A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin)

by Anna Campbell

Triumph surged as his resistance faltered. Not that he’d pushed back very hard. He groaned, then kissed her as if he’d die if he stopped. His mouth was searing, heavy, ruthless. None of last night’s control. He seized her in his arms and rolled her over into the soft hay. Dust flew around them, catching shafts of sunlight until it was like being trapped inside the Harmsworth Jewel.

  She closed her eyes in elation. How heady to have this powerful, sophisticated man mad for her. His weight anchored her, placed her in the world as nothing else did. Her misery receded. Her anger too. With Richard, with Lord Neville, with her father.

  His shaking hands brushed aside her bodice. He plucked at her nipples, shooting hot arousal to her belly, making her moan. He rose above her, shoving her skirts up and stroking her thighs.

  Her hands were busy too. Rediscovering the hard pads of muscle on his back, the ladder of his spine, the sinewy shoulders. Thank heaven he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She thought she’d etched every detail into her mind, but each touch felt like exploring a new country. She bowed toward him, kissing his chest, tasting him, lingering over his nipples when he hissed in pleasure.

  Daringly she ran her hand across the hard plain of his stomach to where he swelled against his trousers. Automatically her hand cupped his thickness. His response was a shuddering groan.

  She opened her eyes. He angled above her, leaning to one side to keep his weight off her. His face was stark with desire. His jaw clenched hard and his eyes were black with need. Without conscious decision, she rubbed him, marveling at his heat.

  He felt so large. How on earth had he fit inside her?

  The memory of him pressing into her built anticipation. Clumsily she tugged at his trousers. A button ripped and rolled into the hay. Finally she found his pulsing rod. He groaned again and jerked his hips forward.

  “Show me what to do,” she said in a strained voice.

  His hand covered hers to demonstrate the action. He felt marvelous. Satiny skin over iron. Hot. Vital. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. With breathtaking deftness, he untied her drawers. She wriggled to help him. What point coyness? She wanted him more than she had last night.

  Finally, finally, he touched her sex. She gasped at the liquid surge of need. The wild ride began. As she tilted her hips toward his hand, he withdrew.

  “Richard?” she asked uncertainly.

  The skin stretched tight over his face. His hair flopped across his forehead, lending him an uncharacteristically vulnerable air. “I can’t wait,” he gritted out.

  “I don’t want you to.” Right now, she felt like his equal, not his dupe.

  “You deserve better.” Beneath desire, she heard anguish. As though he hated himself for what he did.

  “Probably.” Despite her urgency, a tremulous smile curved her lips. He was a better man than she gave him credit for. Better than he gave himself credit for, she came to understand. She ran one hand down his face, his beard bristling beneath her palm. She hoped he wouldn’t recognize the gesture’s poignant tenderness. His eyes changed, focused, lost their blind black sheen. She suspected something in him responded to her yearning.

  She opened to him. “But the unfortunate truth is that you’re the one I want.”

  “I won’t let you down,” he groaned, moving over her.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she taunted, trailing her hands down his bare back. She dug her fingers hard into his firm buttocks, coaxing him to initiate that dazzling dialogue of pressure and power.

  Genevieve was wet and hot. Richard glided into her with delicious ease. Last night, he’d feared hurting her. Now they moved together as if created for this dance. Her muscles tightened and she arched up with a sigh that sounded like perfect happiness. That soft huff of surrender wrote itself on his heart like an inscription in stone. Last night, she’d been miraculous. Right now, as he plunged deep, love transformed him. He’d never be the same again.

  He retreated, relishing how she clung. He thrust again. Her gasps of pleasure set his blood swirling. A wave of need overwhelmed what shreds of control he retained. He closed his eyes, rose on his hands, and drove her hard. He knew he was a barbarian. But the compulsion to claim this woman in the most primitive way soared beyond kindness or consideration.

  He wouldn’t last. He knew he wouldn’t. The threat of leaving her unsatisfied beat like a curse. But he couldn’t stop. Then as blackness smashed against the back of his eyes, she gave a sharp cry and convulsed.

  He braced every muscle against his deepest instincts and prepared to pull out. Through the thunder in his head and the agony in his balls, he knew that he couldn’t risk a child as he had so recklessly last night. He straightened his arms to rigidity and inhaled roughly, swearing he wouldn’t lose himself, he wouldn’t lose himself.

  She tilted her head back and opened her eyes, staring at him with such joy that his heart cramped. She clenched around him in a burst of heat, fingers clawing at his shoulders, bare breasts straining above her bodice. Her lips parted, revealing small white teeth and the mysterious interior of her mouth.

  Her generosity sliced through his scruples like a knife through butter. He groaned in self-loathing, then again in endless satisfaction as he ceded the battle and flooded her with his essence.

  He rolled onto his back, still inside her. With a sigh of repletion, he encircled her with his arms. Briefly he basked in the illusion that nothing could part them. Her breasts flattened into his chest and her hair flowed around him like tangled silk. Sunbeams through the rafters highlighted the rich color. She was a golden girl, gold to the bone. More precious than the tawdry jewel that had lured him here. She felt as fragile and graceful as a reed, as strong and brave as a lioness.

  He closed his eyes and waited for his heart’s headlong gallop to slow. Making love to Genevieve was an all-encompassing experience. She left no atom of body or soul untouched.

  She stirred, disturbing his blissful doze. He firmed his grip. He didn’t want her to move. He didn’t want her to talk. Not when she was sure to remind him of the barriers separating them, rather than how sweet it was to lie together. He held the woman he loved while the unknowing world went on its way, unaware that this loft encompassed paradise.

  The unknowing world…

  What was he doing? He ought to be bloody horsewhipped.

  “Sweetheart, wake up,” he hissed, shifting to his side. He missed the connection the instant it was broken.

  “What?” she asked huskily, brushing her hair away from her face with a sensual gesture that made the rake inside him want to tumble her back into the hay. “What is it?”

  “We’re in your father’s barn,” he whispered urgently.

  “I know we are.” She frowned as though questioning his sanity.

  “What if someone comes in? Or heard us?” A horrible presentiment struck him. “Where the hell is Williams?”

  She rose on one elbow to study him. Her faint smile hinted that she discovered more of his secrets than he wanted her to. He’d also rather she pulled her bodice into place. Otherwise she risked another swiving, Williams or no Williams.

  “He’s teaching George to ride,” she said calmly. “They’ll be outside at least until noon.”

  That meant nothing to Richard. He’d woken, he’d seen Genevieve, and he’d lunged. He had no idea what time it was. Struggling to his feet, he closed his trousers with all the aplomb of a schoolboy.

  Genevieve, what a wreck you make of this particular rake. And you don’t even know the power you wield.

  Although another glance at her expression indicated that if she didn’t know yet, she would soon. The glint in her eyes looked discomfitingly like mockery. As if she found his flutterings and fussings deeply amusing. “Worried about your reputation, Sir Richard?”

  “I’m worried about yours, my girl,” he snapped. He prowled across to the crumpled black rag that had once been his coat. His valet would have a fit if he saw what became of the exquisite tailoring.

&n
bsp; Richard picked up the coat and shrugged it across his shoulders, knowing he must look like a beggar. He tugged his watch from his pocket. Relief weakened his knees. It was only half past ten.

  “How sweet,” she said softly.

  “Sweet?” Growling, he swung toward her.

  She sat up and, luckily for his self-control, restored her bodice. He told his stirring cock that under no circumstances would he tumble her again. Not when he risked an almighty scandal.

  She still watched him with that quizzical expression that made him want to smash something. “Yes, sweet.”

  He stalked across to her, hands opening and closing at his sides. “I’m many things, madam. Never sweet.”

  “Stop scowling and kiss me.” She caught one painfully tight fist.

  Bewildered he stared down, even as his tension ebbed. He didn’t understand what was happening, but one thing was clear—she didn’t hate him anymore. “You’re not angry.”

  Her lips twisted. “I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

  He sighed and let her draw him down beside her. “Why the hell do you want to kiss a man who’s lied to you?”

  “I’m insane.” She leaned forward in encouragement.

  He caught her chin and held her still. She closed her eyes, looking like a little girl awaiting a treat. His heart filled with tenderness so profound, it hurt. Gently he explored her mouth and received in reward a drift of honey through his soul. When he raised his head, the world seemed a glorious place.

  Slowly she opened her eyes. “See? Sweet.”

  He growled again, but his heart really wasn’t in proving himself king of the beasts. “You know nothing about men, Miss Barrett.”

  “I think—” Her shyness contrasted beautifully with burgeoning assurance. “I think that while I mightn’t know anything about men, I’m coming to know something about you.”

  “I thought I was a villain and you never wished to see me again.”

  He should hustle her from the stables, but curiosity delayed him. His hand traced the shoulder under her sagging bodice, down her arm to her hand. He had a horrible inkling that anyone who saw him holding hands with Genevieve would concur with her assessment. Right now, he was sweet, confound it. If she wanted to punish him, this vulnerability was the punishment of the damned.

  His voice lowered into seriousness. “I deserve your anger.”

  “You do.” She responded with characteristic candor. “But you’re not utterly irredeemable. And you kiss like an angel.”

  Like an angel? He barely resisted the impulse to preen like a blasted peacock. He arched his brows. “Just kiss?”

  She blushed. What an intriguing mixture of inexperience and sensuality she was. “And other things. Stop cadging compliments.”

  He shrugged, then voiced the nagging question. “Why did you just give yourself to me, Genevieve?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  As the silence extended, Richard’s expression resumed the affability that he raised against the world. Genevieve was shocked to realize that somewhere in their tumultuous interactions, she’d peered beneath the mask. The perception was reassuring, fortifying her instinct that despite his lies, she’d glimpsed the true Richard Harmsworth.

  “Forgive me. I have no right to ask.” His grip on her hand loosened.

  Curse him, she didn’t want him to release her. She wanted him to hold her close forever. It terrified her to the bone quite how much she wanted him to stay.

  “You push and push,” she said resentfully. “Then when I cooperate, you question me.”

  She could hardly accept that she’d become a fallen woman, let alone put it into words. Last night, she could blame her recklessness on heightened emotions after the abduction. This morning, she’d had no excuse but lust.

  “Because you push back. You were livid last night.”

  “I was.” In the last hour, she’d accepted that while he’d undoubtedly deceived her, he’d intended her no harm. If he had, she couldn’t have thrown herself at him as she had.

  Lowering her head, she studied her fingers curled around his, paler, smoother than his tanned skin. Something about the capable elegance of Sir Richard’s hand made her feel safe and… loved.

  Dear God, she really was in trouble.

  He cupped her jaw, tilting her face until she met his eyes. His dark blue gaze was steady and concerned and made her feel like the only woman in the world. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But still she couldn’t shake the impression. He looked like someone she could trust.

  Could she?

  “You no longer believe I pursue you for the jewel?” he asked softly.

  She was now convinced that his desire at least had always been honest. “Perhaps at first.”

  He still looked troubled. “No, you were always the prize. Now I’ve ruined you.” To her regret, he slid away, disturbing a cloud of dust.

  She felt on stronger ground here. It saved her from admitting how she yearned for him. “You tried to do the right thing.”

  His laugh was bitter. “Much good that did me. I can’t resist you.”

  She looked away. “As I can’t resist you,” she confessed.

  When he didn’t jump on her, she was almost disappointed. Heavens, she really took to vice with gusto.

  After a taut silence, he sighed. “Aren’t we a pair?”

  If only they were.

  Surely he wouldn’t stay in Little Derrick. He must have duties and obligations, not to mention the fashionable world clamoring for his return. A fashionable world closed to a bluestocking with no connections, no fortune, and no polish. A fashionable world adorned with women who had shared his bed and women who would share his bed. The idea of those trollops touching Richard made her itch to scratch their eyes out. And there was that wife of perfect pedigree that he sought, according to the papers.

  Her fingers formed talons in her crumpled skirt. She had no rights over Richard. But that didn’t stop her heart screaming “He’s mine” when she contemplated anyone else sharing those breathtaking intimacies.

  And not just physical intimacies. She didn’t want him sharing private jokes. She didn’t want him studying another woman with that sweet, intense concentration. The same sweet, intense concentration he devoted to her now.

  She was a jealous, possessive shrew. So much for proud independence. He’d forsake her for his real life. And she’d miss him forever, curse him.

  “I could have made you pregnant,” he said grimly.

  A baby would cause such problems, she couldn’t bear the thought. Which made her recent activities rash to the point of lunacy. But regret and fear seemed so distant when her body still quaked from his possession. “Can we cross that bridge when we come to it?”

  Surprisingly he laughed. “What a pragmatic creature you are.”

  The comment sounded like a compliment rather than criticism. Still, thinking of blue-blooded brides, she prickled. “You must be used to more sophisticated company.”

  He caught each hand and kissed her knuckles with a tenderness that eased the ache in her heart, without banishing it. “You’re more fun.”

  “Fun?” Her mouth dropped open with astonishment.

  “You’re the most interesting girl I’ve ever met.”

  “You can’t—”

  Below, the door squeaked. There was a sharp bark. Sirius.

  Before she could react, Richard launched himself over her, rolling her into the hay. He pressed into her back, his heart banging against her. His breath moved the loose hair at her temple. Dread tightened every muscle to the point of pain. Her nose smashed against the dusty floor. She closed her eyes and prayed she wouldn’t sneeze.

  Lemon verbena flooded her senses, headier than wine. Especially mixed with the salty musk of sexual satisfaction. She shifted surreptitiously, bumping her hips against Richard, and he groaned in her ear.

  “Behave yourself,” he hissed. “If they find us, there’s the devil to pay.”

  “You did well, lad,” Wi
lliams said. The groom stood directly below. All urge to tease disintegrated.

  With the soft clop of hooves, George led her old pony inside. These days Lightning didn’t justify the name. “Thank you, Mr. Williams. When can we go again?”

  Bubbling happiness rang in the boy’s voice. She felt Richard smile against her cheek. In that moment, she gave up pretending to possess a scrap of sense where he was concerned. She’d fallen utterly in love with him. The emotion had been present so long that she didn’t know where it started. Perhaps right back when he’d locked her up, then wandered off whistling.

  She was hopelessly in love with Christopher Evans. She was hopelessly in love with Richard Harmsworth. She was hopelessly in love, and she had no idea what to do about it.

  Luckily Williams chose to escort his pupil home, leaving the stables to Sirius, the horses and two miscreants in the loft.

  When Richard was sure the barn was empty and likely to stay that way, he rolled off Genevieve with a muffled groan. All that proximity had tested his control and he was as hard as an oak staff. The last few moments confirmed, as if he hadn’t always known, what risks he took tumbling Genevieve. Risks he couldn’t countenance if he made the smallest claim to honor.

  Slowly she sat up and a pang of concern penetrated his sexual frustration. He stared up at her. “I’m sorry. I squashed you.”

  Her lush mouth curved into a smile that sent another jolt of hunger through him. “Actually it was rather… enjoyable.”

  “You’re a tease, Miss Barrett.” He stood and extended his hand.

  “You’re leading me astray.” Once upright, she patted and straightened her skirts. She wasted her time. With her loose hair, creased clothing, and indefinable air of fulfillment, she looked thoroughly tupped.

  Dear God, what he’d give to have her again. Lying over her, he hadn’t been able to think beyond her accessibility. The merest hitch of her skirts and he’d take her from behind. She’d squirm deliciously and make those luscious sounds that became more addictive than brandy to a drunkard.

  He stifled the urge to keep her here. They’d already had one close call. He couldn’t chance another. He led her toward the edge. “I’ll go first and make sure it’s safe.”