Eloping with the Princess (Brotherhood of the Sword #3)(40)
Her green eyes looked up at him. “What else could it be? You told me before we were married that your heart does not belong to another, so it cannot be that you are pining for your true love.”
He shook his head. “It is not that.”
“Then it must be me.”
“Isabel, there is nothing wrong with you. You are a beautiful woman, desirable in every way. Any man would want you as his wife.”
“Any man but you,” she said. “Perhaps I should have married some stranger in that inn.”
Her words were not a challenge, nor an accusation, only a statement of the truth she so obviously felt.
“Isabel.” It was all he managed before he pulled her to him and slanted his mouth across hers, moving gently before teasing her lips with his tongue. She made a tiny noise before allowing his tongue entrance. He explored her warm mouth, loving the feel of her, the taste of her.
Her fingers clenched against his chest, causing his erection to throb against his trousers until he thought he might completely lose control, but he couldn’t afford to do that. Especially over a kiss. Rather than risk it, he ended the kiss abruptly and leaned away from her.
She nearly fell over from his hasty release and grabbed the edge of the sofa to steady her balance, but that one kiss wasn’t enough. He needed a little more, so he pulled her over to him. He didn’t kiss her softly this time, didn’t take time to seduce her mouth. No, this time he took exactly what he wanted, the precise moment he wanted it. He plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, the warm wetness enveloping him, and he groaned and pulled her closer.
She met his kiss with equal fervor. She was not shy with her own tongue and melded hers against his in a passionate dance. God, he wanted her. Now. On the floor. On this sofa. Anywhere he could have her.
Her fingers slid up his chest in a slow tortuous move, up to his shoulders, around his neck, and finally landed in his hair. She released a distinctly feminine, distinctly erotic noise that sent blood surging to his groin.
He ran his fingers lightly across her collarbone, then dipped them under the fabric of her shift. Her skin was impossibly soft, velvety smooth, and deliciously warm. She was perfect. He continued kissing her. His hand slid up the front of her shift, and he cupped her breast. She released a throaty moan, arched against him. He wanted to touch her everywhere, see what other reactions he could pull from her. He dipped his hand down the front of her shift and found her nipple.
In that moment, she was his. Only his. His hand continued to rub at the tantalizing peak as he nibbled on her collarbone. He pulled the fabric low and molded his mouth on her breast, soft, round, and sinful. There was no time to think. He wanted only to touch, to feel. While his lips and teeth made love to her left breast, his hand weighed her right carefully, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the nipple. She bucked against him. He knew she was looking for her release, trying to feel him through the layers of his clothes.
She wanted him. He’d known that when she’d come in here, but it was clear now just how strong was her desire. She should not trust him so, especially since he clearly didn’t have her best interests at heart. Not now. No, now all he wanted to do was pull up her shift and plunge himself deep inside her, make her cry out his name and beg for more. But where would that leave her in the morning?
He couldn’t do that to her, and, unless he wanted to end up in such a position, he needed to stop. Walk away from their embrace, now, before they did something they both regretted. He moved away from her and came to his feet. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at him, mouth agape. “What is the matter? Did I do something wrong?”
He found his breath was labored. He licked his lips and tried to calm his body. “No. It is I who did everything wrong.”
Jason didn’t know where to go after he left Isabel in his bedchamber, so he found himself marching down the stairs and straight to his study. He needed a drink. A strong drink.
He skipped the brandy, pulled out the decanter of scotch, and poured three fingers worth. With one great swig, he swallowed the liquid; it burned his throat and settled in his belly where it seemingly scorched a hole through his gut. But at least he could concentrate on that and not the expression on Isabel’s face as he’d left her. Not the smooth softness of her luminescent skin, and not the warmth and passion he found in her kisses.
He poured himself another scotch, then swore.
“It couldn’t be as bad as all that,” his mother said from behind him.
“Mother, you really shouldn’t sneak up on people in such ways. I’m not in the mood for company.”
“I don’t require your mood to be any such way.” She poured herself a drink, sipped it slowly, and took a seat in one of the wingback chairs.
They sat in silence for several moments, and Jason did his very best to ignore her presence, but that tactic had never worked with his mother. Somehow her mere presence seemed to lure him to talk.
“I can’t do this anymore, Mother. The weight of it is too strong. It will certainly be better for everyone if the truth were known,” he said.
“So it is to be this discussion again,” she said, her tone neither judging nor resigned. “Jason, we have been over this.”
“Yes, I know, but truthfully, keeping this secret is killing me. I would rather it be known and live through the aftermath. I can accept the full weight of the scandal. I will bear it all. Patrick will need do nothing, save take his rightful place as viscount.”