Later, he would not be able to say she had ensnared him or lured him. He would not be able to blame his decision upon the disaster the day before. He could not blame the sudden reminder of how precious and precarious life was.
No, indeed.
Because one fact was as undeniable as it was irrefutable: he wanted Johanna with a ferocity that nearly tore him apart. He wanted her because he was selfish and greedy, because she reminded him he was alive, because she made him remember how good life could be. She made him remember how a woman’s touch could undo him. She reminded him of what happiness felt like.
He wanted her.
Desperately.
It was elemental, and yet it was also more. He could not yet decipher what. All he could say was that despite his every reason to distrust her, despite her Fenian connections, despite all the ruinous ramifications bedding her could potentially cause for him, there was no other place he could spend this night.
No other woman with whom he would spend it.
He rapped softly. Twice.
Before he could attempt a third, the door opened.
Johanna wore a dressing gown belted at the waist, the soft glow of the gaslight illuminating her burnished curls, which she wore unbound and trailing over her shoulders, across the fullness of her breasts. Her gaze met his, and she took a step back.
“Come in,” she invited.
He did not hesitate. In one heartbeat, he was over the threshold and the door was closing behind him. The scent of roses and citrus hit him. Her eyes were wide pools of blue to rival the sky. Laden with mysteries he wanted to unlock.
“You are beautiful,” he said, a vast and despicable understatement.
For in truth, words could not convey the way she looked, like some goddess come to life. He had seen her in a state of dishabille before, of course, on the day he had gone to her at the Crown and Thorn. But tonight, for the emotions roiling through him, she was more beautiful than she had ever been. Because she had revealed the depths of her heart to him—her grief, her pain—and because he had seen the goodness in her heart.
For as long as he lived, he would never forget the sound of her glorious voice singing silly ditties with his daughter.
The memory of it made him want to kiss her again.
But he did not, not yet, for he was keenly aware of the time that had passed between their reckless kisses in the salon and now.
“And you are the most handsome and elegant man I have ever seen,” she told him, fiddling with her curls, almost as if she were nervous.
“I hope I am not presumptuous in coming here.” Unable to resist, and drawn to her as if a magnetic pull existed between them, he moved forward until he could catch the hand twisting her curls in his. “I hope you have not changed your mind.”
“Never,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his so that their palms kissed. “I already told you, I will not change my mind when it comes to you, Felix. I care for you far too much for that.”
She cared for him.
His gut clenched.
But somehow, and much to his surprise, being with her thus did not feel like a betrayal of Hattie’s memory or the love they had shared. And neither did it feel like a deception when Johanna said the words. It felt, instead, incredibly real.
And powerful.
He drew her into his body by their linked hands. He, too, was wearing a dressing gown. The lack of layers separating them meant that all her soft, warm curves spilled against him in the most pleasing fashion.
“Johanna McKenna,” he said softly, his gaze roaming her face, committing it to memory. “You are a special woman. Your gift is not just your beauty or your talent as an actress, but your heart as well.”
He splayed his other, free hand over her chest atop her thumping life-source. Her heart was beating fast. But so was his. Every interaction between them had led to this moment. To this breath. To this touch.
He wanted her so much, he ached with it. Need was a ravaging beast inside him, pulsing through his blood. His cock was hard and he had not kissed her yet.
“Do not say things like that to me,” she returned, squeezing their interlaced fingers. “You will make me fall for you even more, and I already know what is happening between us is not meant to be. It will make the inevitable end so much more difficult.”
Everything within him railed against the notion of an end for them.
Inevitable?
He thought not.
But then, he remembered all the obstacles in their path. The dynamite she had smuggled into England, the connection to Fenians, his duty to the Home Office, the untenable position in which he now found himself, falling beneath the spell of the woman he had been meant to use. And he could not deny what she had said.
“You cannot fall for me any more than I have already fallen for you,” he said instead, the admission torn from him.
Her heart was still beating a rapid staccato against his palm.
Her lips parted as she stared up at him. “You are falling for me? A duke, falling for an actress? Surely such a thing is not done in your society, Felix. Do not give me cause to hope when I cannot. I am not ignorant of the ways of the world. I can warm your bed, but I can never warm your heart.”
“You can,” he insisted, “because you already have.”
“Felix,” she murmured, a protestation.
“Johanna, I want you more than I have ever wanted another woman since my wife.” He stopped and swallowed against the knot of a rising tide of emotions he could not bear to face.
She stared at him, searching his face and his gaze for he knew not what. But whatever she wanted, whatever she needed to know, it was there and it was true. He had meant every word he had spoken.
Tonight had nothing to do with duty or obligation, not with the Home Office, not with Fenians or Drummond McKenna, not a bloody thing to do with dynamite or danger or fear. It was, entirely, about a man and a woman. Felix and Johanna.
And that was all.
“Kiss me,” she demanded.
“With pleasure,” he growled, yanking her the rest of the way into his body.
His lips were on hers as the last syllable left him. She made a sweet sound low in her throat, and then somehow, her hands were in his hair and his were in hers. Heavy, silken strands teased his fingers as he tunneled through her golden curls. His tongue was in her mouth. Hers was writhing against his.
Desire licked through him, running down his spine, settling in his groin. His ballocks were drawn tight, need a steady throb pulsing to life more and more with each kiss, each caress.
Their kiss deepened until it was less an act of wooing and more an act of sinful carnality. They were well-matched in their desperation, their mouths moving as one. Harder. More insistently. Open and hungry. He bit into the lush fullness of her lower lip. She nipped him back.
Their hands were traveling, exploring. He found the loosely tied knot on the belt of her dressing gown, and she seemed to discover his at the same moment. He felt his robe loosening, then gaping as the twain ends of her dressing gown went slack. Needing to see her, he broke the kiss, then watched with awe as he slid the fabric from her shoulders.
It fell away, pooling on the floor.
She was not wearing a nightdress beneath it.
Which meant…
Good Lord. A wave of desire so forceful it almost dragged him to his knees washed over him. She was a miracle of creamy curves. Her breasts were high and full, tipped with hard, pink nipples. Her hips were lush, her legs deliciously bare, bereft of stockings or garters. Golden curls shielded her mound from his view at the apex of her thighs, but he recalled the slick heat of her on his fingers, her sweet taste, and he wanted more.
She had prepared for him, he realized.
She had stripped herself of every piece of her attire save the dressing gown.
And she was glorious. Even more beautiful than he could have imagined—though imagined he had, every night since the first day they had
crossed paths. He did not know which part of her he wanted to worship first. She had a mole, a tantalizing beauty mark, perfectly round, on her right breast. It mesmerized him, and he thought he might begin there.
“Johanna.” Her name was all he could manage to say at first as desire pounded through his veins, hardening his cock. But that was not enough, and it would not do, so he forced more words to come. “You steal my breath.”
Her smile was shy. “Then we are well-matched, for you steal mine as well.”
He shrugged out of his dressing gown, scarcely taking note of it falling to the carpet. All he could think about was her. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her tempting body flush against his. And then they were kissing once more.
But this kiss was different than all the others.
It was wild and furious. Hot and bold. This kiss was an acknowledgment. A promise.
They were moving together, their lips clinging, bodies in tandem toward the bed. They fell onto it together, Felix positioning them so that Johanna lay on her back and he was atop her. Her legs parted for him, and he broke the kiss at last to trail his mouth down her throat.
Her skin was so soft and silken. He lingered over her frantically beating pulse, the evidence she was affected by him every bit as much as he was moved by her. And somehow, the knowledge she should be forbidden to him, that he should not be here now, naked with her in her bed, about to make love to her, only heightened his desire.
He could not get enough of her. His lips traveled over the elegant protrusion of her collarbone and then to the rounded slope of her shoulder. Lower, down the curve of one breast. He placed a kiss on the peak and then whorled his tongue in a circle around her nipple before flicking over it.
She made a throaty sound of approval. He sucked her nipple, running his hand over the dip of her waist, down her hips. Her legs fell open, and his fingers found her wet heat as he traced her seam to the plump bud of her pearl. She was as blissfully responsive there as ever. He teased her with slow, lingering strokes as he sucked on her nipple.
Her body bowed from the bed as he increased the pressure with his fingers and moved to her other breast. He lingered over that tempting beauty mark, kissing it first and then lapping over it with his tongue.
But that was not enough. He had to have more. He kissed down her belly, his palms gliding over her inner thighs to spread them wider. The sight of pink, glistening folds held him riveted. An arrow of heat shot straight to his loins.
“Felix,” she protested, her voice shy.
“Hush,” he soothed, pressing a kiss to each of her inner thighs. “Let me worship you.”
He wanted her surrender. Her bliss. And he was not going to stop until he had both. Because everything in him knew, then and there, that this woman had always been meant to be his.
Nothing could have prepared Johanna for the sensation of Felix’s mouth upon her.
There.
On her most intimate flesh.
He found the center of all her longing with his tongue. She cried out, her fingers finding purchase in the rumpled bedclothes. She grabbed fistfuls and forgot to be ashamed. Forgot to be embarrassed. Forgot anything but this man, his strong hands splayed on her thighs, holding her open for his sensual torture, his mouth moving over her, devouring her…
He fluttered light licks over her pearl. Her hips jerked from the bed. She wanted more. She was on fire, writhing beneath him, unable to keep herself still. She was thrusting, urging him on. Desperate.
And then that wicked tongue of his licked into her. Filled her. Dear God, it was too much. The desire burning inside her heightened. She became aware of every new sensation. The abrasion of his whiskers on her tender flesh. The steady thrust of his tongue inside her again and again. The vibration of his moan of appreciation, which she felt everywhere, all at once.
Just when she thought she could not withstand more, he moved back to the bud of her sex, drawing it into his mouth and sucking upon it as he had done to her nipples. And then he sank one long finger inside her. As he had before, he worked in and out of her, but this time it was more.
This time, the pleasure was almost violent.
Because he was alternating between suckling her and lashing her pearl with his tongue. Long, pulsing licks. The electric nip of his teeth. He added a second finger, and when he curled them within her, he found that special place once more, that place she had not known existed.
And everything splintered.
She came undone. The pleasure inside her was so intense, she could not stifle her cry. Her body trembled beneath the rush of her release. He continued the wicked drive of his fingers and the relentless licks of his tongue as the last shudder subsided.
She was boneless. Weightless. Mindless, too.
He rose over her, and she took a moment to admire his virile masculinity. He was bold and beautiful, his chest broad and firm, his abdomen spare and banded with muscle, his flanks strong. From between his legs jutted his cock, long and thick.
She had scarcely glanced over it earlier before he had put an end to their frenzied embrace in the salon. She wanted to feel him again now. To take him in her hand.
So she did.
He was hot and smooth and firm. She stroked over his flesh, gratified when he jerked into her hand and a moan tore from him.
“Put me inside you,” he told her, his voice low.
The decadent order sent a new frisson of desire straight through her, ending in a steady ache between her thighs. An ache that could only be assuaged in one way. She parted her legs more and guided him to the place where she wanted him most. The first touch of his tip to her entrance was incredible.
They moved together, and in the next breath, he was filling her. One thrust. Hard and delicious. She hummed her satisfaction. He guided her legs around his waist. The sensation was intense. He changed the angle of their bodies and slid deeper inside her.
His handsome face a study in intense restraint, he began moving. Her hands traveled every inch of him. Everywhere she could reach. The taut plane of his abdomen, the walled muscle of his chest, his shoulders, his biceps.
The rhythm he began was slow and exquisite.
Torturous.
“You feel so good,” he told her, wonder lacing his voice.
And she could understand that wonder, because it was unraveling inside her, all around her. Changing her.
She had thought she had experienced lovemaking in her past. But that had been nothing. Felix did not just take, he gave. He claimed her body as if he found her magnificent, as if he paid homage to her, as if her pleasure was the greatest gift.
“You feel wonderful,” she told him past the relentless pounding of her heart, past the increasingly ragged bursts of her breaths as they left her.
“Shall I go slow, darling?” he asked softly.
Darling. He had called her darling. Though it was but a common term of endearment, it crept inside her heart, and there it remained.
“Faster,” she said, raking her nails lightly over his upper arms. “More.”
“Bloody hell, you’ll be the death of me,” he said.
But then he obliged, quickening his pace, moving in and out of her in hard, frenzied strokes. It was good. So good. The pleasure was building inside her again, desire burning to a feverish crescendo.
She moved against him, angling, wanting all of him she could take. He was large, his cock filling her. Stretching her. She was flying then, soaring high. Bursts of pleasure shook her as she spent, arching her back and crying out his name.
Through it all, he kept thrusting. Tremors shook her, her sheath clamped on him, and still he moved, in and out, deeper, harder. He was almost slamming into her now, the ferocity of his thrusts electric. Everywhere they touched, she was on fire. He lowered his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth, and then he bit it.
“Come for me again, Johanna,” he ordered against the curve of her breast. “I want to feel you tighten on my cock. I want to watch
you lose yourself.”
His wicked words had a tremendous effect upon her.
She moaned, feeling herself get slicker, the evidence of her desire pooling beneath her on the bed. The wet sounds of their lovemaking echoed in the quiet of the chamber. She was close, so close, to reaching her pinnacle once more.
She bit her lip, transfixed by the sight of him making love to her. His body was a thing of beauty. It seemed a travesty to her that he was forced to hide it daily beneath so many layers of disguising cloth. She did not think she had ever seen a more beautiful man.
“You are close, aren’t you?” he asked, his baritone a decadent rumble.
He licked her nipple. His fingers found their way between them, to the place where they joined, and then he was working her pearl once more. Stimulating her, circling the painfully sensitive nub.
She was closer than close. Another torturous circle of his fingers over her greedy flesh, and she was lost. She was not just flying. She was shattering. Shattering into a thousand pieces of glittering light. She came so hard she saw stars. She shook beneath him, shook as mindless pleasure overtook her.
“God, Johanna,” he said, his voice tight as he continued to thrust in and out of her. “You are so beautiful. So perfect. I wish I could stay inside your cunny all night.”
And on those wicked words, he withdrew suddenly from her body, grasping his cock as he spent into the bedclothes at her side.
Chapter Twelve
Felix woke to find himself in an unfamiliar chamber for the second night in a row. But this morning, unlike the last, he awoke to a warm, lush body curved against his. To the sweet, musky scent of lovemaking mingling with rose petals and orange. To Johanna McKenna, the woman who should have been his enemy. Formerly Rose Beaumont. Keeper of secrets. Golden-haired siren. Legend of the stage.
His.
For now, taunted a voice deep inside him.
She had burrowed near to him in the midst of the night, probably sometime after their second round of lovemaking. He had not left after the first time, reluctant to leave her side. And he had been heartily glad for his decision when she had woken him with a kiss.
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