Lord of Wicked Intentions(Lost Lords of Pembrook,Book 3)(63) by Lorraine Heath
Children. Damnation! He’d brought sheaths with which to cover himself, to ensure he didn’t give her the children out of wedlock that she didn’t want, but they remained in his jacket. He should return for them but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her at that moment.
He skimmed his hands over her, parted her thighs, felt the molten heat, and realized she was anticipating what was to come. He’d done so little, yet she was ready. Her moans and sighs echoed around him.
Her hands skimmed through his hair, and he groaned with the sensation of her scraping her nails over his scalp. Stop her, stop her. But he didn’t. One minute more. But it wasn’t long enough. When had time become so short? Why did it encompass an eternity when he wasn’t with her, yet hurtled along as fast as a train when he was? He wanted to slow it down, make it last forever.
Her fingers flexed, tightened, pressed—
Grabbing her wrists, he broke off the kiss. Locking her wrists together with one hand, he carried them over her head as he climbed onto the bed and positioned himself at the core of her heat. He kissed a trail along the top of her necklace, then below it. With his free hand, he balanced himself over her and slid into the molten recesses. He almost closed his eyes with the marvelous sensations that swelled up within him, but that would have denied him the sight of her.
Rocking against her, he knew the moment that pleasure took hold for her, the wonder of it traveling over her face. Her thighs squeezed his hips. He bore it because he wouldn’t deny her the journey. He was grateful that she was so responsive, quick to settle into the rhythm of their mating.
Lost in the wonder of her, he rode her fast and hard until she was crying out and arching against him. Only then did he let himself go, give the myriad burgeoning sensations the freedom to rip through him, take his breath, his reason, his thoughts. To consume him.
Evelyn feared her wrists might be bruised in the morning. She knew he hadn’t realized how tightly he was gripping her when he bucked against her with his final thrusts. Locked in her own web of passion, she hadn’t noticed it either until she’d gotten up to clean herself and fetch the silk robe that he’d had sewn for her. He’d slipped into his trousers, and now sat with his back against the headboard, his ankles crossed, as he ate a meat-filled pastry. The tray of food rested between them on the bed. At least he hadn’t left immediately. Although based on the way he watched her, she suspected they’d have another rousing round before he did.
“I like the necklace,” she said.
“I’ll bring you another tomorrow.”
He said it as though there was nothing special about it. It was simply a thing to be given. As she was just a woman to be taken.
“You’ve given me so much already, you don’t have to give me jewelry.”
He stopped chewing, studied her as though seeing her for the first time. “Mistresses are supposed to want things.”
“Rafe, I’m not here to get things out of you. I’m here because I want to be.”
“What do you mean, you want to be?”
“I like being here. I like the residence. I like the servants. I even like you, as impossible as that may sound.”
Averting his gaze, he reached for a strawberry. “I’ve given you no reason to like me.”
“I suppose that’s true enough.” Only it wasn’t. He’d rescued her from Geoffrey, protected her, always seemed intent on ensuring she had what she needed, even if he did it in a high-handed manner. Even that high-handed manner was becoming endearing to her.
“What do you do when you’re not here?” she asked.
“Purchase you jewelry.”
She rolled her eyes. “I assume you go to your club. What do you do there?”
“Boring things. Look over ledgers, calculate the money coming in, the money going out, make adjustments so always more is coming in than going out. Decide the liquor to be bought, the games to be added, the ones to be taken away. Determine which lords need to be spoken to about their debt.”
“Did you speak to Geoffrey? I know he owed you.”
He nodded. “That’s the reason I was in attendance that night. He wanted to demonstrate his plan to ensure that he paid off his debt. I was there to only observe, but when you walked through the door . . . you fairly took my breath.”
She sat up. “You barely gave me the time of day.”
“Never let anyone know how badly you want something. It gives them an advantage.”
She tried not to give more credence to his words than they deserved. He meant that he wanted to bed her, not that he wanted her for herself. “You didn’t tell me how you came to have the scar on your thigh.”
“It doesn’t make for a very entertaining story.”
“I’m not interested in entertainment. I long to know about you.”
He picked up the nearly empty tray and carried it over to a table. When he returned to the bed, he stretched out on his back, shoved one arm beneath his head, and stared at the canopy. Rolling onto her side, she studied his profile.
“It happened after my brothers had made their way back to London. Sebastian had reclaimed the title, returned to Pembrook with his new bride, and asked me to look after the London residence. One night I saw a silhouette lurking about, so I went to confront the intruder. He fired a bullet into me before I realized he had a pistol.”
It took her a moment to understand that he thought he was finished telling the story. “So then what happened?”
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