Her body was unbending. Tension radiated through her. Anger or arousal? He flicked the tip of his tongue over her velvety skin, tasting her. She inhaled sharply.
“So sweet—” Oh, God to be able to taste all of her.
Raising her palms to his chest, she stuttered, “Y-you, you shouldn’t,” even as she angled her neck to give him better access to the silky flesh.
He disregarded her protest. Her sultry voice beckoned him, belying her huskily whispered words. Covering her neck and jaw with feathery kisses, his manhood grew heavy, pulsating insistently against his thigh. Her scent surrounded him, making him forget all else but the lush woman in his arms.
She gave a pathetic shove against his chest. “My lord, release me before someone sees us.”
Her voice was a wispy breath.
He wound an arm about her shoulders, then lifted her chin. “Is that truly what you wish?”
Her chocolate eyes round and pensive, she stared at his mouth. When she wet her lips with her pink tongue, he was undone.
Groaning, he lowered his head and touched her lips. He moved his mouth across their sweetness, cajoling, enticing. Sweeping his tongue across her bottom lip, he urged her to part her mouth. With a whimper, she sagged against him, and opened to his tender probing.
At once he plunged his tongue into the sweet cavern. Timid at first, Adaira soon met his passion, twirling and jousting with her small tongue. Crushing her to him, her breasts smashed against his chest, he ground his erection into her soft belly. She clung to his shoulders, a throaty moan escaping her as he devoured her with his mouth.
Skimming a hand up her side, he cupped a breast, flicking the hardened nub with his thumb. He slid his hand inside her bodice, closing it around the exquisite softness of one warm breast. Perfection in his palm.
Her guttural groan of pleasure sent a jolt of pure lust exploding through his veins. Already hard as marble, his knees nearly buckled from the new surge of desire, so intense, the sensation bordered on pain. He clenched his teeth against the exquisite torture. It was all he could do not to lift her skirts and take her against the stable door.
A vision of him buried deep inside her, his hands gripping her bare buttocks, her head thrown back and her legs wrapped around his waist as he pumped into her sliced through his mind.
Bugger and blast!
What was wrong with him? He wasn’t given to lewd imaginations or undressing women with his eyes. He mightn’t be a saint, but he had a distinct moral standard. What was it about her that had him off kilter?
“Je ne peux pa vous résister? Why can’t I resist you?”
Startled he’d spoken his thoughts, Roark opened his eyes. Adaira seemed unaware. Her dark lashes fanned her flushed cheeks, and her silky mouth was parted. Her hands had crept up his chest to clasp behind his neck.
Her kisses were tantalizing ambrosia, making him forget who she was. Who he was. Making him overlook the oaths he’d made to remain beyond reproach, to conduct himself as a gentleman.
A thud reverberated against the outside stable wall.
Adaira went rigid, trying to pull out of his embrace.
“Please, Roark, my standing with my family is already precarious.” She angled away from him. “I cannot bear anymore indignity.”
Nearby voices carried into the stable. She swung her head toward the entrance.
“Let go!” Panic crept into her voice when he didn’t immediately release her.
She flicked her anxious gaze to his. Her beautiful eyes widened, the yellow-green specks sparking in shock, before she quickly lowered her lashes. He hadn’t been able to disguise his lust. She’d seen it in his eyes.
That and primordial possession.
Her distress seemed genuine. Roark wrinkled his brow.
He released her, then stepped away, putting a respectable distance between them. Confound it, he’d lost control. It infuriated him. And fiend seize it, he’d spoken his thoughts aloud again. Blasted inconvenient that. With her, he couldn’t be sure what precisely would tumble off his tongue. She had him completely out of step.
For all his high talk of propriety, he’d just compromised her. Again. Why did he find her so enticing? Irresistible?
Once free, Adaira raised shaky fingers to her lips, staring at him with her soft brown eyes wide and wary.
And alarmed.
He dipped his gaze to her disheveled bodice, a smile curving his mouth at her unintentional display.
You’re a lout, Roark.
Indeed he was. She brought out the worst in him. Foul family tendencies he’d managed to keep suppressed until she came along were rearing their vulgar heads.
Furrowing her brow, her gaze sank to her breasts. The tip of one dusky nipple peeked above the ivory lace. Yanking the material upward, she speared him with a barbed scowl. Color swept her face. “Duddering oaf.”
Adaira swiveled toward the far doors. She took but a half dozen steps before she stopped abruptly. “Curses.”
She whipped around and stalked back the other way, muttering under her breath. She ignored Roark when she passed him except for a crossly muttered, “Rutting cawker.”
The voices grew louder. Lifting her skirts, she dashed to the entrance, snatching the parasol propped there. Whirling around, she charged in his direction once more.
This spirited woman was preferable to the passive one he’d first held in his embrace.
The thought took him by surprise. Crossing his arms, he angled his head and watched her march toward him. He chuckled as she passed by.
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, meshing her lips together. Oh, she wanted to ring a peal over his head, to scold him soundly. Roark could see it in the sideways glower she tossed him. Citrine sparks glittered in the depths of her lovely eyes. The nostrils of her adorable, freckled, turned-up nose were flared, and her cheeks glowed with two fetching pink spots.
She’d gone from impassioned to piqued in an instant. He’d wager ten pounds it required all of her resolve not to give him a firm set down. Or wallop him with the parasol she unconsciously held like her riding crop. He made no effort to curb his smile of amusement. She was a delightful conglomeration of transparent emotions.
He rather liked that. He much preferred honesty over the wintry, unreadable facades affected by many of the ton’s denizens. Delia had mastered the art to perfection. Ice goddess on the exterior while a harlot’s heart burned within.
“Adaira, wait.” Sethwick strode into the stable, Gregor and Dugall on either side of him.
Adaira threw back her head and issued a low groan, clearly miffed. Without looking behind her, she took a couple tentative steps forward. Feigning a cough, Roark barely smothered another laugh behind his hand. He’d no doubt she’d every intention of bolting from the stable, pretending not to hear her brother.
Striding in her direction, Sethwick called to her again. “Adaira, please wait. I wish to speak to you.”
Heaving a gusty sigh, she turned. “Yes, Ewan?”
Her voice was soft, resigned. Her gaze skimmed Dugall and Gregor before it settled someplace over Sethwick’s shoulder. She’d not meet his eyes. Ah, she’d not forgiven her brother for his role in her chastisement. Roark, she pointedly ignored. He might well have been a fly on dung for all the attention she paid him.
Dugall nudged Gregor hard in the ribs. “Do me eyes deceive me, or is me sister wearing a pretty dress? In the stables?”
Giving her a cocky grin, he waggled his eyebrows at her.
Adaira quirked one brow. “It’s not like you’ve never seen me in a gown before, Dugall.”
“Aye lass, we have, many times.” Gregor nodded and grinned, his eyes dancing with mirth. “But, ye have to admit, it’s the first time ye’ve boasted long gloves and a lacy parasol when entertainin
g the beasties.”
Tapping her leg with the sunshade, she muttered, “Some people think it’s more suitable. Ludicrous, if you ask me.”
Dugall’s gaze hovered on Roark for a moment.
“Since when do ye care what others think, Addy?” Kindness replaced the humor in his voice.
Pain whisked across Adaira’s face before she schooled her features. Roark didn’t miss the tensing of her shoulders or her fisted hands. A wounded glint lingered in her eyes.
Roark cast Dugall a sharp look.
Of course she should care what others thought. That was the problem with society today. Too many rogue men and women casting off propriety and structure, behaving as they were want to without consideration for decorum and respectability.
Was Dugall unaware of Roark’s conditions? Or, if he was aware, was he encouraging his sister’s wayward habits?
Ignoring Dugall’s question, she turned her attention to Sethwick. “Ewan, you have need of something?”
He grinned at her, his eyes filled with affection. “Here now, why the Friday face? I wanted to tell you Clarendon,” he sent a friendly glance Roark’s way, “has graciously agreed to allow Fionn to stable at Cadbury Park. We’ll be able to commence with the breeding project while we’re his guests.”
Adaira’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes darkened to ebony. She swung her astounded gaze to meet Roark’s, and then back to Sethwick. There wasn’t a jot of acquiescence in her stiff stance. Her spine was so taut, Roark feared she’d fracture into pieces if he so much as sneezed.
She squared her dainty shoulders and tilted her small chin stubbornly. “This hasn’t been discussed with me.”
Still smiling, Sethwick approached her. He brushed several black strands of hair of his forehead. “Aye, it has. Hugh told me he spoke to you. . .”
Her control snapped. “Nae!” she spat. “Father said it might, be one of his conditions.”
She flung a hand in Roark’s direction.
Dugall’s confused gaze darted from Roark to Sethwick before settling on his sister. “I’ll leave ye to yer . . . discussion.”
The giant beside him nodded his blond head and muttered, “Aye, I need to speak with Niall about, uh, something.”
The men beat a hasty retreat, casting wary glances at Adaira over their broad shoulders as they rounded the stable’s exit. She paid them no heed, but directed an irate glare at Sethwick.
His attention lingered on the door, as if he, too, yearned to escape his sister’s wrath.
“I’ve agreed to all his demands.” She pointed at Roark.
“I’ll attend his confounded house party and any others he dictates I should.” She shot him a venom laced glower. “Though, Lord knows, I’ll go out of my mind with the tedium and simpering and posturing.”
She drew in a deep breath. Roark covertly watched the rise and fall of her bosom. For one so slight of figure, she was generously endowed. His manhood pulsed.
Down, lad.
For one horrified moment, he’d feared he’d said that aloud. Except, his jaw was tightly clenched. He was learning to keep his lips firmly pressed together when not intentionally speaking to her.
She shoved a stray curl back under her bonnet. “I’ll go to London for the Season, put myself on display like a mare at Tattersall’s.”
She rested her hands on her hips. “Shall I permit the gentlemen to inspect my teeth, Brother? My hair?”
She lifted her hem, exposing her petite foot. “My feet?”
Roark’s lips curved in appreciation as her dress inched upward another pair of inches.
“My legs?” She turned sideways and stuck out her deliciously rounded bottom. “My arse?”
Oh, my God.
Roark bit the inside of his cheek. He should be appalled. Instead, he fought the urge to laugh. Or reach and touch her tempting derrière.
Scowling, Sethwick opened his mouth.
She straightened, cutting him off before he uttered a sound. “What, no? Well, then I’ll smile and be gracious and pretend to be dazzled by the glitz and glamour.”
Adaira stood with her arms akimbo, tapping her foot. “I’m wearing stays and gowns, Ewan. My hair’s been tugged and tucked and pinned until I fear I might go bald. Mother’s given me enough lotions and creams to lighten my freckles and soften my hands, I might as well be a greased goose.”
Her voice had risen to a shout.
She paused in her tirade and cast a longing look at her stallion. “I’m not riding Fionn, because I don’t have a riding habit that fits, and he’s not been trained to a blasted sidesaddle.”
“I’ve got elbow length gloves on in the stables.” Tears glistened in her eyes. Her gaze dropped to her fisted hands. “I couldn’t find my short gloves.”
Adaira stomped to her brother. She wiggled the fingers of her right hand beneath Sethwick’s nose. “Fancy gloves, Ewan. In the stables! I’m even using this preposterous atrocity.”
She raised the parasol and shook it. He ducked when she nearly whacked him aside the head with the flailing sunshade.
“Enough, Adaira,” Sethwick snapped, clearly at the end of his patience.
“Enough? I’ll give you enough.” She poked him in the chest with the parasol. Then poked him again. He jumped backward when she lunged at him a third time.
Sethwick’s brows swooped into a dark scowl. “Do that again, and I’ll snap that blasted thing in two.”
Behind her, Roark choked on a guffaw. She’d done the same thing to him with her confounded crop.
With a final glare at Ewan and Roark, Adaira stomped from the stables, muttering under her breath.
Zeus, but she was splendid when in a temper. She’d outshine everyone else in London. Why hadn’t he seen it before? She was a diamond of the first water. A rough diamond, true, but he’d have her polished to blinding brilliance by Season’s start.
She was bound to snare a husband with her exquisite beauty, petite lushness, and soon-to-be impeccable behavior. And she’d a sizable dowry too, he’d learned. Some lucky chap was going to be damned fortunate.
A glower settled on his face.
Bloody hell.
That hadn’t been his purpose for taming her at all.
CHAPTER 17
Drat. Adaira hoped the outing would be postponed, or better yet, abandoned altogether.
From her chamber window she surveyed Cadbury Park. The week prior to her departure had flown by with no reprieve. If she hadn’t been so disheartened, she’d have enjoyed the bird bathing in a puddle and the colorful prisms dancing across a pond’s surface. The sun valiantly shone, a bright beacon promising an afternoon favorable for a picnic as was planned.
In the early morning hours, a summer tempest blew by, fierce but short-lived. The parched ground eagerly drank the torrential rain. The wind whipped its furious fingers through the trees. Leaves scattered and scraped to-and-fro, leaving the ground littered in a verdant blanket. Now, the sun caressed the earth with its calming rays.
The bright beams were already hard at work drying the few damp remnants of the shower. Beyond the tree tops, a vibrant rainbow glowed. Several fountains, mazes, and manicured gardens bursting with flowers of every hue imaginable were visible from her second story room.
Cadbury Park was a meticulously cared for estate.
No surprise there. Since Adaira had met the man, she’d learned the Earl of Clarendon insisted upon order and structure. For one still quite young, he was most stodgy. Everything, at all times, must be within propriety’s bounds.
How utterly dull and tiresome.
Except for his shameless behavior in the stable.
Stop.
She wouldn’t think of it, of his entirely disarming kisses. Why, for pity’s sake, did her body betray
her at his touch? She responded to him like the wanton he’d called her. Her mind screeched no while her traitorous body acted the part of a light-skirt. It didn’t help that his chest and shoulders were rounded with well-defined, oh so, firm muscles that felt glorious beneath her hand.
Stop, dunderhead.
Twice now, he’d kissed her. Passionately. And she’d not resisted. Resisted? No, she’d clung to him like a tick on a hound. She’d even allowed her gaze to linger on his long legs and tight bum.
The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) Page 17
