Page 53 of Bad Luck Bride (Scandal at the Savoy #3)

He watched the color wash up her neck and into her face, telling him his words were having an effect, and when her lips parted, he decided to push his luck a little further.

“I remember all the times we snuck out of some ball or party, how we talked and laughed.” He lifted his hand again, cupping her cheek, caressing the plump curve of her lower lip with his thumb. “All the times we kissed.”

She was as pink as a peony now, and he pushed on.

“I remember Birmingham,” he said, his voice unsteady to his own ears, “and that inn where we stayed. I remember watching you take down your hair and how it looked like liquid copper in the firelight. I remember your silhouette behind that screen as you changed into a nightgown—the fullness of your breasts, the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips—and I remember that it took every shred of willpower I possessed not to fling the damn screen aside, haul you into my arms, and make love to you right then and there. I remember heartily cursing myself for doing the noble thing and sleeping on the floor because we weren’t married yet, and I remember the torture of lying there in the dark with you so close by and me with raw, unrequited lust coursing through every cell of my body.

Hell,” he added with a hoarse laugh, “it’s hard not to remember all that, since it’s precisely what I’m feeling right now. ”

Her breath was coming faster now, quick little puffs against his thumb, and though he knew making love to her with words was a tactic that seemed to be working, he also knew that he was at the brink.

He wrenched his hand away, and when he took a step away from her, it felt as if he were ripping himself in two.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “We should go back.”

“Yes,” she agreed in a whisper. “But then…” She paused and looked at him, and something in her eyes made him fear that all his efforts to be noble were about to be absolutely shredded. “When have we ever done what we should?”

He didn’t know quite who moved first, but suddenly, the clipboard between them was clattering to the floor along with her handbag, and she was in his arms. As his hands pressed into her back to pull her even closer, she rose on her toes, and then, to his stunned surprise, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

At the touch of her mouth, all his resolutions about courtship seemed absurd. His arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and his other hand cupped her cheek.

Her skin was soft and warm, her lips were like velvet, but it wasn’t enough. He slid his hand to the nape of her neck and opened his mouth against hers to deepen the kiss. When her lips parted in surrender, the soft moan she made into his mouth sent his desire rising even higher.

Kay , he thought in joyous agony. Kay .

His tongue entered her mouth, and he tasted deeply of her as he slid his free hand up her ribs to brush the side of her breast. He lingered there, but the hard whalebone rigidity of her corset stood in the way of any possible explorations there, and he moved his hand down again, over her waist to her hip.

The scent of gardenias filled his head, desire was coursing through his body like a flood, and his heart was thudding so hard, he thought it would come right out of his chest.

He dipped at the knees, pressing his hips to hers, and the pleasure was so sharp, so exquisite, he tore his lips from hers with a groan. Fighting to stay on his feet, he rocked against her, relishing the low moan she made in response.

He pulled back again, but only to grasp her skirts, pulling them upward to get his hand beneath.

She made a faint sound that might have been a protest, and he froze, waiting in an agony of tension, but when she said nothing and didn’t push him away, he moved again, gliding his hand slowly up her thigh as he tilted his head, to press kisses along her jaw to her ear.

Then, slowly, giving her plenty of time to object if she chose, he eased his hand between her thighs.

She gave a shuddering gasp, and he kissed her, capturing the sound in his mouth as he slid his fingers inside the slit of her drawers.

All those years ago, they’d never gone this far, and as he touched the soft, slick wetness of her, the pleasure was so great, he almost sank to his knees.

He caressed the crease of her sex, and he relished the low, soft sounds she made in response. As her breathing quickened to desperate pants and her hips worked frantically against his hand, he knew she was nearing climax, and once again, he used words to arouse her further.

“You’re close,” he murmured, delicately caressing her clitoris with his thumb. “So close, my love. Let it happen. Come for me. Come.”

And then she did, giving a sharp, keening cry that was like the sweetest music he’d ever heard.

Again and again, her muscles clenched hard around his hand as he continued to caress her, wringing the last few spasms of pleasure from her.

Then she collapsed, panting, her knees buckling beneath her.

He caught her, pulling his hand from beneath her skirts and wrapping both arms around her waist, holding her tight against him.

He was painfully aware of his own throbbing need, but this wasn’t the way to sate it. Not like this. Not in an empty hotel, against a wall. The way was courtship and romance, culminating in a big wedding for everyone in society to see. That was what she wanted, and he intended to give it to her.

Hat askew, loosened tendrils of red-gold hair falling around her face, she looked deliciously rumpled.

She stared up at him with those strange, magical eyes of hers, reminding him of that first night when he’d asked her to dance.

As if… as if he was her hero. And he almost wanted to laugh, because right now, with lust coursing through every cell of his body, he felt anything but heroic.

“Why did you stop?” she panted.

“Because we can’t.” He pressed a quick kiss to her mouth and stepped back, forcing himself to let her go. “Not now. Not like this.”

He turned abruptly away. “I’ll wait for you in the carriage,” he said. And then, as he had done so many times when they were young, he turned away from her with his body on fire.

“But for God’s sake, Kay,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away, “give me a minute or two before you come down. Or I really don’t know what might happen.”

He started down the stairs, and he didn’t look back. Because he knew that if he turned, if he looked at her again, with her rumpled skirts and wide eyes and just-kissed lips, the honorable courtship he’d embarked upon a few weeks ago would be nothing more than a bad joke.

He crossed the empty lobby and walked out the front door, into the warm afternoon sun. Leaning his back against the brick wall beside the door, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply of the sultry summer air, working to contain his lust, just as he had when he was a lad of twenty.

No wonder he’d wanted to elope all those years ago. Courtship, he thought caustically, was a hellish business.