“Most certainly not.” Her eyes danced between him and Georgina, her smile widening. “That would most definitely spoil the fun.”
She departed on a swirl of skirts.
Greyston smoothed a hand over the silky coat of the stallion as he raked Georgina with a lazy gaze. “You seem to have escaped a morning with Evelyn relatively unscathed, all things considered.”
“She was wary of me at first.” Georgina stepped closer, her fingers working the ties of her apron. “The moment I disabused her of the idea of me and Devon, she turned on the charm.”
His brow shot up. “How did you manage that?”
“I used you shamelessly, I’m afraid.” Her eyes twinkled while her lips formed an apologetic moue. “I simply couldn’t stop myself talking endlessly about the virile, dashing pirate captain I’d been introduced to. She thinks I’m absolutely besotted with you.”
“And what do you think?” he said huskily.
Beside him, the stallion’s nostrils flared. “Easy boy,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving the woman who roused the blood of every male in the vicinity.
“I think you should think again if you think you’re going riding alone,” she quipped, striding past him for the stable entrance. “Give me a minute.”
“Do you need help with the saddle?”
“I was sitting a saddle before I left my weaning chair,” she threw over her shoulder. “There’s nothing you could teach me.”
We’ll see about that.
Greyston’s chuckle rumbled in his chest as he slid a booted foot in the stirrup and swung one leg over the stallion’s broad back. He wore his leather breeches, cuffed leather boots, and his linen shirt hung open at his neck. He dipped his head back and gave his face to the warmth of the sun and the whispering breeze. The lady was besotted with a virile pirate captain and damn if he hadn’t dressed for the part. Somewhere above the clear blue skies, hidden stars aligned and the vibrations thrummed his veins.
A horse snorted at his back. He brought his head down, tugging the reins to turn about. His breath caught on a flame at the sight of Georgina astride the grey gelding.
The apron and the straw hat had been discarded.
Copper curls tumbled over her shoulders, bared but for the slivers of corded silk reaching from a low-cut bodice to twine around her neck. The day dress was fashioned in layers of finely-spun emerald cotton, but the design was closer to an evening gown. Sleeveless, dipping into her bust, tucked at the waist, and not a petticoat that he could see. And he was seeing a lot. The corset beneath shaped her body without confining. He’d bet she’d never suffered from a fainting spell in her life. Her straddled position revealed inches of satin skin between the top of her knee-high tan boot and where her skirts rode up her thigh.
She tossed her hair back and dug her knees in, pushing the gelding into a snorting trot.
She was halfway down the stable drive before he’d recovered from the onslaught of Georgina Bonnington. He gathered the reins loosely, maintaining an unhurried pace as he followed.
Georgina veered off the main drive, through an arch of vines and bramble, and then led the way down a narrow trail. Scotch Firs packed each side, tall, bared trunks standing sentinel like an army of soldiers to keep him at her back. Greyston didn’t mind. He was enjoying the view, especially as he may well not get to touch.
After a series of turns, the trail broke free onto a meadow flowing with pale grass and vibrant summer flowers. Georgina spurred her horse into a wild gallop.
With a flick of the reins, Greyston increased his canter until the stallion and gelding were neck and neck. He rode the better beast, but he had no wish to beat Georgina. Each time she pushed ahead, he caught up, but never overtook. When they’d crossed the meadow, he fell back to bring up the rear again in the forest trail on the other side, a trail that eventually brought them to a magnificent wooded glade and a sparkling lake nestled in the belly of the forest.
Greyston’s gaze went from the sunlight-dappled water to her animated face. “You seem to know your way about.”
She sent him a cheeky smile. “This isn’t my first visit to Harchings Castle.”
His brows drew tight as he thought of her and Harchings. She lied to me. He had no claim to Georgina, but Evelyn certainly had a claim to her husband. In the next breath, he remembered Georgina’s husband had served under the duke. From what he’d surmised, their association had been quite close and no doubt countless invitations had been extended in the past. Clearing his scowl, he swung to the ground and hooked the reins around a low hanging branch, leaving enough slack for the stallion to graze.
Georgina was already dismounting when he turned, and he reached her just in time for her to glide into his arms as her feet touched the ground. Her lungs swelled against his chest with a sharply drawn breath, and then eased.
She spun in his embrace, delicious curves brushing awareness through every inch of his body. “Since you’re here,” she said huskily, her gaze slowly lifting to hook his, “you may as well make yourself useful.”
The sultry look in her eyes fed into him, heating that awareness. He brought one hand from her waist to brush a curl from her cheek. His head lowered, but she took advantage of the sudden freedom and stepped back, taking the faint traces of orange blossom with her.
She arched a brow at him and smiled, as she slapped the ends of her reins into his palms.
He held her gaze through lids hooded with the weight of his intent, his mouth kicking into a lazy grin. First I’ll take care of your horse, then I’ll take care of you.
That brow arched higher, mocking him as delusional. That smile plumped sumptuously, promising him everything.
His blood thickened.
She pressed past him, throwing her arms out to encapsulate the silvery lake and mystic surrounds of lush forest firs. “Isn’t this marvellous?”
Greyston gave his arousal a moment to settle, then tied the gelding up a few trees over from the stallion.
His gaze swept the area. The glade was idyllic, a secluded bite of paradise. His eyes landed on the woman he hungered after.
She stood straight and firm, but never rigid. Fine-spun emerald hugged her slender torso, the tight bodice dipping below the small of her back into a tantalising V before flaring into the fuller skirts. His fingers itched to unlace the knee-high boots beneath and peel back the leather that caressed her calves.
He pulled his eyes from her to the cool depths of the lake, deciding it would be wise to dampen his ardour. Georgina was not a woman to be tossed in the hay, or, as in this case, at the edge of a lake.
She’s not a woman to be tossed at all.
Georgina liked to play with fire, dancing in and out of the flames, but only a fool would mistake her for kindling.
He stripped his shirt as he walked and tossed the linen on a fallen trunk near the edge of the water. He put one foot on the log and reached over to undo the silver clips down the side of his boot. As he changed legs to remove the other boot, his head bent in her direction with a wolfish grin. No harm in trying. The odds were poor, but that only made a victory sweeter. “Care to join me for a swim?”
She sauntered up to him. “I don’t think so, you rascal.”
Her gaze rolled over his bared chest, and continued all the way down to his feet without a single hitch. She sank to the ground, resting her back against the log and stretching her legs out over the velvet carpet of mossy grass.
“But please, don’t let me stop you.” She waved him on with a saucy smile. “I have every intention of enjoying the view.”
“You can look…” He loosened the ties at the front of his breeches, one slow pull, then another. “And you’re more than welcome to touch.”
Her boldness fled the moment he hitched his thumbs into the waistband to drag the breeches down his hips. Her eyes shot skyward and stayed there. She didn’t flinch when his breeches joined his shirt on the log beside her.
I bet she peeks the second my back is turne
d. Chuckling, Greyston waded until he was waist-deep, and then arched into a shallow dive. Icy water sliced over his face, his skin, cooling the side effects of his arousal but not the cause. God, he wanted her. He wanted to taste that sassy mouth, tangle his fingers in those copper curls, drag a hand up the inside of her thigh while he licked a path all the way down her throat to the valley of her breasts.
He popped the surface, face first, and took off across the lake with broad strokes. On the return length, he flipped onto his back, moving his arms in wide semi-circles to keep himself afloat.
Above, the sun baked down on him, inviting him to close his eyes and sink into warm oblivion. Below, frost tendrils snaked, pervading every crack and hollow; a liquid blanket of iced pine needles pricking and jabbing every fibre with a red alert. Gut instinct told him this, right here, embodied the nature of any relationship with Georgina Bonnington. Far from putting him off, the thrill laced his veins and turned him over into a gliding crawl.
She saw him coming and waved. As soon as he reached the shallows, she threw her head back to do some more sky gazing.
Greyston strode from the water, his eyes drifting over her exposed throat as he came down, reaching for his shirt. “Your blushes are becoming.”
“I don’t blush.”
“So I see.” He used the linen shirt to dry himself while his gaze drifted further, over the bump of her chin and onto the exquisite definition of her cheekbones, the exotic slant of those upturned eyes.
With a wry grin, he stood back and donned his breeches, before he was too hard to fit. “I’m decent.”
Her eyes came down from the skies to skim him, catching on the dark hairs spearing from his chest into the leather waistband. Her teeth dragged over her bottom lip. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
Her eyes darkened to a stormy blue as she met his gaze again.
He moved over her, lowering himself until he straddled her legs, his folded knees taking the full brunt of his weight. He pushed his hands through her hair either side her face, tipping her head back as he brought his mouth down. His tongue teased the seam of her lips until she opened for him. He took possession of her mouth, stroking, tasting, her breath hot on his lips as he slanted the kiss, nipping and licking, and then he plunged deep inside, again and again.
One hand traced the line of her jaw, his thumb strumming her cheek as he tilted her head further back to gain access to the tender skin at the juncture of her jaw and throat. His kisses roamed to the spot behind her earlobe, tasting every inch along the way and relishing the small groans that escaped her. The tip of his tongue swirled in the hollow, eliciting a gasp; when his teeth scraped lightly over the silken lobe, her palms slapped against his chest and then her nails mimicked his teeth, scraping down the short hairs of his chest.
“God help me,” she moaned. “I want you, Grey. I want you so desperately…”
The raw urgency hardened his erection to a shaft of stone that pulsed with a heartbeat of its own. He rocked back onto his knees. His fingers anchored in her hair as he searched her glazed eyes. “Are you sure?”
Greyston lacked no confidence when it came to sexual prowess, but he hadn’t really expected this particular victory. Even as his body savoured the delicious torture, his head accepted Georgina would indulge only so far, then slip from his grasp at the eleventh hour.
Her nails raked lower. “What part of “God help me, I want you, I want you so desperately,”’ she said breathlessly, “sounds like I’m not sure?”
Her finger looped around the tie of his breeches and gave a hard tug.
His lids grew heavy as he studied the arousal washing over her. “You made me don my pants just so you could undress me.”
“I made you don your pants so I could think straight.” Another tug, and the front of his breeches gaped.
The air between them thickened, charged with the sexual consent, the absolutely surety of how this encounter would end.
His hands moved from her hair to her shoulders, gently pressing her back against the log so he could rake her beauty with an unhurried look. His index finger trailed the path his eyes took, along her collarbone to the base of her throat, then down the valley banked with the individual swells pushed up by the moulding corset. “Did it work?”
“Does this look to you like it worked?” she gasped.
Greyston’s exploration paused as he looked at her, wondering if she needed more time. But he wasn’t a saint, and he wasn’t about to dissuade her from the decision she’d already taken.
He stood to finish the job she’d started, carefully guiding his sensitive shaft from the inner cup before peeling off the breeches. He watched her mangle her lower lip, her heated gaze reflecting his own need.
He came down between her legs, her knees folded either side of him, the front of her skirts bunched around her waist between them. One hand slid up a satin soft thigh as he bent over to lave the swell of her breasts with hot kisses.
“Grey…” Her back arched on a wave of pleasure, surging a swell of creamy skin against his seeking lips. “Please…”
He dragged aside the trim of her bodice with his teeth. But beneath that was the corset. Too much damn material.
Below, he pressed her thigh outward, opening her to him, and his hand slipped up inside the wide legging of short, silky knickers. His thumb whorled closer to her centre and, this time, her hands landed on his shoulders, pushing.
He lifted his head to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed, the corner of her bottom lip trapped mid-groan.
Not pushing him away.
Pushing him for more.
“Grey, please…”
“I will,” he promised. He pressed her back again, gently, but firmly. “I will.”
Holding her gaze, his thumb lightly stroked the seam of her core and around the hard pearl at the apex while two fingers dipped inside
She came up off the ground on a small cry
Her sheath pulsed tight, wet, hot. Languid heat coiled in his groin. His shaft throbbed with a burning ache to be buried to the hilt.
Now that she was his, he wanted to take this slow. But Christ, she was so responsive to his touch, she tested limits he never knew he had.
“Grey, I swear…” Her voice was as ragged as the breaths her words floated on. Her eyes flashed at him, anger mixed into the passion. “I don’t want to be seduced. I want to be fu—”
His lips crushed over hers as he cupped her silk-clad bottom and lifted her onto the log. Her knickers were so short and wide, all he had to do was hook the silk aside. His throbbing length brushed friction down her wet seam until the tip was poised for entry.
He pulled his mouth from hers to look deep into her eyes. One hand still cupped between her bottom and the rough bark, his other came up, long fingers pushing through her hair.
He wanted to give her sassy mouth the same loving attention as he plunged her velvet depths, thrusting deep and long, stroking arousal, possessing every inch of her.
He wanted to watch the grip of orgasm wash over her face.
Her legs wrapped around his waist and she bucked against him, impaling herself before he’d made his choice.
“Vixen,” he rasped on a guttural groan.
But she’d already tamed his shaft and it was moving on its own violation, each deep thrust driving her higher and higher as she rushed to her peak. Her legs clung to him and her pelvis rocked him close to the edge. He bit down on his back teeth until a vein at his temple throbbed, watching as her head fell back on a cry of passion. The spasm of her climax held her in suspended ecstasy for long, long seconds, pulsing satin heat around him. He gave in to his own aching need, plunging hard, deep, urgently. He spent on a shudder that rippled down his spine, and felt Georgina shatter around him a second time.
Still buried inside her, he gathered her close, her breasts pressed to his sweat-damp chest, and kept her there until their racing hearts slowed to a steady beat and he recovered sufficiently to withdraw.
�
�What the hell was that?” he murmured against her cheek.
She let out a shaky breath. “I wanted to get it over with.”
He shifted back on his knees to cock a brow at her, partly amused, partly not.
“And I just heard what that sounded like.” Her face crumpled. She leaned in, her palm pressed to his chest.
“You’re the first man I’ve wanted, the first man I’ve desired…since Freddie,” she said softly.
He didn’t need to ask, to know she spoke of her dead husband.
She blinked slow and long, and when her eyes opened, wetness spiked her lashes.
“I wasn’t sure…” She clamped her lips as she looked at him, worrying over her words. “I wasn’t sure exactly how…present he would be.” Copper curls fell across her face as she dipped her head. “God, I’m sorry.” Another shaky breath. “You don’t want to hear about—”
“Georgina…” He moved closer, his knuckles grazing beneath her chin, lifting her face to him. “I’ve heard the love in your voice when you speak about your husband. I’ve seen your love for him in your eyes. I’ve known, from the very beginning, that if anything happened between you and me, he’d be part of it.”
He brushed a brief, undemanding kiss along her lips. “Besides, I think Freddie and I might have been friends.”
She shook her head at him, but a smile twitched the side of her mouth. “How could you possibly know that?”
“He had the sense to marry you,” Greyston told her. “And he was the kind of man you could love.”
She held his gaze, the storm fading in her eyes to sparkling, pale blue. “He wasn’t, you know.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “He’ll always be here, but he wasn’t there with us.”
Greyston folded her close to him, his arms wrapping her in his warmth, her cheek pressed to his chest. “I knew I’d like the man.”
THIRTEEN
Dawn had just begun to bleed through the smog blanket that had tucked London in for the night. The tentative claws of the morning sun swirled pale pinks and dirty creams in the beginnings of a perfect summer sky.
The Dark Matters Quartet Page 57
