious? How had he not been conscious of the fact? How had a woman come to smell like this, taste like this? Now that he’d touched her, he thought he might never stop. All he could think was he had to have more.
Without thought, his hand slid up the length of her leg, under her dress, over silk stockings and bare thigh, and inside the wide leg of her drawers. He wouldn’t be denied. He had to know her, touch her and taste her. Together, they groaned as his fingers slid over the silky smooth skin above her stocking. Her heartbeat tripled, and his gasping came loud to her ears. There was no tentative touching here, the need to know her, the need to have him know her, was raw, aching and beyond all-consuming.
Her cry was muffled against his mouth as his fingers slid through her lush protective curls and, at last, into her pussy. He groaned his pleasure at the blazing heat of her.
His mind swam. Hot, wet. God, he’d thought touching her would be enough, but it wasn’t. He had to taste her. “I need…” he groaned into her mouth. “Jesus, I need this.”
Emmy was beyond thought, beyond the ability to understand his mutterings. All she knew was his touch and the wild pounding of her blood. She couldn’t breathe and thought it would never matter less. She didn’t need air. She needed this, his touch, his kiss. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t ever be allowed to stop. She’d waited forever to know this pleasure.
A soft cry escaped her lips as he pulled his hand away from her warmth.
“No,” she moaned into the heat of his mouth. “Don’t stop.” She didn’t want him to stop. He had to touch her. She’d die if he stopped touching her.
Then his fingers, wet with her juices, were at her mouth and his. In her mouth, he painted her lips, her tongue with her own sweet cream and licked the last of
it as his fingers were sucked into his own mouth. He was desperate to know all he could of her haunting scent, her luscious taste. God, he’d never known a woman could taste this good.
The sound of a doorbell ringing and a shrill feminine laugh shocked him from this wildly erotic moment. Nick eased his hold and allowed Emmy to slide the length of him even as he greedily absorbed the luxury of her soft curves against him.
He blinked, once twice then gave a slight shake of his head as if trying to clear a dazed mind, trying to pull himself from the fog of overwhelming passion. His eyes were wide with surprise, his body trembling, gasping for every breath. He moved suddenly, sharply away, only to quickly return to steady her trembling form. What the hell? He cleared his throat and put a finger inside his cravat, loosening the fabric a bit, the gesture telling clearly his shock, while his gaze filled with confusion. “Christ, Emmy!” he gasped unable to catch his breath. Clearly puzzled, he croaked out, “What the hell was that?”
Nick couldn’t believe he’d lost all control. She was half-naked, warm and gorgeous. The most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. But he’d hardly gotten the chance to savour the view when he suddenly realised the doors to the drawing room were wide open and anyone could have walked in on them. Jesus, what was wrong with him? He hadn’t once thought of her dishonour should her guest have suddenly come upon them.
Emmy staggered under myriad emotions that assailed. Her eyes widened as she watched his cheeks colour and knew she did not suffer alone. She stared into his eyes, her own equally filled with surprise. Emmy was a novice at passion. Still, she knew something had ignited between them. Something different. Something important. What should have been naught but a simple kiss had somehow gone almost instantly out of control as the two, half crazed with need, had suddenly torn at each other. She’d never suffered anything like this before, and by the looks of him, she hadn’t suffered alone.
Her hands brought the edges of her dress together, and unsteady fingers soon had her clothes in order again. Both of them looked shaken to the core of their being. Without saying another word, he turned suddenly away and nearly flew down the red-carpeted stairs.
Her clothes once again in place, she stood trembling against the upstairs railing and watched as he nearly tore his hat from her butler’s hand. He murmured a quick word to her friend Annie and offered a stiff smile as he backed towards the front door. This was the first time they didn’t wave before Jenkins closed the door behind him. This time, Nick never looked up, for it seemed he couldn’t reach the street fast enough.
* * * *
An hour later, Nick sat before a fire in the Duke of Northfolk’s library. Across from him sat the man himself. Nick had once supposed Darien Philips to be a decent enough chap. He was at a loss to understand why he suddenly hated the man’s guts. A bottle of cognac sat open on the table between them as they sipped from snifters and spoke of everything and nothing at all.
Finally, Nick bridged the subject for which he had come. “I was talking to Emmy Redfield earlier. It seems she’s set her cap for someone, only she wouldn’t tell me who.”
“Set her cap?” he asked. “You mean to marry?” The man visibly blanched.
Nick nodded with a knowing look. “Is it you?”
“Ho, not likely my boy. She’s a neat little piece, but Miss Mary Talbot is more to my liking.”
“Do you mean to marry Mary Talbot?”
“Of course. Where have you been, man? The banns have twice been announced.”
“In the country,” Nick murmured almost to himself and continued on with, “And returned just in time, it seems.
“When are the nuptials?”
“Three weeks.” Darien laughed softly and gave a broad, knowing wink. “No going back now, I’d say.”
“There’ll be some drastic changes, I’d wager.”
The duke frowned. “Why so?”
Nick sipped at the cognac. “A wife usually frowns on her husband continuing his bachelor lifestyle.”
The duke gave a small shrug. “Mary shouldn’t interfere overmuch, I expect. I think she’ll take to country life ever so much more than the city. Wouldn’t you agree?” He laughed again. “Can’t get enough of country air, I always say.”
Nick hid his disgust behind a tight smile just before he downed the last of his drink and nodded in agreement. “A good place to raise children,” he murmured without much interest. “A few of us were planning a game of cards. You interested?”
The duke nodded. “There’s only one thing I enjoy more. When?”
“Thursday, late.”
Darien shook his head in the negative. “Sorry, old man. Have an engagement at nine. I expect the lady will keep me busy ‘til the wee hours.” He grinned, knowingly. “If you get my drift.”
Nick definitely got the man’s drift and breathed deeply, knowing his lascivious grin was formed with Emmy in mind. Oddly enough, it took some effort to keep his hands from forming fists, for he suddenly wanted nothing more than to smash that grin off this bastard’s face.
Suddenly, he felt an almost overpowering need to bathe. The man was attractive enough, Nick supposed, if one didn’t look too closely at the signs of debauchery that slackened well-formed lips, brought small bags under his eyes, and softened a once hard jaw with the not too distinct promise of jowls. He dressed to perfection, but there was slime beneath the faultless attire and almost famous good looks. Slime that had almost touched Emmy.
So the meeting was Thursday. He’d thought as much. Emmy never could lie worth a shit. Nick’s gaze hardened with determination as he made his excuses and left the duke to his drink and cosy fire. The little minx was in for a surprise, the surprise of her life one might venture to say, and Nick could hardly wait.
Chapter Two
That kiss. Why couldn’t she forget it? Forget it and all he’d done? Why had it kept her awake for most of these last three nights? Why had she tossed and turned, filled with yearning, filled with wanting more of what she’d barely sampled? No one had to tell her there was more to it. No one had to say unbearable pleasure awaited her should they have taken that moment further.
A glance at his pained expression and she knew he was at least equally affected as was she. She saw it in his eyes, in the flush of his skin, felt it in the tremble of his hands, heard it in the gasping of his breath.
Betsy, her maid, knocked and entered her room. She watched her mistress’s obvious distress as she hung a freshly ironed dress in the armoire. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
Emmy smiled and sat at last, only realising then that her back ached from hours of pacing. She’d paced almost every waking moment in the last three days since Nick had left. “I’m fine, Betsy. Thank you.”
“I thought you might like a bit of tea,” Betsy said as she took the tray from the table outside the door and brought it into the room. “A letter just came for you.”
A plain white envelope sat propped near the teapot.
Inside was a short note, done in a lavish scrawl. Emmy had never seen the duke’s writing before yet the script seemed oddly familiar. It read,
Eight o’clock, please, my love. I cannot wait.
Emmy read the note and shivered. With dread? Certainly not. She’d given her new lifestyle months of serious thought. Only now that the time had come, she might have thought her heart would hammer with excitement, with wonder, with delight. Emmy shook her head. She was looking for something that didn’t exist, a fairytale, a dream. But was it? Those few minutes spent with Nicky were real enough. Real enough to cause her to lose sleep, night after night.
She shrugged aside the thought. She couldn’t help but admit there was something special between them. Even so, that didn’t mean she had to give up on her plans, did it? Of course not. Nick had run from her. Apparently, he wasn’t interested in what was so obviously his for the taking. Emmy shrugged. She was a big girl. Despite his obvious liking for what he’d encountered, it was clear he wasn’t all that interested. She force
d aside the oddly hurtful thought and ridiculed the possibility of silly tears.
Her spine stiffened with determination. What it came down to was a simple matter of choice. Nicky had certainly made his, and she could either live the rest of her life, never knowing the possible pleasure that existed between a man and a woman, or she could go on with her original plans. The possibility of never knowing, of never feeling the pleasure, was an appallingly dismal prospect. If the truth be told, the duke didn’t stir her senses. He didn’t kiss, smell, or taste like Nicky. He didn’t bring her to a state of ecstasy with one of his kisses and it didn’t matter. One day, she’d find a man who did.
Her tea forgotten, she paced again. Mindlessly, she moved from her chaise to her bed to her door, only to return and start the whole process over again. Had she chosen the wrong man? Emmy stiffened her spine and swore she had not. He was perfect for her plans. Cool, composed, a man who knew what he wanted, a man willing to share only a part of himself. The only part she wanted.
There would be no emotional involvement, which suited her. Darien was marrying in a few weeks time. He wanted only to ease the flesh, something everyone, even the most elegant ladies, talked about, something Emmy could only imagine.
After tonight, she’d know the whole of it, and if it didn’t compare to what might have been with Nicky, Darien couldn’t be held at fault. Tonight, she’d be transposed into a new Emmy. Sophisticated, worldly, knowledgeable, still a lady she supposed, but one who knew something of life.
Why then did the whole idea seem suddenly so cold?
Damn Nicky! It was his fault. Why had he kissed her like that, touched her like he’d never touch her enough? Done the things he’d done and leave her more confused and wanting than ever? Why had he chosen now, when she needed him most, to remember morals? It could have been so good. Nicky, her best friend, who’d taught her how to cheat at cards, to race her horse, to best any in drink, and the one time she really needed him, he’d failed her.
To Save Emmy Page 2