She stopped. Was it wise to tell this man that thus far he was the only one she desired? That she could picture herself in no other man’s bed?
Probably not.
His eyes widened at her truncated statement, but he did not press her further.
“Good,” he said slowly. “At least this madness affects us both.”
She nodded. He had said madness twice and that was as good a way to put these feelings as any. It certainly seemed like madness when he touched her and she lost control like some untried virgin who had only just discovered pleasure and wanted to explore it in every way possible. When it was only the fact that Owen was gone, a fact that hurt them both so desperately, that gave them the power to pursue their desire.
“But again, I ask you what to do about it?” she pressed as she got to her feet and paced the room restlessly. “We want each other, we have each admitted as much, but that does not solve my problem, nor does it make you want to take the role of protector for me.”
He nodded. “I understand. But since you do not yet have a protector…and since my desire for you continues despite my vow never to have the same woman two times in a row…perhaps what we should share is an affair.”
Mariah blinked. “An…affair?” she repeated slowly.
“Yes. Something that is just for us, just for you.”
He pushed to his feet and moved a step toward her. There was something almost desperate in his eyes as he stared at her. Like he needed this, just as she needed it.
“Mariah, you will soon enter into a new relationship and I’m sure you will be well taken care of, but would you not like to also have a few weeks where you just experience pleasure? I would give that to you. If you would allow me to do so.”
Mariah shivered. John had proven himself a powerful lover already. She knew there was more waiting for her if she accepted his offer. And perhaps, in some small way, being with him would help her open the doors so that she would be ready for a new lover, a new protector.
“I admit, it is tempting,” she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “You are tempting, though I’m certain you know that better than anyone.”
His quick flash of a grin did not dissipate her feelings on the subject, but she pressed on.
“But, John, you must understand, my current situation is quite dire. Yes, there is a small bit of money, but in six months I shall lose my home—” She stopped with a blush. “I shall lose the home Owen provided for me during our arrangement. I would very much like to be in a new situation before that happens. Before I must beg off the kindness of my friends. Before I become truly desperate. I cannot simply call off my search for a protector…even if we are sharing passion and pleasure.”
For a moment, John hesitated.
“I admit, I don’t like the idea that you would continue to seek out a lover even while coming to my bed,” he began slowly. “But I am aware of the untenable position Owen left you in. I realize what you are facing.”
Mariah bit her lip. “Yes, there is that fact. That you knew what Owen intended and did not share it with me.”
He frowned and for the first time since their first meeting, he actually looked chagrined. “I suppose I hoped he would change his mind.”
“Wh-why didn’t Owen make arrangements for my comfort?” she whispered. In her heart she knew why. He had not loved her, all his promises had been empty, a way to make her surrender fully, to cease her worries so that she would only focus on him. But she wanted to hear it said out loud.
“Heathcote was selfish. He had never experienced any kind of fear or loss financially, so he could not empathize with the idea of such a thing.” John shrugged. “I’m certain he would have settled you well if he had left you instead of died. But he could not picture a time when he would be gone…and if he had…he was too conceited to plan for anyone else’s comfort. Hell, he probably thought the world would end with him.”
Mariah shook her head. The words themselves were a harsh assessment of a man she had loved. But they were accurate. Owen’s sense of his own importance, his sense of his worth to others, had never been a secret. That confidence had once been an attraction. She had expected him to change his stripes, perhaps that had been to her detriment.
“I must be more careful with my next lover,” she said, raising her gaze to meet his. “And choose a protector wisely, as well.”
He nodded after a brief hesitation. “I would not ask you to endanger yourself for my pleasure. It would be unfair.”
Mariah drew back. She hadn’t expected him to understand, yet he did. “Thank you.”
He looked at her evenly. “Does that mean we have come to terms?”
Mariah jolted. “Is that what we have been doing? Negotiating?” He nodded and she couldn’t help but laugh. “I should have had a representative here, I think.”
“Trust me, I have your best interest at heart.” He smiled. “Or at least your best interest is paramount to some part of my body.”
She smiled. Here she was, in an untenable position, and yet John somehow made light of it. Made her laugh when she hadn’t even felt like smiling for weeks. That, at least, was worth pursuing.
“Then I suppose we have come to terms,” she said and stepped forward to take his hand. “I must say, I most look forward to fulfilling them.”
He grinned as he looked down at her. “As do I.”
Love is madness.
An Indiscreet Debutante
© 2013 Lorelie Brown
When Miss Charlotte Vale isn’t running a school for impoverished factory women, she takes tea with an insane painter—the mother she adores. Determined to avoid her mother’s legacy of madness, Lottie refuses to marry and nurtures the ton’s bemused disregard for her reputation.
Through her door strides a man who threatens all she holds dear. Her cherished school, her careful control and her guarded heart.
Sir Ian Heald has tracked his sister’s blackmailer to her last-known location—Lottie’s school. Although he would burn the place to the ground if it would save his sister’s reputation, Ian is drawn to Lottie’s bold candor and indifference toward polite society.
To find his sister’s blackmailer, Ian follows Lottie into a twisted world of illegal gambling clubs and eccentric parties. Even when their mutual passion ignites, Ian knows their affair cannot last. Lottie was never meant to be tucked away on his quiet pastoral estate, and she staunchly refuses his desire to wed. Yet fiery kisses and scandalous showdowns tempt this proper country gentleman to win the woman he loves and never let her go.
Warning: This book contains gambling in low-class clubs, deliciously deadpan dialogue, an unplanned swim to rescue doused women, and a fast, furious spanking. She wants it though, so that hardly counts.
Enjoy the following excerpt for An Indescreet Debutante:
When Miss Charlotte Vale isn’t running a school for impoverished factory women, she takes tea with an insane painter—the mother she adores. Determined to avoid her mother’s legacy of madness, Lottie refuses to marry and nurtures the ton’s bemused disregard for her reputation.
Through her door strides a man who threatens all she holds dear. Her cherished school, her careful control and her guarded heart.
Sir Ian Heald has tracked his sister’s blackmailer to her last-known location—Lottie’s school. Although he would burn the place to the ground if it would save his sister’s reputation, Ian is drawn to Lottie’s bold candor and indifference toward polite society.
To find his sister’s blackmailer, Ian follows Lottie into a twisted world of illegal gambling clubs and eccentric parties. Even when their mutual passion ignites, Ian knows their affair cannot last. Lottie was never meant to be tucked away on his quiet pastoral estate, and she staunchly refuses his desire to wed. Yet fiery kisses and scandalous showdowns tempt this proper country gentleman to win the woman he loves and never let her go.
Warning: This book contains gambling in low-class clubs, deliciously deadpan dialogue, an unpl
anned swim to rescue doused women, and a fast, furious spanking. She wants it though, so that hardly counts.
Enjoy the following excerpt for An Indiscreet Debutante:
He couldn’t have been more shocked to see her. His lips parted on silence. Someone had found him a banyan. The dark blue silk wrapped around his torso, and he wore dark trousers beneath, but under that his feet were bare. He had pale and slender feet and toes with a tiny sprinkle of dark hairs across the top.
Her fingers curled into her palms.
They’d brought the tea, and he sat at a table next to the window. A tree’s leafy green canopy obstructed most of the view through the window, but she knew that was no hardship. Next door was a brick townhouse.
She needed assistance keeping her brain inside her skull because she was losing it. The throbbing, heavy weight in her blood was expanding through her whole body, the way she’d always feared.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said after a long moment.
Likely he’d tired of waiting on her to be less insane. “It’s my house. I’m allowed to be anywhere I like.”
“I doubt that.” He leaned one elbow on the arm of the chair. The embroidered lapels of the robe parted enough to display three inches of his chest. There was a division between two thick muscles. He was a man who hadn’t ignored his body.
He made her want to not ignore her own body.
Losing her virginity had been an idle thought, one born of convictions and supposition. Not need. Not any amount of want. She ranged closer to the table, closer to him. Her fingers trailed over the cold metal edge of the tea tray.
“I’m all but mistress of this domain.” She nudged a plate of iced biscuits to the side in order to get at a tiny dish of cubed sugar. The piece she picked up was rough between her thumb and finger. She rubbed it over her bottom lip, then licked away the grains left behind. Sweetness burst over her tongue.
He never moved. His hands didn’t shift, nor did his feet, nor any other variety of limbs. The tilted-down angle of his chin stayed still, and he watched her from under thick, dark lashes.
Despite not moving, he was…alive. Aware of her and of the heat that flowed back and forth between them. Far, far away in the recesses of the house a timepiece chimed. Between them was the thick molasses of promise and potential. His eyes all but burned her skin, turning the stretch between her shoulder blades into a tickling, sensitive place that begged for his touch.
Except instead of following through with those silent promises, he shook his head, so very slowly. “You don’t want to head down this route.”
She edged closer. Near enough that her skirts folded over and around his calves. His knees. She managed to smile, but no one would ever know what it cost her. The way her lips felt nearly numb. She wanted to run her tongue over them, just to feel.
Maybe she could feel his mouth instead.
She still held the sugar cube. When she lifted it to his lips, it almost seemed that the room would implode from what built and wove between them. He speared her with that wicked gaze, and despite the reluctance she could feel rolling off him, the tiniest quirk of his lips said she hadn’t gone too far astray.
His lips parted for the cube. His tongue darted out enough to wet the tip of her index finger. A full-body shiver rolled over her skin and dove into her veins, turning her into both more and less.
“Maybe I don’t want to wander down the route. Maybe I want to run.”
Ian knew better.
Sugar melted on his tongue. Granules rubbed across the top of his mouth with sweet abrasion. Comparatively, her finger had little flavor, with the slightest hint of warmth and life.
She made him feel like he were Genghis Khan. A conqueror who didn’t need to be bent on taking because the slave girl was already offering him everything she had. Everything she was.
Her lush bottom lip trembled, but her eyes were wickedly hot. Her gaze scalded him, made his brain fuzzy at the edges. She wanted to be taken, or so she implied.
Unlikely.
His fingers locked around the arms of his chair, but he wasn’t sure what he braced against. The rising need, maybe. He didn’t have time for her. Hell, he shouldn’t have agreed to resting in her house long enough for his clothes to dry. The likelihood of him catching sick in a short carriage ride was negligible. But he’d wanted to help her. Those wide eyes, the obvious distress on her face. It all combined into a compelling desire to give her what she wanted.
Not taking what he wanted. “No,” he growled.
She twitched, her elbows tucking in closer to her ribs. “No?”
His hips shifted in his seat, tipping forward toward her. He slid his knees out a fraction and made room for her voluminous skirts. Apparently his own body didn’t believe his words. “It’s a common word. Do I need to explain its meaning? I’m sure you don’t hear it often.”
She smelled so sultry and edged with temptation that his mouth watered. The sugar slid and spun and washed through him. No substitution.
She laughed. “I hear it often enough.” She leaned down closer. Her hands rested on the chair’s arms. Her dress was modest. Tight. All the way up to her collarbones, with more white lace edging toward her slender, graceful neck. He hated the damn thing. “I don’t like the word.”
He couldn’t reach up and trace her pale neck the way he wanted. Otherwise all his control would snap. He shifted the first two fingers of each hand enough to rest them on her knuckles. Supple and hard in one, she was bone covered with silk. Barely concealed, barely hidden.
Though she didn’t realize it, her every emotion rode right beneath the surface. He was shocked she triumphed in society. Sharks should have scented her blood and taken her down.
“You might be improved by a little extra experience with denial.”
She shook her head. When she’d changed her clothes, someone had tried to repin her hair from the tumbled mess created during the park’s drama. They’d succeeded for the most part, but feathery red tendrils curled around her cheeks and temples. “I’m perfect the way I am. You should kiss me and find out.”
He hadn’t ever laughed while kissing a woman before, but both responses rose together. His lips took hers. His hands lifted to cup her jaw and trace over delicate ears.
All the while, laughter wove between them, trading between their lips and teeth and tongues. She kissed exactly how he’d expected. Complete abandon and rapidly growing joy.
He leaned up even as she leaned down. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, thumbs tucking beneath the open collar. Those two touches of skin were more than enough. Their lips clung, and Ian and Lottie laughed at the same time. There wasn’t enough air between them. He’d lost control of the situation.
His body woke. Wanted. Needed.
He didn’t dare lower his hands from her face, but he tilted them. Let his thumbs coast over that tender flesh under her jaw. He felt it move and work as she so eagerly kissed him, and he loved that sense of delicacy, with that extra hint of tenderness.
She was gilt. A shiny and beautiful layer over harder, more base emotions underneath. He wanted to see underneath that artificial brightness.
That wasn’t his right. He didn’t get to peel her apart the way he needed, because he’d be damned if he stayed long enough to put her back together. He’d return to his regular existence soon enough, in order to reassure Etta their world was safe. Maybe he’d revisit London to find a wife next Season, but he’d find someone more of his own sort. Ordinary.
He didn’t get to keep Lottie, which meant that he didn’t have the right to take everything he wanted.
His laughter faded.
With his hands as gentle as he could manage, he pushed her away, but he couldn’t resist one last nip of her bottom lip. Flesh gave under his teeth.
She didn’t straighten fully. With her cloud of red hair, she hovered over him like a depraved angel. He liked it. He liked her a hell of a lot, for that matter. Especially the way she grinned. “See? Perfect.�
��
He chuckled again, until he realized that he’d been unable to let go. His fingertips smoothed over her soft skin, from her nape to her shoulders. “I concede the point.”
Her Perfect Match
Jess Michaels
She will do anything for him…except surrender.
Mistress Matchmaker, Book 3
Vivien Manning, the notorious Mistress Matchmaker, is tired. Tired of the parties, tired of the lovers, tired of being her. So she decides to leave London behind once and for all and start a whole new life.
But before she goes, she must tie up some loose ends, and makes a list that includes a man she’s never been fully able to let go—Benedict Greystone.
Benedict was broken when Vivien broke off their affair years ago. When she comes back into his life...and his bed…he isn't certain of anything except the power of their desire.
But as Vivien moves closer to disappearing forever, both of them begin to question if the past can be overcome and if love might be the one loose end that cannot be neatly tied up.
Warning: This book contains scenes of a powerful woman, unafraid of her sexuality, trying to find her way in the world. There is a brief scene of a threesome M/F/M and then one woman falling madly in love with one man. Proceed with caution, a fan and tissues.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Her Perfect Match: Mistress Matchmaker, Book 3 Page 21
