“Boring, slow, terrible, dry, lovemaking,” Josie replied. She raised a brow in challenge.
He flashed a grin. “You lack imagination,” he purred.
“Thank you,” Josie replied, her voice high and squeaky, surprised she could speak at all when his tone had made her head light and her knees go weak simultaneously. She sucked in a breath, fighting through the fog in her mind for a response. “I consider imagination for children. Adults must use logic.” She had to tear her gaze away from him. She began pulling books from the shelves and stacking them on the table to occupy her hands.
“I suggest you expand your mind with a bit of Sir Walter Scott,” Josie suggested, the word lovemaking rotating in her mind like a creaking windmill that wouldn’t go ignored.
“Reading can be fun, you know. Have you read Thomas Peacock?” he asked.
Ugh, she wanted to groan. She loathed Thomas Peacock. The mere mention of his name brought all her senses back to her.
“Yes. Roderick is quite fond of his satiric material.”
He chuckled. “As am I.”
“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” she replied, dryly.
“But I’d have to say my favorite, you’ll be happy to hear, is a work of Shakespeare.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“The Taming of the Shrew.”
She narrowed her eyes at him as she slammed more books on the pile and swept them into her arms, stalking to the bookshelf to put them back. All too aware how ridiculous she looked since she’d only just pulled them a moment ago. She was about to call his bluff about hearing someone coming when someone cleared her throat.
Jeanie stood in the doorway.
“Miss Jeanette, do join us. Your sister is trying to reform me,” Patrick said.
“She does that to everyone,” Jeanie replied as she stepped into the library.
“Everyone can use improving,” Josie murmured as she skimmed through a book, her cheeks burning and her heart beating so hard it might leap out of her.
“Especially me,” Patrick said.
“I’d have to agree,” Josie retorted. She peeked at Jeanie through her lashes. Jeanie was watching her closely. Josie’s stomach leapt to her throat. She’d never get away with her experiment if Jeanie found out her plans. She’d demand Josie marry him, and when Josie refused, Jeanie would go straight to Anne and then their father to force the issue.
“I came here to ask if you knew where Georgie was?” Jeanie asked.
Josie made a noncommittal grunt.
“She said no,” Patrick said. “I’ve grown fluent in Josette in just a few days’ time.” He winked at Jeanie.
Jeanie muttered something, but Josie couldn’t hear it through the gallop of her pulse in her ears.
Patrick frowned. “I beg your pardon? I didn’t catch that.”
Jeanie cleared her throat. “I said good day, my lord.”
And then she left them.
Josie closed the book and fell back against the bookshelf, her knees nearly giving out.
Patrick let out a sigh and after circling the table, he went and peered into the hall before closing the door and locking it.
“That was close.”
Chapter 10
Josie drifted to the table, resting her hands on the back of the chair, her back to him. The air moved, the fine hairs on her neck standing on end as he approached, tapping her shoulder. She turned, sidestepping to brace her hands on the table behind her. She couldn’t catch her breath. She’d never felt this out of control and it frightened her.
But his steady gaze settled the whirlwind of her panicked thoughts. He lightly dragged his knuckles down her cheek. She could feel her body melting, as if her core properties were changing, a chemical reaction, compound hissing, transforming, heat building, and now she was something else, hotter, liquid.
His hand pressed into the middle of her back and brought her against his wide muscular chest. He moved so slowly, maybe knowing she might startle like a doe or combust at any moment from this potent mixture inside her.
“Your skin is so soft, like down feathers.”
She swallowed. “Is it?”
His lips twitched, his face so close she could only focus on one part of him. It happened to be his lips. Like his body, he had a wide, strong mouth, his lips not overly full but not too thin either. She’d never taken much notice of a man’s lips before, but then again, she’d never been kissed, but now that kiss was fast approaching on the horizon. She licked her own lips.
Her mouth felt dry, her tongue papery and thick and not at all kissable. She wouldn’t have thought tongues were involved in kisses, but according to the book in her pocket, kissing with tongues was how souls connected. It sounded like rubbish, but then again, here he was about to kiss her, her body transforming into something she couldn’t recognize, heat and sparks shooting off inside her. So what did she know?
Well, soon she would know. Here was her first practical lesson.
“Just do it already,” she whispered.
He chuckled. “Impatient are we?”
She could feel his laughter through her chest, a peculiar sensation that was quite pleasant. Everything he did was. She should stop talking and just let the moment happen, no matter how much she wanted to question and analyze.
She bit her lip to keep from speaking.
“No, don’t do that now. It makes me think you’re nervous. And you couldn’t be nervous. This is, after all, a non-emotional, purely academic experience, and we are only two scientists, exploring the nature of humans and their fickle”—with his thumb he pulled her lip free of her teeth—“animal natures.” His voice had deepened.
She closed her eyes, lulled by the rich timbre that she could hear and now feel against her breasts. Her nipples tingled as they furled into buds, and excitement raced along her nerves.
He cradled her jaw with his two large hands, his thumbs bracketing her chin, his long fingers stretching all the way into her hair. His breath fanned her lips. He was so close now she might erupt like a volcano of anticipation.
His lips touched hers, and everything that was stirred up inside her quieted, going to ground to await what would happen next. The anxious twitters that filled her stomach settled and new sensations were born, less corporeal and far more intoxicating.
His lips melded to hers, soft and mobile, and so like him, strong and confident. Molding to hers without the slightest hesitation, bold sweeping brushes and full kisses where their lips pressed together, and she couldn’t feel where hers ended and his began.
The silent embers rustled inside her, stirred by a breeze of passion. He applied more pressure and then…
“Open your mouth,” he said, right against her lips.
She opened her eyes, peeking at him. He was too close, a blur of features, but his eyes were closed, and it felt wrong to stare at him. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth slightly. He kissed her, opened farther, coaxing and pressing.
His hands moved along her back, the edge of the table pressing into her bottom as he leaned into her, over her. She resisted falling back and instead came up to her toes, and her tepid hands, until now resting benignly on his shoulders, slid up to his neck and she laced her fingers. The soft hairs there tickled her hands, and she was tempted to tangle her fingers in them. Why be tempted when she could touch? She unlocked her fingers and explored the back of his head, his thick soft strands sliding though her fingers.
Heavenly.
She opened her mouth farther, and she felt the tenderest touch of his tongue, velvety, warm, not overly wet. He slid into her mouth, steady and sure, gliding along her tongue, exploring the taste of her, the inner flesh of her lips.
Mystified and curious, Josie copied him. Kissing was, after all, the joining of two souls and encouraged the participation of both, according to the book. She could not be passive in this experiment and nor did she want to be. Every new sensation was like a brilliant idea, a spark of wonder and then rabid interest.
>
She wanted to catalogue each thrill, the firm press of his chest to hers, the answering titillating shivers of her body, the caress of his hands in her hair, the warm, needy, storm inside her.
And the most stimulating of all, the building intensity of their kiss. She was infused with arousal. Every touch, from the grip of his hands to the burgeoning heat between them, was fuel to a fire inside her that grew unchecked, swirling and churning, a building inferno.
Her breathing came in heavy pants, but she could not break free from him. She didn’t want to. These were the most glorious feelings she’d ever had, her heart pumping with wild glee, her nerves dancing in heathen delight.
His tongue thrust into her mouth, over and over, his hands digging into her hair, scattering pins. She answered his thrusts, stroke for stroke, arching into the hard planes of his body, building new fires to add to the greedy maelstrom inside her core. She couldn’t name everything happening, but she wanted to hook her ankle around his leg, to be closer to him, to feel more, to push more.
He leaned into her, laying her back on the table, one hand coming to her hip to lift her until she sat on the edge. Through her dress, he found the bend in her knee and lifted it to his hip.
His weight loomed over her, pressing her into the table in a delicious war of hard and soft. She had no idea passion would be so tactile. But every sensation was its own chord in an elaborate composition, some light like the tinkling of a pianoforte, others heavy, thrumming notes from a cello and drum.
Her heart was now a drum, her blood a torrent river, filling her veins with tingling heat. He broke the kiss, and Josie gulped in her first full breath. He dragged his mouth down her throat, licking her skin, and she even felt the slight nip of his teeth. Goose bumps erupted over her skin, and she felt a tug low in her body, new sensations centered at the apex of her thighs. She arched her neck, the caress of his mouth both ticklish and demanding, the raw scrape of his stubble adding an edge that melted her core.
She couldn’t be still. Her body demanded she move, squirming, undulating, begging for more.
“We should stop,” he said, his voiced ragged.
He pressed his forehead to her upper chest, his breath fanning over the tops of her breasts, yet another onslaught to her senses. It was almost too much, an overload of sensation, her nerves stretched so taut they might snap, and she didn’t know what would happen then. She didn’t know where this experiment ended.
“Not yet, just…a little more,” she panted.
This couldn’t be over. She was flying, her body buzzing with strange magic.
“I… All right. I’m in control.”
He didn’t sound like it; he sounded out of breath, his tone strained.
For some reason, it thrilled her. She felt powerful, womanly—an entirely new identity for her. She was used to presenting herself with her mind first, focusing all attention directed her way to her thoughts and opinions. She’d never given much thought to her feminine self, to her vanity.
Until now.
She gloried in the way his chest pressed her breasts up, making them fuller, and she craved the weight of his groin against hers.
She gasped, squirming. His mouth continued its sweet torture, skating over the swells of her breasts, and nestled into her softness was his engorged manhood. Even through the bunched fabric of her clothing she could feel him, as equally large and hard as the rest of him. She quivered all the way to her quick, her hips cradling the evidence that he was just as lost as she. This passion out of control, this experiment moving too quickly.
But she couldn’t stop. She was a runaway carriage, careening down a path with blind curves.
Dangerous, that’s what this was. Very well, maybe they should stop, her desire-drunken mind tried to reason, but the clamoring of her body was louder.
His hand slipped under her skirts and back to the knee hooked to his hip. His long fingers tickled the outer skin of her thigh, toying with the ribbon that held her garter. It loosened and he crooked a finger in the edge of her stocking and pulled it down. Her leg was bared to the room as he pushed up her skirts to slide off her stocking. With his teeth, he tugged at the edge of her bodice. This would have shocked her, but he’d also adjusted his hips, and he now met the frantic squirming of her hips with his grinding in answer.
Her bodice refused to budge. It would not concede an inch without loosening the back.
His mouth returned to hers, stealing her breath, hungry to claim her. He kissed her roughly and Josie would not be conquered in such a way. She dug her nails into his scalp, not to hurt him but to express her own ability to be rough, to take from him as much as he could from her. She kissed him back with all the wantonness she could muster, her tongue tangling with his, her hands holding his head to hers lest he thought he could control her.
She would not be controlled by any man, not in this, not in anything.
He groaned, thrusting his hips to hers, and Josie lifted hers in answer, the friction so exquisitely maddening she lost her breath. He fumbled with her skirts, clearing some of the bulk from between them, but then he stopped, breaking the kiss, leaving her gasping for breath and quivering with acute need.
He covered her legs with her skirts, his eyes wild as he backed up a step and grabbed her wrists, removing her hands from his hair.
“What are you doing?” Josie asked, disgruntled. Her body ached deeply; she almost winced. There was a fever pounding in her blood, demanding release from the cage of her body.
“This is madness,” he said, tugging her off her back.
She slid off the edge of the table to her feet, blinking in confusion.
His breathing heavy, he let go of her wrists and fisted his hands on his hips.
Josie took in his appearance, hair in disarray from her busy hands, coat wrinkled, cravat askew. And most intriguing of all, the evidence of his own tortured state. The long protruding bulk in his tight pantaloons. She bit her lip, yanking her gaze away.
Yes, dangerous.
She wanted to know more. Wanted to explore all these feelings and his body.
He combed his fingers through his hair, turning away.
Josie righted her dress, but she’d lost part of her clothing.
“I won’t continue this experiment of yours without some promises.”
“What?” Josie asked, looking over the floor for her missing stocking. “My experiment hasn’t been concluded yet.”
“We can’t continue like this. I almost… I don’t think you realize the danger we’re courting. I could have bedded you just now. Thank God I had some good reasoning left.” He scrubbed his hands over his face.
Josie huffed in annoyance. Damn his good reasoning. She wasn’t done. Lust still colored her vision. She wanted more; she wanted to know it all. But he was frightened.
“What do you mean, promises? I told you this is purely academic. You promised self-control and you exerted it. I don’t see the issue.”
He scoffed. “I should marry you for what just occurred. You said a kiss. That was far more than a kiss.”
Josie shrugged, faking her nonchalance. It was, and she was addicted to whatever that was. “I already stated I won’t marry you, so don’t bother pressuring me on that front. Where is my stocking?”
He scowled at her. “You’ve a twisted sense of academia.”
She folded her arms. “All great discoveries must involve risk.”
“This is not merely academic. You feel just as strongly as I do. I can feel it, Josie. You can’t hide your desire for me.” He stalked toward her.
“It’s just desire.” Her voice wavered, but this scowling brooding version of him did things to her stomach, now heavy with unmet desire. Her body tingled in awareness of him, as if he were the hunter and she the prey, but she wanted to be caught and devoured.
All those lovely sensations were so close to the surface, eager to resume the dance they’d begun.
“Are you afraid you can’t control yourself, my lord
?”
“You’ll call me Patrick when we’re alone. I deserve that much. If I’m to be your subject of study while you twist my heart and jewels in your torture device, I deserve that much. I’m a man, Josie. I’ve been clear about what I want.”
She lifted her chin. “So have I.” But she saw the pain in his eyes and a tinge of regret blunted her arousal.
“I didn’t expect to feel this strongly,” he admitted.
“I didn’t intend for things to move that far that quickly.”
“We have to be careful.”
“I agree.”
“My feelings haven’t changed. My offer will always stand, and I intend to win you.”
Why did he have to do that? Now she’d feel badly about breaking his heart. “That isn’t my fault.”
“I just want you to know, in case you change your mind.”
“I won’t. And no matter how far these experiments go, I won’t. So if you can’t continue, to see this through to the end, then I’ll find someone who will,” she lied. She never wanted to do that with anyone but him.
“The hell you will.” He stood in front of her, his tone bitter. “I won’t allow another man to kiss you.”
“It’s not your choice whom I kiss.”
“You truly feel nothing for me?”
Her heart gave a little pang. The fool thing wanted to belong to him. She swallowed. “I was feeling a great deal until you stopped.”
“I won’t bed you, not unless you agree to marry. I have honor, Josie. I also have a heart. Men feel too.”
“If you can’t do this with me—”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You do,” she implored. This whole experiment was about choice. Hers and his. Why couldn’t he see that?
“No. I can’t let someone take my place, not without a fight.”
Josie was speechless. “No one must fight. It’s… It’s academic.” The word felt cumbersome on her tongue, like a lie she didn’t want to tell.
“You can lie to yourself all you want, but I won’t lie to you.” He pivoted and strode away.
The Five Second Rule For Kissing: The Northumberland Nine Series Page 8