Page 23 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

G ood lord, how could she have forgotten?

No one but Nate kissed like this. Enthusiasm and care.

She could feel the hunger in him, the desperate need, but also the way he held himself back for her sake.

He touched her face softly, a barely-there caress while his lips moved over hers.

Then his tongue pushed forward, only to pull back.

Forward and back, penetrating a little bit more each time.

She sank into the experience. How could she not? He’d given her her first real kiss, her first sensual touch, her first in so many things. But with ten years of time between this time and the last, she wanted to know how he had changed. How she had changed. And how much was exactly the same.

Arousal. Pure, sweet, hungry need for touch.

She’d suppressed it over the years, but now it hit her harder than before.

It said, This. This is what she needed. This is what had been missing from her life for ten bleak years.

No one touched her anymore, not even her maid who always had a layer of clothing between her fingers and Rebecca’s body.

His fingers skimmed along her jaw and down her neck. How sensitive he made her. Suddenly she was aware of not just his fingers but the weight of the blanket over her knees, the rough texture of her nightrail, and the heated press of his arm against hers.

His tongue probed against her mouth, and she stretched to meet him. Tongue to tongue, she’d never had to think about such things when she was sixteen. She’d just kissed. But now she doubted herself. She shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t have let him into her bedroom.

She had such bad judgement.

And yet, those thoughts were soon buried beneath the sensations— his sensations. His scent, now mixed with Bay Rum and London coal dust. Different, and yet undeniably him. His caress, so gentle, even as he seemed to tremble with need. And his sigh as he forced himself back.

That she remembered so clearly. Every time he pulled back, it was as if he had to force himself away from her.

How many times had she heard that sigh from him when they were kids?

When he stopped what he was doing, only to hover on the precipice of starting again.

Could he pull himself away or steal another kiss, another touch?

She answered the question for him. When he began to draw back, she lurched forward. She grabbed his arm and drew him to her. She fused her lips to his, she thrust her tongue in his mouth, and she did everything possible to keep him with her.

She didn’t say the words. Don’t stop! echoed in her mind and her body.

She didn’t need to say them because he knew what she wanted. He’d always known. And when she grabbed his hand and set it to her breast, he cupped her as he always had. Reverence and strength. He never hurt her, but the way he shaped her set her body on fire.

How had she gone ten years without feeling this?

Don’t stop!

He pulled back from their kisses. His breath was ragged. Hers was non-existent. Not with him brushing her nightrail aside. Not with his fingers on her flesh as he bared her shoulder and then her breast.

Her head dropped back, her body trembling beneath the onslaught of sensation.

His hand cupped her naked breast, his fingers pulling at her nipple. And then she felt his mouth on her chest. A kiss. A lave with his tongue.

Don’t stop!

She arched into his hold. And when his tongue coiled about her taut nipple, a sob of relief rasped through her constricted throat.

He paused, lifting his head to look at her. Her eyes flew open, and their gazes met.

Don’t stop!

“Becca?”

Don’t stop!

“Are you crying?”

What?

She swallowed as she pressed a hand to her cheeks, wiping away the wetness there.

“No,” she gasped. Then steadier. “No. Of course not.”

He gently withdrew from her body.

No!

He reset her nightgown and fastened buttons that she hadn’t bothered with.

Don’t stop!

“Becca,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Part of her wanted to leave the fault with him. Let him take the blame. But she’d never been one to hide from her own mistakes. “My fault,” she whispered.

“No.” His tone was decisive. “There is no fault. We kissed. I’m sure you’ve kissed dozens of men by now. It’s something that happens between men and women. But we’ve stopped now. No harm done.”

No harm done? How could she say that? Ten years of suppressing those memories, ten years of forgetting those needs—all gone now.

She remembered. Her body remembered. How could she ever forget again, while her heart still beat hard and fast?

When her skin still felt on fire and her breasts… oh how they ached for him.

No harm done? She’d never be able to forget again! How could she go back to her sterile life now? How could she pass another day, another week, another life without his touch?

Damn it! He’d made her remember! And that made her mad.

“Get out, Nate,” she said, the words coming out harder than she intended.

“Becca—”

“Go! Before I scream and bring the whole house running.”

His eyes hardened. “Never make idle threats.”

“I’m not.” Except, of course, she was. She’d never do that to him.

And damn it, he knew it. He reached out to caress her cheek again. Her skin tingled in anticipation, but he never connected. He held himself back and she nearly cried at his restraint.

“It always seems to go wrong with us,” he whispered. “I don’t know why.”

“Because I’m an idiot.” Because she let him. And he was a man to take what was offered.

No wait. That was a lie. In all their time together—now and at sixteen—he was the one who’d always stopped. Not her. Not ever. Always him.

“You never used to say that,” he whispered. “You never used to think that!”

What?

“You’ve called me an idiot, rightly so. You’ve pointed out so many wrong things in the world and called them idiotic. But you never turned it on yourself.”

“Teenagers always think they’re smarter than they are.”

“But you are smart. You’re brilliant.”

She swallowed, tears flooding her eyes. She’d forgotten that too, the way he looked at her in shock and surprise whenever she said something smart.

But that was only at the beginning, when the vicar had first put them together.

It hadn’t taken long before he accepted her intelligence.

Though, truth be told, she’d always tried to surprise him.

She loved the way his eyes widened and then he’d give her this big grin and call her brilliant.

He liked that she was smart. But he didn’t like what she was doing now, when she looked down at her hands and felt ashamed. “You always muddle my head.”

“That’s fair,” he said. “You always muddle mine.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Her emotions were running hither thither. Anger, fear, lust, shame. What were the seven deadly sins? Was she experiencing all of them at once?

“Say you’ll come on Thursday. Promise me you’ll be there,” he said.

She nodded. “I promise.”

“Good.” Then he hesitated and she wondered if he would kiss her one more time.

Please.

He did not. He pulled back and headed toward the window. He made quick work of opening it before grabbing the rope that still dangled outside, but she could see that his movements were rough. He limped and his ribs obviously ached.

“How long since your attack?”

He glanced back at her. “A couple weeks. Why?”

“Not enough time to heal broken ribs.”

“This?” he chuckled. “This is nothing. I’ve suffered worse, I promise you.”

She narrowed her eyes. More important, she pushed to her feet, wrapping the blanket around her as she moved. “Don’t lie to me, Nate. After everything, I cannot abide it.”

“After what everything?” he asked.

She shook her head, refusing to answer, mostly because she didn’t know what she meant. After the last decade of grief and self-doubt? After finally waking up from a decade of numbness?

“Nate!” she huffed. “Don’t lie. How bad are your ribs?”

His expression softened. “I really have had worse,” he said gently. “But only once and that was…” He grimaced. “That was bad. This…” He gestured to his ribs. “They ache. My feet are swollen, and every step reminds me that I just want to lie down.”

“Nate! You shouldn’t—”

“Yes, I should have.” His voice was emphatic. “I’ve wanted to talk with you for ten years. Nothing was going to stop me tonight. Certainly not a few bruises.”

“But they’re more than bruises,” she said.

“I’ll be careful. But don’t expect me to do much standing. The lending library is a place to sit and put one’s feet up.”

She snorted. “You sound like you’ve been there before when I know you haven’t. You probably don’t even know where it is.”

He rattled off the address while flashing her a cheeky grin. “Thursday morning, Becca. Don’t be late.”

As if she was the one who was ever late.

He pressed his fingers to his lips and blew her a rakish kiss. Then he gripped the rope and swung himself out, just as if he were a pirate. She rushed to the window, afraid to see if he’d fallen, but of course he hadn’t.

Actually, she couldn’t find him anywhere below. Then she heard a noise above her. Twisting around, she saw him climb the last few feet before disappearing onto her roof. She listened hard but didn’t hear a single footfall.

In the end, she dropped down on her bed, thinking through everything that had just happened. Her body still hummed, her breasts were achingly tight. But more surprising still was the soft smile that curved her lips.

Lips he had kissed. Breasts he had touched. Well, one breast. And how her womb trembled, her private area hot and wet. She remembered this feeling. Remembered, too, what her family would say if they knew what she had been doing and with whom.

It was an exact repeat of how she’d felt when she was sixteen and Nate had taken her into the barn or the forest or up in his favorite tree.

She’d spent the last ten years suppressing those memories, telling herself they weren’t as wonderful as she remembered or that she’d been wrong to indulge such things.

And now she’d done it again. Was she wrong? Was she wandering down the same disastrous path she’d walked so blithely when she was sixteen? Good God, would she never learn?

Apparently not, because as she climbed into bed, she felt the rasp of fabric against her sensitized skin. She felt his hands on her breast, his mouth on hers, and his tongue thrusting in and out.

Oh God, she didn’t regret what had happened this night. She couldn’t. Because she desperately wanted to do it again. That and so much more.

Bloody hell.

She needed to get married. She needed to experience these things with her husband in their marriage bed.

It couldn’t be with Nate, obviously. Setting aside her family’s objection—and they would object loudly—marrying him would mean a life of constant worry.

She’d heard from Fletcher how he lived. Feckless, reckless, and not a penny to his name.

She’d seen nothing to contradict that, but still, she wondered.

She knew Fletcher would paint him in the worst possible light.

Could Nate have some secret occupation? The idea was ludicrous.

Why would he keep it secret? But he’d had to survive somehow these last ten years. Fashionable clothing didn’t come cheap.

Either way, she had no reason to believe he could support her or their children in any substantive way. They could live on her dower property, but would he want to seclude himself in Cornwall for the rest of his life? Would she?

No. Which meant Nate was out. The baron was definitely out. And she…

Well, she’d just have to find someone else who would work. Maybe at tomorrow night’s ball.

But first, she needed to rest. And then, first thing tomorrow, she’d head for the lending library.