Ramsey swallowed against the intense desire to kiss her once more, to feel the heat of her blush under his hand, to tell her that he didn’t regret the kiss at all, not even a little bit. And it was intentional, every part. But he couldn’t; rather, he wouldn’t. “I see. Why did you not say that in the first place?” he asked, keeping his tone gentle, not wishing to offend her further. There were limits, after all, and he was quite certain she had hit hers.
“Because I was giving you the opportunity to be a gentleman,” she said with a little heat, enough to remind him that she wasn’t about to back down from any challenge.
It was endearing, it was infuriating, and he respected her strength. Admired it, even. “Well, now that we’ve established that I have not acted like a gentleman, and that I am perpetuating that behavior by not realizing that I needed to apologize, I do believe that we are finished here.” He spoke cautiously, keeping his tone even. It was for the best, to excuse her, to get her away from him.
“I never said you weren’t a gentleman,” she countered. “I said that I was giving you the opportunity to be one. That’s . . . different.”
“Very well,” he replied.
“Well?” she asked, her tone impatient.
“Well, what?” he replied, not quite following her thought trail.
“Are you going to apologize?” she asked, her expression adorably bewildered with just a hint of indignation.
“I thought we just established that I had nothing to apologize for?” he returned.
“No. You surmised that, I did not. And I’m not under your jurisdiction, my lord.”
At this, he chuckled. “Oh, of that I’m completely aware.” He shook his head. “And the answer is no.”
She frowned, and studied him.
He glanced away, realizing belatedly that he had made a fatal mistake. She wouldn’t leave it at that. She would simply ask why, and then he’d be in the position to either lie or tell her the truth, and he hated liars.
Which only left the truth.
Damn it all. He was doomed.
“Why?” she asked, just as he had predicted, and he felt a slight edge of panic seize him. He shook his head. “It is of no importance.”
“It is to me.”
“It is not to me,” he returned a little too quickly.
He could feel her gaze on his face; he could practically hear the gears working in her mind as she waited.
“Unless . . .” she added breathlessly.
He couldn’t resist glancing up to see what was written in her expression, in the form of her lips. They were like a book he would love to read every day, telling of her every emotion, every nuance of her perception. It was delirious, it was delicious, it was utterly damning to his self-control.
“Unless?” he said, desperately trying to keep his features neutral.
She stepped from behind the chair and moved toward him with cautious motions, as if she were afraid of spooking a wild horse. He felt like a wild horse in that moment, unpredictable and wild and utterly foolhardy because he didn’t back away, he didn’t laugh and shrug it off. He watched her, studied her, burned for her.
“After all, you are a great many things, Lord Sterling. But a liar, you are not. So, if you did not find the need to apologize, then that only leaves one option.” She moved closer, her steps not as brave as her words, and his heart ached with the realization that she was braver than he. A vow echoed deep in his soul that it wouldn’t be the truth, that he would rise to the occasion as damnable as the occasion may be, that she wouldn’t need to be the brave one.
It should be him.
She was awaiting his response. “And that option is?” he asked, walking the line of both not wanting to push her into a compromising situation, but wanting it so desperately he could taste it. But not unless she wanted it, wanted him.
Dear Lord, let her want him.
“Unless you didn’t regret it at all,” she finished, her eyes alight with understanding.
“And what if I didn’t?” He found himself asking, turning to face her fully, evaluating the small distance between them.
“Then you’re right.” She hitched a shoulder and stopped her steps.
This brought him up a little short. It wasn’t the response he was expecting, though, to be honest, he wasn’t sure what exactly he had been expecting. But not that. Though, it was nice to hear the words, validating even. Oddly enough.
“If I’m going to be so brave, the least you can do is meet me halfway.”
He came up short at such a statement, confused and afraid to interpret the meaning incorrectly, and then all the fear melted away as her pink tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip.
The memory of their kiss hit him full force, the ironic conversation about how a kiss starts with licking one’s lips that turned from a conversation to an exploration, and he was undone.
He stepped toward her, his hand instinctively wrapping around her waist and pulling her in close. Her eyes widened, and he indulged in the fantasy of touching the blush upon her cheek, the warmth seeping into his very soul, feeding it. Her eyes fluttered closed and he did more than meet her halfway; he went the entire distance and seared her lips with his, immediately wondering why he had taken so damn long to kiss her again.
It was the feeling of home, the sensation of peace and the fire of need all wrapped into one perfect present.
And this time, he wasn’t about to leave the present wrapped.
Chapter Twenty-three
Grace had never experienced such a delirious sensation in all her life as when she melted into Lord Sterling’s arms. Dear Lord, it was everything. Her greatest fear was that it would end with her waking up, realizing it was nothing but a dream, and she should be dreaming because she was certain that Lord Sterling, proper and strict Lord Sterling, did not kiss women in his office. Rather, he did not kiss debutantes in his office, his office at the gambling hell, that is.
Good Lord, what was she doing?
Yet, as soon as the thought entered her mind, it flew away like a frightened bird, and all that was left was the melting sensation of being in Lord Sterling’s very warm, amazingly strong arms. Her hands trailed upward, and some corner of her mind realized how firm his limbs were, and the strength within. As she gently wound her hands around his shoulders, she arched her fingers into his back, feeling the solid strength of it, of him. Her heart pounded, her lips tingled, and her mind was utterly spinning with pleasure. His kiss was hot and demanding, yet gentle enough that she was left wanting something more, as if she instinctively knew he was holding back some part of himself, of his kiss. She was greedy for it, for every part of him, for every part of the pleasure he was giving her. The room faded away, and all that remained was the acutely blissful feeling of being held and kissed very well.
His lips tutored hers, and she mimicked the way he nibbled on her lower lip, her body surging with delight when he let out a small groan. That she could offer him any sort of pleasure in her innocent experience was a heady realization, and she gloried in it. She ached to be closer, as if some part of her mind knew instinctively what it needed, even if she didn’t understand it. His arms tightened around her, and she became aware of the hard length of him pressing against her hip bone. Intrigued, she pressed into him more, breathing in his moan of pleasure.
“Miss Grac—”
She cut off his words with a kiss, her lips bending into a smile. Ever proper, her Lord Sterling. Only, at the moment he was behaving anything but properly.
And she was guilty of the same sin. The same delicious sin.
“Don’t you think,” she kissed him again firmly, this time allowing her tongue to slip along the seam of his lips, much like he had done earlier. Then she withdrew just enough to finish her sentence, “that you should call me Grace?”
He chuckled against her lips, then nipped them playfully, his arms like a band of strength holding her close, yet tenderly at the same time as he ravaged her senses. “Perhaps.”
Passion had not diminished her sense of humor, and she leaned back to give him an arch look. But rather than receive the teasing scolding, his gaze roamed her features, cataloguing them like a scientist would study a new species. He was memorizing her, and she had never before been seen so fully. It was humbling, it was terrifying, it spoke of passion and need with a slight sprinkling of adoration to make it complete. “Yes?” Grace mouthed the word, unable to quite make it voiced.
He gave his head a shake, as if breaking his own spell, and rather than speak, he leaned down to kiss her once more.
This kiss was different, more deliberate. Though how it was possible for her to know, she wasn’t sure. There was purpose to the kiss, and she was happy to discover it, breath by breath.
The room grew warm as his hands began slowly to roam. Everywhere he touched sent a shot of heat through her body, feeding an addiction to his kiss. After trailing down the spine of her back with a featherlike touch, he spanned her hips with his hands, cupping her bottom in the most delicious and scandalous way. He pressed her tightly against him, reminding her of his own state of arousal before breaking the seal of her kiss only to trail playful nips and teasing kisses along her jawline down to her neck.
It was difficult to breathe, or at least breathe enough. Heart pounding, she lost herself in the pleasure of it all. “Good Lord,” she murmured, nonsensical.
Lord Sterling let out a low chuckle of approval as he nipped the bone along her shoulder, his other hand scandalously close to her breast. All she could think was, closer. She wanted to arch her body: she didn’t know exactly what she needed, but she wanted it. Oh, how desperately did she want it!
As if reading her mind, or at the very least, her body language, his hand brushed against the swell of her breast, his fingers tracing over the tip and even through her dress, it was acutely pleasurable. Her breath caught, her body tensed, and even as his hand swept away, she felt his touch like a brand, still searing through her skin. His lips were hot against her neck as he kissed her, his hands slowly circling around the collar of her dress, and then his hand touched her sensitive skin. If she had thought the sensations of his touch through her dress were almost too much to bear, it was nothing like the feeling of flesh on flesh. Heart hammering, her blood rushed through her body, sounding in her ears as she fought for breath. How in the world could one small part of her body be so fantastically sensitive? It was glorious, it was wicked, it was not enough, she decided.
Oh, she was wanton! Never before would she have imagined such pleasure at a simple, yet scandalous, touch!
“Do you like that?” he murmured against the skin of her neck as he caressed his fingertips around her sensitive flesh, teasing, tickling, and pinching playfully.
She could hardly catch her breath to answer, but some semblance of a squeak came out in a “yes.”
“Good Lord, you’re perfect.”
Before she could process the overly appreciative compliment, his mouth replaced his fingertips, and she lost her footing, only to be swept up into his arms. His mouth left her breast only long enough to carry her to the small chaise longue in the study’s small sitting area. If she had any sense of propriety, she would have spoken up, but before she could have found her breath, his mouth was on her breast again, his hand slipping up the hem of her skirt, tickling in the most delicious way as he moved up her calf.
She should stop.
She should want to stop.
She should do something before she wasn’t just ruined, she was ruined completely.
But . . . she found she didn’t have the strength to do anything but arch into him, gasp for breath, and simply glory in the new delicious sensations her body continued to explore at his touch.
“Tell me you want me,” he whispered against the flesh of her breast, then nipped her playfully, almost punishingly, as if warning against a refusal.
Not that she had any inclination of refusing him. No, she was past that point, she was past any point except quenching the fire-hot need surging through her body, needing some sort of completion.
And instinctively she knew he could give it.
“Tell me you burn for me,” he whispered, his hand tiptoeing up her thigh.
“Y-yes,” she whispered, her thoughts scrambled; it was all light and color.
“Tell me you want me to do this.” His tongue did wicked things to her breast, and she forgot to breathe.
He paused, but only long enough to turn his attention to her other breast. “Tell me you want more.”
“More.” The word never left her lips, but she was certain it formed there as all the breath left her at the hot, needy sensation humming through her at his touch.
He let out a low groan; it was primal, it was hungry, and her body caught fire at just the sound. “Tell me you want me to touch you here.”
His hand slid along her most private area, the area she never even named out loud, and instinctively she spread her legs just slightly, arching her hips into his touch, her body shivering with need.
“Do you want this?” He nipped her breast, his breath hot and demanding.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Say my name,” he demanded, sliding his fingers inside of her, teasing her core, making her body sing like a siren call.
“I—I—”
“Say it,” he demanded, suckling her breast and sliding his fingers deeper.
“Lor—”
“No. My name, damn it. I want to hear it on your lips. I want to hear you say it with the breathless passion that’s slowly killing me with need. I want to hear you cry my name when you experience your first pleasure. My. Name.” His whisper was urgent, hot, unrelenting, and nearly mad with desire.
“Ramsey,” she murmured, then said it again, just because it tasted so good on her lips.
Ramsey’s mouth was demanding on her breast, his fingers urgent as he called, “Come for me.”
His fingers surged forward, and her body snapped with the pleasure, a thousand fragments of light splintering from within her as her body came alive, pulsating from within.
“Dear Lord.” She whispered the prayer, because surely she was somewhere suspended between heaven and earth, floating downward like a feather.
First, she was aware of her breathing, the pounding of her heart as if she had run a great distance. Then she noted the tingling sensation in her limbs, as if they had been thoroughly relaxed and were almost waking up from a deep sleep. She was completely sated, completely and delightfully happy.
Second, she noted the labored breathing of Ramsey as he pressed his head against her heart, listening. His body was tight, and she realized he had not experienced the same . . . release, as she had. It was a pity, but she was also aware that she might not have survived the experience if there was more than what they had just shared. At least not for her first time, perhaps.
And then it hit her.
Her first time . . . did that mean there would be more?
Good Lord, she hoped so. She wanted more. And soon, please. Would it be terrible to ask? She was a lady after all, even if she didn’t behave as such.
Then another though hit her, was she still a lady?
She had given herself to him in the way only a wife should give herself to her husband. And they were most certainly not married.
They weren’t even courting.
He’d kissed her, but that didn’t signify . . .
Her body started to tighten up as she thought about it more.
“Stop.”
She blinked and then waited for Ramsey to continue the rest of his statement.
“Stop worrying. I didn’t completely ruin you.”
At this, she felt her eyebrow arch in an incredulous expression. If it wasn’t a complete ruin, it was only by an infinitesimal amount.
“Well, at least it wasn’t a thorough ruining. It was about as damnably close as I can get without procuring an heir,” he murmured, almost to himself. The tone was almost wistful, a
s if he wished he had done a more thorough job of it.
Was she wicked to wish he had too?
“I see,” she remarked, because, well, she wasn’t sure what else to say.
He didn’t reply readily, and she closed her eyes to try and return to the blissful state that had somehow faded away with her thoughts.
Ramsey slowly slid away and then stood. She opened her eyes to watch him. His eyes were cloudy with unfulfilled need, and his cravat was hopelessly ruined. Clothing rumpled, he looked well loved, or at least well ravished, but he was none of those.
Was he?
Could she love him? She could certainly want him, even need him. But did that mean love? She had always thought that love would come first, and . . .
“Stop,” he commanded again.
“You’re quite bossy,” she told him, not able to help the smile that tipped her lips.
“You are as well,” he returned, a bit of a grin teasing his lips. Good Lord, she loved his lips. They were so soft and wicked, her body tingled in all the sensitive areas those lips had touched.
His gaze roamed her features, then sobered, and his brows frowned as he took in the rest of her state. His gaze took on a hungry glint as they traveled down her neck and settled to where her breasts were. She glanced down and then blushed, she was utterly exposed. With a quick adjustment, she was at least more presentable than a moment ago.
“Pity,” he remarked.
She gave him an arch look.
“You have lovely breasts. They are perfect in every way.”
She blinked, not quite sure what to say to that. She had never had a compliment about her breasts. She was quite sure that it wasn’t a proper compliment, but at the same time, it made her feel beautiful and wanted. So she simply replied, “thank you.”
He offered her a hand, and she grasped it. His strength gently pulled her up from the chaise and she proceeded to tidy up her dress, realizing it was hopeless, as rumpled as it had become.
“Allow me to assist,” Ramsey whispered, then stood behind her. His hands swept over her bodice, tucking, smoothing and aligning things as he moved down her body. His hands were warm, and the contrast made her skin goose bump.
The Temptation of Grace Page 17
