by Jo Beverley
“Oh! Be careful. I’m too heavy.”
“No, you aren’t.” He lifted her higher, so his mouth could reach one of her nipples. “You don’t seem at all heavy to me.” He flicked her nipple with his tongue and she squeaked.
“I should have bet I could make you squeak.” He carried her over to the bed and dropped her onto the mattress, making her squeak again. “But that would have been too easy.”
He joined her. The mattress must still be lumpy, but he didn’t feel it now. Grace wasn’t complaining either. She was spread out on her back, looking trustingly up at him.
God, he felt such love. He wanted to make Grace groan, yes, but he also wanted to make her laugh, keep her safe, give her children, entwine his life with hers year after year after year until they were truly inseparable.
He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, and her mouth—quite thoroughly. He explored her neck, her breasts, her belly, and her lovely, soft thighs. He—
She pressed her legs together before he reached his goal.
“What are you doing?” She sounded quite alarmed.
He looked up at her. “Kissing you. Isn’t that obvious?”
She struggled onto her elbows. “I-I am certain what you are doing is inappropriate.”
“Indeed?” He brushed his lips over the reddish curls at his end of her lovely body. “In which book of manners did you find a list of appropriate forms of marital kissing? I’ve not seen that tome.”
She flushed—all of her flushed. It was a truly delightful display. “I have not read it in a book, of course.”
“No? So which patroness of Almack’s made this pronouncement?”
“Don’t be absurd. The patronesses don’t discuss such things.”
“They’ve ruled on the appropriateness of dances. And, now that I think on it, they have approved the waltz, so I believe they would definitely find this form of kissing unexceptional.”
“David, you are being absurd.”
“Not at all.” He stroked her thighs; she sucked in her breath and opened them for him. “But I’m not certain they would approve of this type of kissing. You must ask them when next we are in Town.”
“What are you—eek!”
She closed her knees again in shock as he flicked his tongue over the hard little nub hidden in her curls. How delightful—she’d trapped him exactly where he wished to be. He licked her again.
“Oh! Oh!” Her hands gripped his head, her fingers weaving through his hair. “D-David.”
“I think that was more of a wail than a groan.”
“What?”
“I must make you groan, remember?”
“What are you—oh!”
He smiled as his tongue slid over and around her. He breathed in her musky scent, tasting her deeply. Her hips bucked and shifted. She made lovely little sounds—definitely squeaks and gasps and moans…but did she groan?
No matter. He was about to groan. He was so hard, and she was so wet and ready. It was time, but first…
He felt the tension in her body build, heard her breath catch…and then he touched his tongue delicately once more to her hard little pleasure point. She made an odd sound—a soft scream—and sat up. Then she groaned—definitely a groan—and fell back onto the mattress.
He followed her, slipping into her body, thrusting through her barrier as quickly, as gently as he could, and holding, surrounded by her wet heat. He had never felt anything so wonderful in his life.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Yes.” She sounded very annoyed.
“I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It had better not.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. He wanted to give her time to adjust, but his body was clamoring for release.
“The first part was lovely, though.” Her hands slid down his sweat-slicked back to his buttocks.
Her touch was exquisite. And her body under his…heaven. So soft and hot and wet. He couldn’t wait another instant. He moved as cautiously as he was able.
“Is…is that all right?”
“Mmm.” She gripped his arse harder, pulled him toward her, and wiggled her hips.
“Ah.” It was too much. He thrust again.
Gentle. Careful. Not too hard.
He was fighting a losing battle. At least he was going to be fast—not usually a good thing, but with this being Grace’s first time, probably a blessing.
Blessing or curse, it was the way it was going to be.
He managed to hold onto a thin thread of control until the final glide through her tight heat. He stopped deep inside her, suspended in anticipation, and then his seed leapt into her welcoming body.
He collapsed as carefully as he could onto her. He felt her arms go round him, hugging him close.
Grace closed her eyes. It had all been so overwhelming. She ran her hands up his back and breathed as deeply as she could. Her legs cradled his hips. She was surrounded by his heat and scent. It was wonderful.
She felt very, very married.
“I’m too heavy for you,” he murmured by her ear. He moved off and out of her.
She shivered. Without his body covering hers, she was chilled—but not for long. David pulled the covers up and gathered her close. She nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder.
The place between her legs was sore and wet—and empty now. Had she really felt…what she’d felt?
“Are you all right, Grace?”
“Mmm.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She smoothed her fingers over the hair on his stomach. Words were beyond her abilities at the moment.
David ran his hand up and down her side. “Where were you going to take the stagecoach if I hadn’t found you?”
“London.” She licked his skin. Mmm. Salty. “To Aunt Kate.” She pressed herself closer. She would like to do what they’d just done again.
“I doubt she’s there. I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but when you were packing and leaving with your father, my uncle and your aunt were…having a frank and thorough discussion.”
“Oh?”
“Like the frank and thorough discussion we just had.”
“Oh.” Aunt Kate had done…this? Surely she was too old.
“Alex left Motton’s estate shortly before I did to procure a special license. He and your aunt are probably married and on their honeymoon now.”
“Aunt Kate didn’t wait for me?” She should feel offended—would feel offended when she could feel anything beyond this overwhelming languor.
“Well, they were in a bit of a hurry. Your aunt is carrying Alex’s child.”
That news broke through her lassitude. She sat up.
“What?!”
“Your aunt is going to be a mother.” He cupped her breast, stroked it. “And my uncle is going to be a father.”
“Oh.” David’s touch felt so good; it was completely distracting. She should think about her aunt, but later. Now desire curled low in her stomach; the sore spot between her legs started to throb. Could they do what they’d just done again?
Another thought managed to drift through her heated consciousness.
“If I hadn’t run away, I’d probably be at church now.”
David leaned forward and licked her nipple. “I’m glad you’re not.”
“So am I.” She arched her back, trying to encourage him to keep doing what he was doing. For the first time since she’d reached womanhood she wasn’t embarrassed by her breasts. She was almost proud of them. She frowned. “I do hope Papa spoke to John.”
David pulled her onto his chest. “Stop worrying. Parker-Roth’s a grown man. He should have realized he didn’t have your love.” He cradled her head and kissed her very thoroughly. “Frankly, your passion would have been wasted on him.”
“And it’s not wasted on you?”
“Of course not. I made you groan, didn’t I?”
She grinned down at him, mischief in her eyes again. “I’m not
so certain you did.”
David’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? I had you writhing and moaning.”
“Ah, but was I groaning? Moaning, yes, I’ll grant you moaning. But groaning…I’m not so certain.”
David shrugged, causing his skin to slide in a very delightful way across her nipples. They peaked at once—and the bold man noticed. His hand came up to play with one hard nub.
“I see you are a difficult woman, Lady Dawson. And I, being the gentleman I am, do not wish to dispute a lady—especially my lady wife. I will concede to you this time.” His thumb pressed on her nipple, and she drew in a sharp breath. “What is my penalty?”
“That was an easy question to answer. She knew exactly what she wanted. “You must do what you just did—everything you just did.”
“Everything?” He pressed her nipple again, and she felt his touch all the way to her womb. “You mean from the time your lovely back first hit this not-so-lovely mattress?”
“Yes.” Grace smiled in anticipation. She wiggled slightly and felt a specific part of him grow. “Everything.”
David grinned. “My pleasure, Lady Dawson.” He flipped her onto her back and kissed her, his free hand sliding over her body to the place that most ached for his touch. “My very, very great pleasure.”
WHEN HIS KISS IS WICKED
KAITLIN O’RILEY
MORE THAN A KISS
“I should go,” she murmured again, her aquamarine eyes still on his.
“Don’t go yet.”
He stepped closer to her, causing his heart to pound in his head. Every single nerve in his body tensed at the closeness of her. Maybe it was the wine he had with supper. Maybe it was her light, sweet violet fragrance that surrounded him, enveloped him. Maybe it was inevitable. But he had to kiss her just once, and then he would send her home.
Just one kiss.
In one quick movement, his arm reached out and encircled her, pulling her up against his chest, and his mouth came down over hers possessively. As he lost himself in the feel of her seductive lips, the soft silken touch of her mouth responding wildly to his, he held her even tighter, the length of his body pressed intimately against hers.
He had Colette Hamilton in his arms just feet away from his bedroom.
He knew then with a dreadful certainty that this would not end with just one kiss…
Books by Kaitlin O’Riley
SECRETS OF A DUCHESS
ONE SINFUL NIGHT
WHEN HIS KISS IS WICKED
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
For my sister, Jane.
I truly could not have done this one without you.
Thank you for everything, especially the champagne and bacon.
And for Dad.
Thanks for being my research department.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Acknowledgments
I give my most heartfelt gratitude for all their love, support, and wisdom, as well as for helping me in vast and various ways, to the following people:
My West Coast contingent: Jennifer & Greg Malins, Maureen Milmore, Billy Van Zandt, Adrienne Barbeau, Jaime Merz, David Horvitz, Eric Anderson, and all my wonderful friends at CH.
My East Coast contingent: Jane Milmore, Richard Vaczy, Janet Wheeler, Scott Wheeler, John Milmore, Yvonne Deane, Kim McCafferty, Michele Weiner, Jeff Babey, Lynn Kroll, Laurence Cogger (merci beaucoup! ), Jane Dystel, Miriam Goderich, and John Scognamiglio.
(And a special thank you goes out to the inspiration for the character of Jeffrey Eddington.)
Note to Riley: You make me proud every minute of every day.
Chapter One
You Can’t Judge a Book by Its Cover
London, England
May 1870
“Hello!” a deep masculine voice called. “Is anybody here?”
The words echoed through Hamilton’s Book Shoppe, a small but quaint building on a side lane off Bond Street in Mayfair, London’s most fashionable district. Lucien Sinclair, the Earl of Waverly, looked around the dark and cluttered interior searching for signs of the proprietor.
Growing impatient, Lucien ventured another call, this time a little louder. Honestly, one would think Mr. Hamilton had no desire to do any business if he were not present to greet potential customers when they arrived.
“Just a moment, please!” a dulcet voice exclaimed from the back of the shop. “I shall be right with you!”
Finally. A response of some sort. Well, that explained the delay, Lucien thought to himself. Apparently a woman was left to tend the shop. Perhaps Mr. Hamilton was out for the day, in which case his little venture would be for naught. He highly doubted the lady in the back room would be able to assist him.
He had met the owner of the shop over a year ago and had found him to be most agreeable. A kind and genial man who was very intent on helping Lucien choose the exact type of literature that would interest him, Mr. Hamilton wouldn’t rest until Lucien was totally satisfied with his selection of authors. Lucien had only purchased the books out of boredom one day, hoping to ease the restlessness that plagued him from time to time, but once he returned home, he had lost interest in the little stack of books chosen by the eager bookseller, and he became immersed in his demanding social life once again.
However, a few weeks ago his father’s sudden illness required him to spend more time at home to look after the weakened man and keep him company. Lucien began to read to his bedridden father, finally putting the forgotten books to good use, and surprise of surprises, he had actually enjoyed them. He realized how much he missed reading for pleasure, since he had not done much of it since his days at Oxford. Now he wanted to speak with Mr. Hamilton, not only to thank him, but also to ask his suggestion for new books he and his father might appreciate.
Glancing around, he noticed the little bookshop was not quite how he remembered it, but then again it had been over a year since he had visited there last. If he was not mistaken, the bookshop had been remarkably like any other that he had seen in his life; dark, disordered, and fairly dusty. Now it appeared to be undergoing some sort of transformation. Wooden crates, some of which were stacked and some open, and an assortment of hundreds of leather-bound books lay scattered in haphazard heaps on the floor, large buckets of paint and various sized brushes rested on a work table, and long sheets of canvas covered half the room.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” That clear and gentle voice intoned once again and Lucien turned to see a woman walking toward him. “Welcome to Hamilton’s. How may I help you, sir?”
Never one to miss a pretty face, Lucien instinctively noted the one belonging to the lady in front of him. From her small stature, he judged her to be very young, perhaps seventeen, seeing as there was a youthful air about her. Still, she approached him in a businesslike manner. She must be minding her papa’s store for the first time. He frowned.
“I was hoping to speak to Mr. Hamilton,” he responded in his most imperious tone.
As she stepped closer he revised his initial impression of her, for she was more than passably pretty. In
spite of the dirt smudges on her fair skin, the dust motes sprinkled in her rich brunette hair, and the drab, shapeless gray smock that covered the navy dress she wore, her face was stunningly beautiful in its perfection. Her deep blue eyes, insightful and steady, regarded him with what seemed like skepticism. Even disdain. Her demeanor shocked him. Such an odd thing! Couldn’t she tell he was a nobleman? What would prompt the beautiful girl to look at him in such a condescending way? As if she knew more than he did? As if she had dealt with his kind before?
“I am Miss Hamilton, his daughter. I can assist you.”
The challenging, practically defiant, tilt to her head almost knocked him over. Once again he realized he was in error. She was older than he first thought, for she handled herself far too confidently. She must be closer to twenty. Again he frowned. He refused to deal with a haughty shopkeeper’s daughter.
“I’m sure you are quite a charming young lady, but I was hoping your father could assist me. Perhaps I shall return at another time when he is available to offer his expertise. Would you please tell me when I could expect him?”
“My father passed away six months ago.” She stated this matter-of-factly, revealing no emotion, her face calm and serene.
Feeling like a callous idiot, he said earnestly, “I am very sorry to hear that, Miss Hamilton. I only knew him briefly, but your father seemed to be a good man. Please accept my sincerest condolences on your loss.”
She nodded her head in acknowledgment of his sympathy. “Thank you.”
After an awkward pause, he asked out of polite curiosity, “Who is responsible for running the bookshop now?”
“I am.”
That truly took him aback. A mere woman, this little slip of a girl, maintaining a business? It was preposterous. Ridiculous. Unheard of. She ought to be safely married with a home to manage, not working in a store.
