Instead he inched her skirts higher, then eased one hand between her thighs, touching her lightly in her most intimate place. He stroked her there, wanting to tease and tantalize. He played her with harmless little touches interspersed with the most unchaste caresses possible.
He drew back in order to feast on the golden curls at the junction of her thighs and breathe in the arousing scent of her.
Then he touched her intimately and her small gasp made his blood flow molten in his veins. The silken skin between her thighs acted like a compass. All else, even her perfect breasts, were forgotten.
He touched the tangle of silken curls, and his body thrilled as he felt her wetness. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” she murmured as he stroked her sensitive flesh.
He leaned forward and whispered, “Beautiful, Rheda,” against her mouth before he stroked a finger deep inside her tight sheath. This time her gasp verged on something more.
She gave a little moan of surrender when he eased a second finger inside her. He wanted to give her pleasure. Exquisite, extraordinary pleasure. The kind of mind-clouding pleasure that might make her forget to be wary of him and divulge what he needed to hear.
With one hand fingering her taut nipple, he plunged his tongue deep within her mouth to match his fingers ministrations. Her hips rose and she cried out again, but softly. A wither of a sound. Her breathing slowly grew raspier with each stroke of his thumb over her tightened nub, as he continued to penetrate her. Over and over he drew his fingers through the folds which guarded her pleasure until he could feel the little nub of her arousal, unmistakably firm and trembling.
“Rufus,” she whispered, her hands clawing the bales of hay they sat upon.
He felt her climax inching near. She was murmuring his name over and over and it fairly blew his head off. The endearment almost making him spill in his breeches, something he’d not done since a very young boy.
Her head jerked up and her breath came on a rough cry. Her hips undulated with each stroke. He felt her begin to tighten around his fingers. She was passion personified. Beautiful. Wild. Sensual. With one finger and his thumb, he opened her wider, teasing her with quick, delicate strokes until she gave a strangled cry. And then she was shaking all over, her limbs stiffening as she shuddered with her release. He kissed her slender neck as she trembled, and then nuzzled the frantic pulse at the base of her throat. Erotic. The sight and sound of her was so erotic it killed him.
He rose up and took her trembling lips in a searing kiss. He felt his heart flutter and engage in his chest. No. He forced the heady feelings down. He could not want to want her. His own needs must be denied. There was too much at stake.
Just then a commotion out by the corral made him draw back. He took in her flushed face. With a pang he realized he wished there could be more. Wished she wasn’t who he knew her to be. A woman with secrets. A possible traitor. Never again would he let himself feel for a woman involved in his mission. He would have no more deaths on his hands.
He felt tarnished at the knowledge only her seduction and complete surrender would aid in the capture the traitor. If he could he’d wish more for her.
He needed some fresh air. The scent of her was making him light headed.
“It seems another female is impatient for her mate’s touch. Please excuse me while I see to Caesar.”
How could she have let that happen? Her body tingled in the afterglow of his skillful lovemaking, quickly followed by heated shame. He’d boasted of his skills as a rake and he was not wrong. The pleasure was indescribable and to her horror it left her wanting more.
Worse. Wanting him.
Why did he unleash these strong feelings within her? He was a rake like any other.
Except, cried a tiny voice inside her, he is not like any other. His combination of beauty, wit and brains had her in a scramble. She’d not met a man who matched her in intellect. Nor one whose outer beauty made her feel, and want, naughty, forbidden delights.
Rheda was still trying to make sense of what she’d let occur when Rufus moved to exit the stable. Turning with a shrug, he looked back at her. His face was all dark shadows as he blocked the light from the doors. It was a moment before he spoke. “When I’m done, I want you to show me Fraser’s Landing.”
Rheda stiffened. “You said you knew where it was.”
He shook his head. She wished she could see the expression on his face. “I want you to show me exactly where you found the barrel.” He turned to leave calling over his shoulder, “Only then will I know if you deliberately lied to me.”
This time a shiver that had nothing to do with delicious desire slid down her spine. How could he do that? It was as if the splendor of their intimate moment had never transpired. She was still tingling all over, while the warm yearning in her feminine center continued to throb.
Rheda’s heart ached in her chest. God he was ruthless in his pursuit of the truth. And skillful. Her body stilled hummed. She tidied herself up determined to remember that she could not let his seduction weaken her resolve.
“I lied, my lord,” she whispered hoarsely under her breath. “And no matter how much you make my body sing, I’ll never tell you the truth. But I’ll play your game. I’ll let you seduce me until I’m sated with pleasure.” His seduction of her should keep him off balance and out of their business.
Invitation to Ruin – March 2011
Excerpt…
Anthony chose to ignore her remark and once they’d entered the study, Lord Wickham walked to the large windows that overlooked Cassandra’s back garden. His shoulders were tense and he seemed to lose himself in thought.
Melissa cleared her throat.
Still he did not respond.
The silence was nerve wracking.
“I’m sorry the situation has got so complicated. I would’ve hoped that I might have been able to talk my brother around this morning, but he was not inclined to change his mind.”
Anthony nodded, still looking out of the window.
“I’m pleased you did not take up his challenge for a duel. Getting yourself killed wouldn’t have helped anyone.” She gave a shudder. “I couldn’t bear to think I’d been the cause of anyone’s death, whether it was actually my fault or not.”
He gave her a piercing stare over his left shoulder. “No, killing your brother would not have been the solution.”
Melissa licked her lips. “Speaking of which my lord—”
“Please, we are well beyond formality, call me Anthony.”
“Yes, well, Anthony.” She counted to ten. “Can’t you turn around? It’s difficult talking to someone’s back. It’s rude and very off-putting.”
His big shoulders rippled beneath his navy coat as he sighed and turned to face her.
Her breath hitched, he was so handsome. His grey eyes pinned her beneath a probing gaze. She moved, hoping to distract herself from the affect he was having on her. She crossed the room to one of the large leather armchairs and sat demurely. “I may have a solution to our situation. You do not wish to marry me “-
He raised a perfect dark eyebrow and gave her a smile that literally took her breath away. “We are getting married. I will brook no argument. I will not have the Wickham name disgraced. There has been enough scandal in my family.”
If she didn’t already have a tendre for him, or if she knew she could never come to love him, the marriage might have worked. But she wouldn’t dare love him while he simply saw her as a woman to bear his children, run his home, and plan his entertainments. A woman who never questioned his liaisons. In time she’d be left languishing in the country, missing him terribly, while he cavorted in London with his latest paramours. She just knew it.
Her friend Lady Sarah Campbell endured her husband’s disinterest. She bore the humiliation of his affairs and was often the subject of gossip and pity.
Melissa would rather not love at all, than love a man who would never love her. So it was imperative to nip this indiscretion in the bud, before she fell
under his spell any further.
Melissa felt her cheeks heat. “I don’t want to marry you.”
His grey eyes darkened to the color of coal. “Am I that terrifying?”
She shook her head.
“I realize my deflowering of you could have been better, but I won’t hurt you again, I promise.”
Melissa’s bottom lip quivered as she tried to forget the feel of his body holding her, or his enormous member inside her… “I have no doubt you would make a marvelous lover, but you would likely be a wretched husband.” She shrugged her shoulders, “To me anyway.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “You are right of course. I would make a terrible husband. But you forget one thing.”
“That is…”
He strolled over to her chair and looked down at her. “You have forgotten the most important thing of all. You might be with child.” The word ‘child’ seemed to stick in his throat and his eyes widened as if he was in shock. He shook himself, drew in a deep breath and added, “I am not heartless enough to leave you to face society’s wrath pregnant with my child.”
Melissa felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn’t thought of that. “We could wait and see if I am with child before rushing into anything.”
Anthony’s face clouded in anger, his eyes narrowed and darkened like the sky before a thunderstorm. Melissa watched the tick in his taut jaw with fascination. She’d just given him a way out yet he seemed very displeased.
“You must think I have no honor at all.”
She pleaded with him. “No, it’s not that. I think, so far, you’ve proved to be very honorable, I applaud you for it. But there is no need to sacrifice yourself for me.”
He crouched down before her chair and swallowed her hand in his. “I want to protect you from a Society that would hurt you. Why are you fighting me on this?” His eyes never left hers as he raised her hand to his lips.
A hurricane of emotions swirling around her, Melissa could hardly think. What was he up to? For a man so vehemently opposed to marriage, he seemed desperate to find reasons for the marriage to go ahead. She eyed him wearily.
That was a mistake. Her body stirred at his closeness. No man ever aroused her, the way Anthony could. Just looking at him now rekindled the delicious sparks between them. She swallowed, aware of her humming nerves, the hollow flip-flopping sensation in her stomach, and the tingling warmth between her thighs.
Before she could help herself she uttered, “I just want to be happy.”
“You’re pulse is racing, I can feel it.” His lips brushed the sensitive skin of her wrist like a feather. “At the moment what would make me extremely happy would be to lock the door and make love to you in a manner more fitting than last night’s performance. To hear your small cries of passion, to make you wet with desire, and to sink between your soft thighs and let you touch heaven.”
Now she was afraid. Something was wrong. He was trying to beguile her into this marriage—why? Melissa couldn’t hold his seductive gaze. Warmth seared her skin at his touch.
Before she could even think to pull away, he leaned forward and kissed her…. Giving her a long, lingering, completely devastating reminder of the sensual power he held over her.
When he straightened, leaving her dazed and longing, his face was serious. “We will be married as soon as I obtain the special license. That is the only course open to us. I know it’s not what you would have chosen, but I could make you happy. I can’t promise to ever love you, but I can make your life comfortable. You’ll want for nothing.”
Except love, Melissa thought glumly. “I want to be happy, that’s true. I’m just not sure you’re the type of man that could make me happy.” Melissa knew with certainty he would never be faithful. The ache in the vicinity of her heart sent pain lancing down her arms, until she had to clench her fists.
Lord Wickham’s eyes noted the movement.
He was reputedly a man of insatiable tastes where the opposite sex was concerned. She did not expect him to change his ways overnight—or ever—not for her.
He was starring at her intently. “Can you say that any other man would make you happy? Are you in love with someone else?”
She sucked in a short breath. “No. I am not in love with anyone.”
“Then there is nothing more to discuss. You will become my wife. Society will feed you to the wolves with any other outcome.”
Society. With sinking heart Melissa’s hopes of avoiding becoming the Countess of Wickham died. She would never win against the might of the ton. Her charity work, her fight for people’s freedom was all she had. She would surely lose her ability to secure funds, to lobby for changes to the law. As the Countess of Wickham she would be afforded entry into the highest echelons of Society. She could do a world of good, perhaps speed the passage of change. But she was going to have to give up her freedom to achieve her goal —the abolition of slavery in all forms—first Negroes and then she would help women. Women who, often, were no better than slaves. Owned by men. Men who could treat them as they saw fit. The ton was full of examples of men’s cruelty.
She would fight for freedom by giving up her own. The irony was not lost on her.
Melissa looked into Anthony’s silver-grey eyes and shivered. What was it about this man? She should be petrified of the brooding rake. She licked her lips not quite believing she was so readily capitulating. “Before I accept your proposal.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Before I accept,” she leveled a serious gaze at him, “I have one favor to ask of you. Call it an engagement gift of sorts.” She watched his eyes narrow into cautious slits. “Anthony, I have no wish to be the laughing stock of the ton, nor do I assume would you.”
Melissa was pleased to see Anthony’s confident smile dim slightly. “I will grant you any favor in my power to give.”
She tried to keep a blush from scalding her cheeks. “I would like your promise that you won’t take my cousin as your mistress. Put bluntly, I do have some pride. I don’t want my husband sleeping with a woman I am related to.”
Read on for more stories from romantic suspense author, Gracie O’Neil, and contemporary romance author, Kris Pearson.
TOUCHING SHADOWS
Book One of The Scroll Of Shadows Trilogy
By Gracie O’Neil
Megan Alistair has a gift; simply by touching a work of art she can tell whether it’s a forgery or a real master. But in the art world those who appreciate such talent can be dangerous, so Megan uses her gift in secret through someone she can trust—art dealer, Annalise Waterford.
Dominic Stone also has a gift; that of financial genius. Everything he touches turns to gold. But while his talent has given him a freedom most people would kill for, it can’t buy him access to elusive family secrets. Secrets his stepfather died with. Secrets only art dealer Annalise Waterford might reveal.
Only problem? Annalise is missing—and half the art underworld is looking for her.
When Stone learns Megan may know where Annalise is hiding he’ll do whatever it takes to get the information. But Megan doesn’t need anything Stone can offer her—and couldn’t take it, even if she did. Because there’s more at stake than lost secrets and a missing art dealer, and Megan is better acquainted with Stone than he can imagine. Enough to be certain some things should stay hidden, and that any future together might well destroy them both.
www.gracieoneil.com
Romantic Thrillers with a Supernatural Edge
Excerpt From
TOUCHING SHADOWS
One look at Stone’s face, however, told me something had changed since the previous day and whatever it was hadn’t made him happy.
“How nice to meet you again, Mr. Stone,” I said, tempted to lift my psychic block when I shook his proffered hand although the morning’s forays into the heads of Marie Montford and Jason Flynn had pretty much exhausted me. I didn’t lift it, but even so his touch felt different. Distant. Detached. Dangerous.
“Thanks for seeing me.” Stone took the seat I’d indicated. “How are you after yesterday’s experience?”
“A little stiff, but otherwise fine.” I settled into my own chair, wishing it were true. “And before we discuss whatever it is you came for, I want to thank you for your intervention. With the tray, I mean. I owe you a great deal more than I thought.”
He lifted an elegant shoulder. “I was in the right place at the right time. Now, if you can help me with my current problem, we’ll consider ourselves even.”
A typical Stone conversational cocktail: brusque, with a suspicion of politeness, and spiked with distaste. I quashed my sudden temptation to say something outrageous about his current problem and contented myself with the less inflammatory, “If Dayton and Associates can h—
“Dayton and Associates can’t.” His mouth smiled. His eyes did not. “But you can. I’ve spent the last several months searching for certain information. I now understand you have it.” That half-smile tightened. Set. “I need the current whereabouts of Annalise Waterford.”
I don’t know why his need to unearth Annalise surprised me. A lot of people wanted to know her current whereabouts. But finding myself linked to her twice in twenty-four hours in what felt like threatening circumstances was more than a little disturbing. Galen’s warning took on more sinister overtones. What kind of hell was brewing in the cauldron of the art underworld?
“Annalise?” I drew the word out slowly, feeling my way. “I’m not sure I can help. I haven’t seen her for months. She lives in Rome. I can give you the address of her gallery, of course.”
“I have it.” Stone’s cool eyes watched me from under hooded lids. “How many months? Two? Five?”
I shook my head. “More. I’ve been in England for nearly seven.”
“And she hasn’t contacted you in all this time?”
I did my wide-eyed deer-in-the-headlights impression. “Why would she?”
To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone (Wicked Wagers BK2-Regency Romance) Long Novella Page 14
