Page 15 of An Earl Like You (Games Earls Play #6)

He’d meant to chastise her, to talk some sense into both of them, but his low, hoarse voice sounded like a caress, and she was so close, and somehow, despite every promise he’d made to himself, against reason and logic and every one of his better angels, he gave in to the moment, cradled her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers.

She made a soft sound, a sigh, a warm puff of breath against his lips, but she didn’t draw away from him. He told himself to release her, but it was already too late for that.

It was madness, the risk they were taking, but now he had her in his arms, he couldn’t let her go.

It was a shy kiss, a hesitant one, the kiss of an innocent, but the moment her soft lips touched his he was desperate for her, lost to her, every inch of him shuddering into aching awareness.

He eased her closer and opened his mouth over hers. A soft whimper left her throat, but she didn’t pull away from him. Instead, her lips met his in a shy caress that set his blood on fire.

There wasn’t a hint of resistance in her kiss. Her mouth went soft and pliant against his, and God, she was sweet, the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Had he known she would be? Hadn’t he known, somehow, that as soon as he tasted her, he’d never be able to get enough of her?

He brushed his tongue against the seam of her lips, coaxing her to open for him, to give him everything.

Her hands flew to his chest, her fingers curling into his waistcoat, and he couldn’t keep himself from sliding his hands into the silky hair at the back of her neck. He drew her tighter against him, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he darted his tongue over the delicious curve of her lower lip.

Anyone might have stumbled upon them—even now the echo of footsteps and the faint strains of laughter reached them in their tiny, wooded alcove—but God help him, he couldn’t make himself release her. Not yet, not when she was sighing for him, and the scent of lilacs was swimming in his head.

Nothing in the world could have made him release her.

As if in a dream he watched his hands slide around her waist, urging her closer, closer, until the tempting curve of her thighs was pressed against his pantaloons.

Did she feel it, too? This desire pulsing between them?

Twelve years had passed, but the connection between them was as strong as it had ever been.

Stronger, even, because there was no childlike innocence there, now.

What had once been a sweet friendship had given way to something more, something deeper.

She hesitated for an instant, her soft, panting breaths fanning against his damp lips, and he forced himself to be still, to let her decide, but he couldn’t restrain his growl of satisfaction when she traced his lower lip with a delicate stroke of her tongue, then pressed closer to meet him in a kiss that left him panting for breath.

“Hattie…” His voice was so guttural he hardly recognized it as his own.

She was bewitching him with every brush of her mouth against his.

Her arms slid around his neck, her fingers sinking into his hair and her body pressing closer until her breasts were crushed against his chest, and he…

God help him, but he was ready to devour her.

Over a kiss. Just a kiss. He was no green lad who’d never known a woman’s kiss.

He’d kissed dozens of ladies, but it had never been like this.

How could it be? None of them had been her .

Her scent, sunshine and grass and a faint hint of honeysuckle, the sweet curves of her body, her plump lips and tempting tongue…

She was driving him mad.

He trailed his fingertip down her cheek, pausing to caress her pouting lower lip and traced the smooth, pale skin of her neck before dropping a soft kiss in the shallow hollow at the base of her throat, tasting the wild flutter of her pulse against his tongue.

“You’re beautiful, Hattie. You’ve always been beautiful.”

“No, I?—”

“Yes, you are.” He pressed a finger to her lips, hushing her. “You are, Hattie.”

He had no business touching her like this. He’d taken far too many liberties already, but releasing her now, while she was looking up at him with those half-lidded, sleepy blue eyes was impossible.

“Come here.” Gently he turned them so her back was resting against the silvery trunk of a lilac tree. A shower of lilac petals fell around her, and she looked like a flower herself standing amongst the pale purple blooms, the filtered sunlight catching the strands of gold in her hair.

He traced the edge of the dainty lace fichu she’d tucked into her bodice, his fingers moving slowly back and forth, his eyes dropping closed for an instant at the hint of warmth from her skin.

He searched her face for any hint of reluctance, but there was nothing but heat in those lovely blue depths. “May I, Hattie?”

Her lips parted, her chest moving in quick panting breaths. “Yes.”

No hesitation, and no doubt.

He eased the bit of lace aside, his breath quickening when the bare skin of her neck and throat was revealed. “So lovely. So pale and fine.”

He traced the delicate line of her neck with one reverent finger, closing his eyes at the sensation of her smooth skin sliding against his fingertips.

And dear God, he was greedy, because he wanted more of her.

All of her.

But he paused when he reached the edge of her bodice, his gaze meeting hers. She was an innocent young lady, and he wouldn’t frighten her for the world. “May I touch you here?”

Her eyes darkened to two twin pools of deep sapphire. She didn’t answer with words, but took his hand and, holding his gaze, brought it to the edge of her bodice. Her skin was flushed, and underneath the filmy, pale blue linen of her bodice her nipples had gone tight.

She was a vision with the flush blooming on her pale skin and those blue eyes, her full lower lip caught in her teeth, and he’d never been good at practicing restraint.

But he would. For her, he would. He’d do anything for her.

He let his fingers wander over the pretty band of darker blue ribbon around her neckline and down the impossibly soft skin of her throat, and then, slowly…slowly, he reached for her, cupping her breasts in his palms.

Perfect . The breathless sigh that fell from her lips when he touched her, the flood of pink across the pale skin of her chest, the soft roundness of her cradled in his hands…

perfection. Her nipples were hard for him, the stiff peaks pressing into his palms, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

He’d never seen anything as lovely as her. She was a gift made for him alone.

But nothing had changed. She was everything that was good and true, and he…well, he was the Earl of Windham.

Arrogant, wicked, debauched. A villain, just as his father had been.

But like his father he was selfish, and he couldn’t let her go any more than he could make his lungs cease to draw breath or force his heart to stop beating.

He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, smothering a groan when she parted for him, and a hint of dampness lingered there.

If a man could die of desire, then Hattie Parrish was going to be the end of him.

But this was a garden party, and there were dozens of people wandering about just on the other side of the lilac tree, any one of whom might turn the corner at any moment and see?—

They were in Lady Farthingale’s garden.

Dear God, had he lost his mind? If anyone had seen them duck into this alcove, or had noticed their prolonged absence, Hattie’s reputation would be irreparably ruined.

And that…no. That couldn’t happen.

“Hattie. Look at me.” He caught her chin between his fingers and raised her face to his. “We shouldn’t…we’ll be missed soon. I need to take you back to Lady Fosberry.”

She gazed up at him, the haze of desire slowly fading from her eyes. “Yes, I…yes, of course we…we should return at once.”

But they didn’t return to Lady Fosberry. Not right away. They remained as they were, with his arms around her and her hands resting on his chest, alone in a lilac-scented cocoon, the birds fluttering their wings as they sipped nectar from the blossoms.