by Henke, Shirl
“Somehow ‘Miss Edgewater' doesn't seem to work anymore. What do you want me to call you?” he asked reasonably, standing up and slipping into the robe, giving her a glimpse of his naked body as he did it. He heard her tiny intake of breath and smiled inwardly. But when he tried to take a step toward her, the room started to spin. He grabbed for the bedpost and hung on for dear life.
“Damned if I'll pass out at your feet a second time,” he muttered through gritted teeth, lurching toward her.
Sabrina was frozen during the brief interval it took for him to reach her. She only realized how badly off balance he was when she saw the dazed expression on his face as he reached over her shoulder and shoved the door closed. He tumbled against her, pinning her rather uncomfortably between him and the sharp edge of the door frame. The knob prodded in a most indelicate place. And her tailbone hurt like the very devil.
“If you don't release me, I shall cry down the house.” She was angry and afraid for him all at once.
“If I do release you, I'll fall down myself,” he whispered in her ear.
His breath tickled her ear as his tongue lightly circled the sensitive inner shell. Sabrina could scarcely draw her breath as he began to nuzzle her neck. His hands pressed against the door, steadying him as he continued his sensual assault. She was trapped, and the heat of his body was starting to send messages to her body, overriding what her mind was saying. He pressed kisses onto her eyelids and inhaled the scent of her hair, murmuring how sweet she always smelled, then centered his attention on her already parted lips.
“Like plump, juicy strawberries in spring,” he said as his mouth slanted over hers and plundered inside.
Her reply was to encircle his waist and dig her fingers into the hard muscles of his back. She surrendered to the kiss, letting it build and intensify, loving the way the heady warmth of it radiated through her body until everything started to melt. The world went away as they stood entwined. Her breasts pressed against his chest and the ache in her nipples rippled downward, pooling deep in her belly. His hips rocked against hers.
Finally, when his mouth disengaged from hers long enough to take a desperate, panting breath, she said, “If you persist in prodding me from the front while that doorknob does the same at the opposite side, I fear permanent injury, my lord.”
Josh felt the chuckle build from deep inside him until it rumbled through his body. “Woman, you are a caution, and that's the Lord’s own truth,” he managed to choke out as he eased himself away from her without lowering his arms, which still imprisoned her. The injured arm hurt like hell on a hot afternoon, but he was too preoccupied to notice until he shifted his weight slightly to his left.
An involuntary grimace of pain betrayed him. Seeing it, Sabrina pulled his right arm over her shoulder and helped him toward the bed. “You should not be up yet,” she scolded.
“Darlin’, I've been up ever since I kissed you. The question, seems to me, is what are we going to do about it?”
It was not a question and she knew it as she began lowering him back onto the wide mattress. Instead of letting go of her arm, he pulled her with him and they both tumbled backwards. Somehow he managed to land on top. As his mouth brushed hers, she murmured, “At least the bed is softer than the door frame.”
“Now you're only poked from one side,” he whispered.
“You’re vulgar for a viscount.” Sabrina didn't sound particularly concerned about the character flaw.
“Darlin’, I'm vulgar for a Texan.”
“You need more lessons,” she murmured dreamily, burying her hands in his thick, black hair.
“Never said I wasn't quick to learn.”
Chapter Fourteen
Josh braced his weight on his good elbow and reached over to cup her breast with his injured hand. The pain lanced up his arm. “You're gonna have to be real gentle with me. I'm an invalid,” he whispered as he massaged a tiny circle around the hard tip he could feel through the layers of her clothing. “You have too many duds on. In my condition, I can't get you out of them, so...”
When he lay back flat on the bed beside her, she started to sit up, a concerned expression on her face, saying, “You're in pain.”
“Oh, God, yes, the swelling's unbearable.” He yanked the tie of his robe loose with his good hand and flung the garment open, revealing his pulsing erection.
“Oh, my. It must be,” she whispered, unable to keep from staring at the splendid maleness of him—proof that he was indeed ready to perform. But how could he if he couldn't support his weight on his arms?
In answer to her unspoken question, he drawled, “I
have a plan. First, will you get undressed for me, please?”
“Since you asked so nicely,” she agreed shyly, not sure she could do it. “Is this Step One of your plan?” The light outside was fading rapidly but still it was considerably brighter than moonlight. Could she actually strip off her clothing while he watched her? Sabrina took a deep, shivery breath and fumbled with the buttons running down her blouse. As the sheer cotton gaped open, revealing the deep vale between her breasts, she heard him gasp.
Not daring to look at him, she unfastened the cuffs, then worked at the belt of her skirt, pulling it free. But there was still so much clothing in the way. Unlike their first lovemaking, this time she was wearing a corset and a full array of undergarments, right down to stockings and garters.
She hesitated.
He coaxed.
“Slide the blouse from the waistband and get rid of it. Let me touch them.” Her breasts responded as if he were speaking directly to them, the nipples puckering even tighter, the ache deepening. She obeyed, pulling the blouse free and peeling down the long, fitted sleeves, tossing it onto the floor as she sat beside him on the bed. His right hand cupped a breast through the sheer lace of her chemise, and she could not muffle the soft moan his caress elicited. He moved to the other breast, lifting it in silent praise, then rubbed the palm of his hand across both of them until her nipples protruded brazenly.
“Now, pull that soft covering over your head,” he instructed as he lifted the edge of her chemise and allowed her to complete the task, revealing her corset-clad waist with breasts peeping over the top. The nipples were rosy and puckered as the sheer fabric grazed over them before floating to the floor beside the bed.
Josh didn't know how much longer he could wait. She was unused to undressing in front of a man, and that rig she wore would take some time to undo. He did what Americans were noted for. He improvised. “Okay, that's enough of Step One of the plan. Now for Step Two,” he whispered hoarsely. “Climb aboard, darlin'.”
Sabrina was amazed when he lifted her thigh and placed it over his hips so that she was straddling him. “What are you doing?” she asked, frankly puzzled and a bit uneasy.
“Just raise your skirts, love,” he instructed calmingly, tugging at the bunched fabric on his right side.
“Oh!” She quickly caught on, freeing her other knee of the skirt and petticoat, baring her legs. The clothing became wadded at her waist. But she did not notice because his hand slipped over the curve of her hip and glided upward, caressing the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh. He moved unerringly toward his ultimate goal. Nimble fingers found the front fastening of her under drawers and slipped inside the narrow placket, pulling it open, reaching her heat.
How slick and sweet she was, how wet and ready for him. He watched her lashes fan over her cheeks as she arched against the persuasion of his hand, letting her hips rock as he caressed. Although he'd never cared for the confounded things, her corset emphasized the tininess of her waist and lifted her breasts like an offering. He drank in her soft whimpers of pleasure as he brought her to the brink and watched as she tumbled over it.
When the storm of ecstasy had passed, Sabrina's eyes fluttered open. She was dazed yet still aware of his rigid staff pressed against her inner thigh. “How...what...Oh, dear ...”
“Shhh,” he murmured. Sweat beaded his
face as he used his left arm, but he ignored the pain, positioning her hips over him, then pulling the placket of her drawers open and guiding himself to paradise.
When she felt the scalding heat and hardness rubbing delicately against her, Sabrina was lost, hungry all over again, bold and shameless in her wanting.
“Ride me, darlin’,” he pleaded.
She sank onto him in awe, feeling him fill her, buried to the hilt. When he arched up, his hips bucking beneath her, she caught the rhythm and began to raise, then lower herself on him. Ride me. Mindlessly, she did just that, falling forward, her hands eagerly bracing against the hardness of his chest, fingers buried in springy dark hair. He pulled her closer, raising his head to suckle at her breasts, his mouth wetting the hardened nipples that protruded over the top of her corset.
He murmured words of praise, of encouragement, of love, but they were both so wildly inflamed by the passion consuming them that neither was aware of the latter. Sabrina sobbed and convulsed, peaking once more, her body clenching fiercely around him until she felt him stiffen, swell and shudder in perfect sync with her. They rode to the end of the rainbow together and then, gently, ever so slowly, came back.
Sabrina lay collapsed, limp as a rag doll over his chest, her hair spilling around his shoulders, pins scattered across the bed. He felt a pin poking his left side and moved to dislodge it, only to let out a hiss of startled pain. At once she raised herself up and looked down at him, her face now cast in twilight shadows.
“Are you...did I...hurt you?” she finally managed to ask.
He smiled crookedly, using his right hand to lift a silky coil of hair and rub it between his fingers. “Not you. Those hairpins. They're sharp as a fresh-stropped razor.”
She looked around the badly rumpled bed in dismay. Her skirts were bunched around her waist and her stocking-clad legs straddled his hips. She even had one slipper still on her foot! Dear heavens, what an absolute trollop she must appear!
“Now, don't go and get all huffed up on me,” he said softly. “Sometimes, making love with your clothes on isn't too bad...you think?”
She dared to meet his gaze, and the warmth of it brought an answering smile. He made her feel at ease, comfortable, as if this was the most natural thing in the world for both of them. “If you're fishing for compliments on your American ingenuity, I cannot but give them. Your plan was very well executed,” she said boldly. How utterly different this was from the fully dressed, hurried coupling that awful time with Dex.
As if reading her mind, Josh said, “I never want you to feel used, Sabrina.”
She said nothing, pushing to the back of her mind other ways in which a man might use a woman, in which he might be using her to get to Edmund. But tonight was for herself and her lover. No one else. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
“We have to get you out of that uncomfortable contraption,” Josh said. “Turn and sit on the edge of the bed with your back to me so I can unlace you.”
Doing as he asked, she could not resist saying, “You appear to have had considerable practice with female unmentionables.”
“As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing unmentionable about a beautiful woman like you.”
“I'm scarcely a great beauty like La Samsonov,” she said, shamelessly testing the waters.
His hands never broke their smooth motion as he continued unlacing her corset. “I've never made love to her. And you're every bit as beautiful, just in a different way. She's cold as a blue norther. You're warm as a summer day,” he murmured as he freed her from the corset and corset cover. His fingers massaged the reddened marks as he placed delicate kisses down her vertebrae.
Sabrina felt the magic of his mouth and let go of her jealous concern about the Russian woman. It was so difficult to think when he was near, doubly difficult when they were together in bed. A soft laugh bubbled to her lips. “No man has ever called me warm before,” she said.
“Only because they're too afraid of your sass to see beyond it to the real you...bright, warm, ready to laugh. That's important, being able to laugh,” he added. “Especially at yourself. Never pays to take yourself too seriously.”
“Ah, but as Hambleton's heir, you will require gravitas,” she said, only half teasing, as if trying to remind herself of the gulf between them.
“The grave part comes fast enough for everyone. Thing is, a man and a woman have to enjoy life while they're able.”
“You know I wasn't talking about a grave,” she scolded as he tossed her corset over the side of the bed.
Ignoring her comment, he said, “Now get rid of those skirts and stockings, then climb in bed beside me where you belong.”
Sabrina complied without protest, snuggling in his open arms as he spooned her against him and pulled the covers up.
* * * *
Josh lay awake early the next morning, watching Sabrina's slow, even breathing. Lordy, he was getting in deep over his head. He'd never in his wild amorous life spent a whole night actually sleeping with a woman. He paid them and sent them on their way, or went off on his own. But here he was, like a lovesick pup, mooning over how her eyelashes curled like dark fans over her cheeks and the way her lips almost parted as she smiled in her sleep.
Yup, this was bad. Or good. Damned if he knew which. The only thing he did know was that he wanted to keep her with him for as long as he could imagine. The thought of losing her made him feel hollow as spunk wood inside. Was that love? He was damned if he knew that, either. But until he did, there was no way Miss Sabrina Edgewater was leaving him, even if that meant he had to lasso and hogtie her like a prize heifer!
She did care about him, that he knew. He rubbed his aching arm, recalling how concerned she'd been about the injury. She was a cool, competent nurse, a no-nonsense female who didn't get all fluttery at the sight of blood. He smiled, recalling that she'd said growing up in a family with three brothers had been like being raised by wolves. Her wit was sharp and self-deprecating, much like his own, a rare trait. One he had not encountered since leaving Gertie and her girls. Sabrina seemed to understand how he felt about them. too.
But she didn't understand about Natasha Samsonov, of course, and he couldn't blame her, even if he was secretly pleased at her jealousy. There was no way he could explain to her why he spent time with the pesky Russian toe dancer. Just thinking about Natasha made him frown as he slid from the bed. The colonel owed him a lot for making him put up with that scary female.
She'd insisted on driving his Mercedes that afternoon and damn near wrecked it before he seized control of the wheel to keep them from careening into a hay cart. Then she'd turned her wrath from the hapless cart driver to him. The lady was used to getting her way, and had quite a temper when she didn't.
He had not learned anything from her that would be of use to Jamison, but perhaps yesterday's trap would provide some information. One assassin had been taken alive. They might get enough out of the fellow to stop the Russian conspiracy. That would suit Josh just fine. This spy stuff was more dangerous than bulldogging an ornery longhorn. The other would-be assassin who'd escaped was the one who had winged him.
He had to reach Michael and find out what the government agents had learned from their captive. And, once and for all, he was going to find out just where his uncle fit into this whole diabolical tangle. He reached for a shirt with his good arm, then realized that Benton would be along any minute “to assist his lordship in dressing.” Sabrina had to be in her room before his valet discovered her asleep in his bed. Josh didn't give a damn what the snooty valet thought, but he knew she would be humiliated by servants' gossip.
With dismay he looked around the bed at their clothing, strewn everywhere. Just as he started to gather up an armful of skirts and female unmentionables, a sharp rap sounded on the hall door. He cursed beneath his breath.
“Good day, m'lord. I've brought hot coffee from the kitchen, just the way you like it.” Benton's nasal voice carried from the other side of the door, the ton
e implying how unsuitable strong black coffee, without at least the civilizing complement of cream, was as a morning beverage. English gentlemen drank tea.
Josh tensed when Benton tried the door, but fortunately, he'd remembered to lock it last night. Putting a finger to his lips as Sabrina sprang upright in bed with a look of horror on her face, he answered the valet. “Much obliged, Bent, but I'll come down directly for that coffee. Right now I feel like spending a little more time on siesta.”
“His lordship the earl has asked to speak with you as soon as you're up and about,” Benton replied stiffly. “Please ring when you require my assistance in dressing.”
“That'll be the day petunias sprout in hell,” Josh muttered as he watched Sabrina trying to slip from the bed, using the sheet for covering as she reached for the “unmentionables” he held bundled in his arms. Her face was as pink as sunrise when she met his laughing eyes. “He's gone. It's all right,” he soothed.
“Please, Josh, give me my...er, garments,” she implored, her eyes darting from his devilish look to the outside door, as if Benton and all the other servants were going to mount an attack and break it down at any moment.
“Well, at least you used my handle. No more ‘Lord-shipping’ me.” he said, offering her the bundle but holding it just far enough away that she had to let go of the sheet to reach it. He could read on her face the urge to stamp one small bare foot in frustration when she realized his ploy.
“You're taking advantage of me,” she said crossly, wiping sleep from her eyes.
“Appears to me that if I am, it isn't exactly the first time. ‘Sides, I've already seen everything there is to see...not that I don't want to see it again.”
“You are an utter...” Words failed her as she felt the edge of the sheet sliding down. While offering the bundle with his good arm, he surprised her by using his injured one to snatch the sheet away.
“Now we're even,” he said with a grin.
