Taming Ivy (The Taming Series Book 1)

by April Moran

  A smile of unapologetic blandness met Brandon’s glare. Knowing the use of Ivy’s given name would needle the viscount to the point of distraction, Sebastian’s lashes dropped as he finished smoothly, “Of course, I should hate to be a nuisance, hounding her, if my devotion was not…wanted.” The pointed pause left no doubt as to his opinion of the Pack.

  “You would be bored to tears if you attended all social functions with me, Ravenswood.” Ivy stepped between the two men circling one another with the bristling dislike of rival roosters. “Thank you for the champagne.”

  Handing over one goblet, Sebastian’s gaze flickered around the lobby. Their darkened corner of the lobby was drawing quite the crowd. Nicholas stood at its back edge, grinning.

  “You have no idea the number of gentlemen who favor our sweet countess,” Brandon said tightly. “Lady Kinley is very dear to all of us. I’m afraid there may be no room for others in our midst.”

  “And I’m afraid I don’t care, Basford.” Sebastian’s lips stretched with a lethal smile. “In fact, I’m certain of it.”

  Brandon’s expression grew fierce with increased abhorrence, Sebastian’s with aloof detachment. The cold silence turned uncomfortable, especially when Sebastian began examining his meticulously groomed fingernails. A flare of bright red infused the viscount’s features at the blatant dismissal.

  A flickering of lights accompanied the faint sounds of the orchestra tuning their instruments. Ivy exhaled in relief at the signal for patrons to resume their seats, thinking the veiled trading of insults could cease. “Please excuse us, Lord Basford. I should terribly hate to miss a moment of tonight’s performance.”

  Nearly stomping his foot in frustration, the viscount had no choice but to kiss Ivy’s offered hand and bow to his newly confirmed rival.

  Unable to let the matter go without a warning, Sebastian propelled the countess forward with a firm hand to her lower back so she could not overhear. His advice was an icy growl. “I’m a selfish man, Basford. It would be wise to keep your distance.”

  Sebastian did not caress Ivy upon returning to their balcony seats. They watched the remaining acts of the opera in silence, and other than assisting her in donning her cloak and lightly holding her elbow as she stepped up into the coach, he did not touch her. A tightly coiled air wound between them during the return to Kinley House until Ivy turned to him, her confusion apparent.

  “I’ve angered you in some way.”

  “It is of no matter.” His hands fisted at his sides. Why had she stood on the darkened edge of the lobby with Basford? Why did she allow the viscount to hold her elbow? If she only knew how close he was to snatching her up and kissing the memory of every man from her wicked soul, she’d be too frightened to speak.

  Ivy’s lips tightened. Cold stillness stretched out like an endless deserted beach until the coach clattered to a stop.

  Only when he was seconds from losing her, did Sebastian relent. He did not trust himself. The night was too dark, her eyes too mysterious as she gazed at him. He was too full of desire. Too full of unexpected jealousy with the realization he was only one of many in her damnable Pack. And he wanted to be the only one.

  “Ivy…I’m not angry with you.”

  He wanted to kiss her. To touch her. To work these odd tangles out in the most dissipated way possible. The distance between them in the warm, shadowy confines of the coach ought to be enough to protect her. But it wasn't.

  Which infuriated him. Shielding her from danger should not be his priority.

  I am the danger.

  “I know the viscount is vexing. He concerns himself unnecessarily for my welfare. Discounting him, I had a lovely time. Thank you, for…everything.” When her cheeks flushed Sebastian knew she did not refer to the entertainment provided by the opera.

  “I enjoyed myself as well.” This was the problem. He was out of sorts, and he did enjoy himself. Too much. Until Nicholas March reminded him of a woman’s treachery and Basford reminded him of all the others pursuing Ivy’s affections.

  Sebastian never doubted his self-restraint before. His ability to remain immune to any woman’s charms always served him well. It fell to pieces with Ivy. Not only did he conduct himself with an embarrassing lack of control, he topped it by threatening a rival in an unprecedented display of jealousy. No, things were not going to plan and damned if he wasn’t to blame for half of it.

  When the footman tapped on the coach door, Sebastian swung it open, jumping out and brushing the servant away. He assisted Ivy down, her small hand enveloped in his causing a shimmer of protectiveness to coil inside him. These bedeviling emotions were unfamiliar; worse than a punch to the stomach.

  Trailing her up the brick steps of the house, he watched the condescending butler swing open the door, and before he contemplated the madness of his actions, Sebastian followed Ivy inside.

  Brody eyed him with ill-concealed suspicion, but Ivy gave him a smile of pleased acceptance. Then her eyes widened as Sebastian unfastened the frogs of her cloak. Sliding the garment from her shoulders, he handed it to her butler without a second glance at the man.

  “Would you care for a brandy?” She politely offered once she found her voice. If possible, Brody stiffened even more. Still holding the cloak, he glared at Sebastian as if he were a snake slithering into sight and which now needed disposing of. Quickly. Without mercy.

  “Not a good idea,” Sebastian muttered, although he’d sacrifice his black soul for a bottle of the stuff. Or better yet, aged bourbon, if it might dull this strange edge. Yes, a whole case of the stuff, just to be sure. God, his fingers twitched with the need to touch her.

  Ivy turned to the butler. “That will be all, Brody. Thank you.”

  “I’ll see His Lordship to the door.” Brody’s alarm was apparent even in the dimmed light of the foyer.

  Sebastian flicked him a warning glance. Damned if he’d be bullied by a servant. “I’ll see myself to the door.”

  “Um, yes,” Ivy nearly stuttered. “The earl is perfectly capable of seeing himself out.”

  “But milady! It is not proper!” Brody’s face paled to a distinct shade of green as thoughts unexpectedly escaped into words.

  Sebastian’s mouth tightened into a constricted line of imperialistic disapproval. His glare at the insolent servant should have incinerated the man on the spot.

  “It’s quite alright.” Ivy’s laugh was smothered behind a gloved hand. “Brody, I’m fine. You may go.”

  Shoulders drooping with defeat, the man gave the two of them one last concerned glance, executed a crisp bow and quit the room.

  “You should dismiss him,” Sebastian said.

  “I would not ever do such a thing. Brody has been with us since before I was born, having been my mother’s butler at Somerset Hall before she married my father. He’s a fine man, a loyal servant. I’m very fond of him.”

  “He doesn’t care much for me.” Why it mattered that the butler like him or not, Sebastian could not say.

  “Oh, that’s nonsense. But he is always rather gruff with gentlemen, and I suppose I've grown accustomed to it.”

  “Very well. Keep your beloved butler.”

  Sebastian removed his hat and gloves, tossing them onto a nearby table. He paced the perimeter of the foyer, boots clicking with measured treads on the marble floor. Coming to a halt, he leaned against one of the carved marble pillars defining the space.

  Ivy pulled off her gloves as well, setting them carefully on the same table, along with her pier glasses.

  “Are you sure you won’t take a brandy?”

  Something indefinable flickered in his eyes as he studied her profile. “I must be going.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  There was a slight tremble of her hands. When she bit her lower lip, he grinned. “Come here, Ivy.”

  “What if I don’t wish to?” Her voice was hesitant resistance. Sebastian’s smile was complete wickedness.

  “You have no choice.”

&
nbsp; “Don’t I?” Ivy traced the edge of the marble table with an index finger. “Everyone should have choices. Mine is to remain safely out of reach.”

  He chuckled at her naivety. “Oh, little butterfly... a minor point to be considered before inviting me to stay.” Her eyes met his, bright with sudden alarm and Sebastian blew out a sigh of exaggerated patience. “Very well, I shall come to you.”

  Ivy attempted to keep a healthy distance but her retreat did not deter him. If anything, it increased his lethal determination, his eyes glowing with the excitement of the chase.

  He finally cornered her against the far wall of the foyer, where the shadows were the deepest and most secret, where the low gaslight of the chandelier did not quite reach. Bracing his hands flat on the wall on either side of Ivy’s head, Sebastian leaned in and then did not move at all. Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent, that intriguing blend of oranges and lilies. That damned perfume had tied him in knots for the better part of two weeks. He wanted to devour her - just for that scent alone.

  And although there was no logic to it, he was going to give her a chance to save herself.

  His hands lightly curled into twin fists, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. Sucking in a deep breath, he released it and his words were a hoarse whisper.

  “Call for your butler. Your maid. Better still…call for your father.”

  “What?”

  He confused her. Understandable. How did one respond to being hunted in her own foyer then instructed to call for help?

  “I dismissed Brody,” she stuttered, “My maid has been abed for hours. As for my father, he’s presently not even in London…I don’t understand…”

  Sebastian’s eyes snapped open, hot pinpoints of desire flaring in their depths. The opportune moment to take yet another piece of her presented itself. And he possessed precious little self-control with her anyway. “It can’t be said I denied you a chance to escape, Countess.”

  His mouth swooped down to claim hers, a torrent of heat and sexual frustration. The interlude in the carriage was tame compared to this assault. A greedy flame ignited within him. Ivy tasted so goddamn sweet, kissing her should be crime. Thrusting his tongue deep, he gathered as much of her into his mouth as possible. There was a flash of a struggle before Ivy sighed. Her arms curled about his neck.

  Although Sebastian trembled with the effort not to do so, he did not crush her to him. It was a simple defense mechanism. Without it, and he would likely take Ivy Kinley right there in the shadowy corner of her elegant foyer.

  It was far too soon for that. She did not love him. Yet. It was not possible to crush her heart. Yet. But soon, judging by her enthusiastic responses, soon he’d have everything from her.

  As her arms squeezed about him, he maintained the distance between them, her breasts barely brushing his chest as he ravaged her mouth. Holding her was embracing liquid fire. She filled his hands to overflowing, her curves somehow bending around him. Dear God, it was a bloody fight within his soul not to throw her against the wall and sink into her heat. As the kiss went on, his legendary resolve inevitably slipped. Would she stop him from whatever he wished to do?

  One touch of her. One touch and no more. Slowly, Sebastian gathered handfuls of her skirts, his free hand wrapped firmly around her waist, keeping her in place. Pulling the frothy petticoats to one side, up past her knees, the bunched mass hung over his forearm. His hand swept beneath the drifts of fabric.

  Ivy accepted his palm splayed across the upper part of her thigh. Having breached this forbidden land so easily, he dared to steal more. His fingers trailed higher, over the garter holding her stockings. Discovering the smoothness of bare skin above a circlet of soft lace was magical. His core jerked with lust when Ivy quivered. Her mouth melted into his. Sebastian pressed closer to the bewitchment of her body. Defenses be damned. He needed more of her.

  Heat spiraled about them both.

  His hips fit the space between her thighs perfectly, as though he were always meant to be there. The skin beneath his fingertips felt as fine as newly woven silk. He imagined the color to be of honey-tinged cream, the hidden curls at the apex of her thighs surely a soft, gilded chestnut. Sebastian’s groan rumbled deep in his chest. He knew how she would taste on his tongue, buttery and sweet, like honeyed milk.

  He scattered new kisses in different places. Delicate kisses to the faint freckles skating across her nose, shutting his eyes to the dazed light in hers. His lips grazed her chin, trailed down her throat before leisurely traveling up to nip her ear. He smiled with understanding as her breath came in desperate little gasps. Her breasts swelled against the limitations of her gown, and he considered dragging the bodice down to fully savor her. When her fingers slipped through the thick black waves of his hair, pressing his head harder against her, he decided he would do that too. In a moment.

  “Stay still,” he ordered when she swayed and dizzily clutched at his shoulders. And when his fingers swept into the heat between her thighs, Sebastian found he was the one suddenly motionless.

  The feel of her on his fingertips drove him insane. She was soft and wet, those low, panting sighs of hers arousing him to a fever pitch. He wanted to push himself into her, as deep as possible…to bury himself in velvety warmth, cradled within her and with her heartbeat all around him. Somehow, he managed to remain still, waiting for her decision. Either come to him or stop him. She must be on the verge of stopping him. She had to be. She could not allow this to continue…

  Ivy shifted. Her legs parted, allowing him greater access. Like a butterfly opening her wings. Inviting him to explore. To plunder and claim.

  Revenge, the need to see her destroyed. Timothy's death. None of it mattered. The only thing he cared about, here, now, was how to possess her.

  Chapter 7

  Ivy could not breathe. Could not rationalize, could not reason, nor fight. She could not form a clear thought in the muddle her brain had become. Finding the slit in her silky undergarments, his fingers speared through her tight curls, and how his hand came to be there, she did not know. Overwhelmed by pleasure, her legs fell open, wanting more. More...please...more.

  Then a sudden panic gripped her. She shoved him but Sebastian dragged her closer, sensing the chaotic turmoil inside her.

  “Be still,” he whispered again into the curvature of her neck, his fingers motionless, just resting on her there. His touch stole all the air from her lungs until all focus centered on his hand. It felt so warm, so invasive between her thighs. The unfamiliarity carried a strange sensation of weightlessness, as though she were drowning in a hazy sea of pleasant breathlessness. His muscled forearm pressed against a sliver of exposed skin on her belly and the sharp pang of longing deep in her core carried all the heat of a lightning bolt.

  For a long moment, Sebastian did nothing but allow her to become accustomed to the heavy heat of his palm, the bluntness of his fingers and the rough pads at the tips pressing against her. He was so still that Ivy’s tense muscles began to ease. Why he wanted to place his hand there bewildered her, but he was not hurting her. It merely felt...odd.

  In the faintest hint of a caress, his lips brushed her temple. “Easy...shhhh...have you any idea how much I want to touch you? Don’t move, sweet, I won't hurt you…”

  He did the most amazing thing.

  His finger dipped into the moisture high between her legs, driving just deep enough to enter her. Collecting the dampness on his fingertips, he swirled it over and around sensitive skin she only now realized existed.

  Ivy’s knees buckled. Her head spun with maddening pleasure. She might collapse to the very floor if Sebastian did not hold her so tight, keeping her steady. His finger delved deeper, to the first knuckle, her flesh accepting it. Oh god, she should stop him. Put an end to this insanity. But she did not. Sebastian Cain was showing her heaven in the palm of his hand, and she could only tremble and moan.

  “Sebastian…” Did she utter his name to stop him? Or to encourage him?

 
; The silver depths of his eyes glittered. Answering her dilemma, his finger slid higher inside her.

  “Sweet fires of hell, you’re so goddamn tight…let me, Ivy, let me in…yes, yes, that’s it…”

  Gripping the muscles of his forearm through the cloth of his coat, Ivy swallowed hard. When Sebastian shifted so he was flush against the center of her body, she allowed it. When his finger sank to the hilt, his palm cupping the mound of soft curls, she willingly bent to him.

  Beneath the solid pressure of his chest, her light corset and chemise rubbed in torturous slides against the sensitive peaks of her nipples. Inside her, his finger felt so thick and foreign, explosions of sweet intensity throwing Ivy into a new universe. She wanted him, regardless of the danger. Wanted to wrap around him, pull his mouth down to hers. Wanted his hands on her, around her, in her, anywhere he cared to place them. She wanted everything that was him.

  If you let him in, he will destroy you. The whispered warning came from somewhere deep inside, an internal primal fortress desperately screaming to save herself. She ignored it, urging Sebastian’s head down until his lips closed over hers.

  It was a slow, wicked tandem of drawing, thrusting, his mouth and fingers working in harmony. Filling and emptying, withdrawing and circling, he stroked and played her until Ivy quivered. Inside her, something beautiful fluttered with the delicate shyness of an exotic butterfly. It was terrifyingly splendid. Every part of her soul was being torn apart, lost during some manner of necessary transformation.

  Nipping her ear, his whispered words were a fiery command she could not disobey.

  “Place your arms around my neck.”

  Ivy marveled at the heat of his skin. He was fire come to life, clad in an expensive suit. If he were naked, he would likely burn her flesh and she would welcome it.