A Passion for Pleasure(49)
“I never sleep well.” Irritated by her implacable calm, especially in the face of the storm foaming and cresting inside him, he shoved across and fell beside her on the bench. “And with thoughts of you invading my mind at every turn, I’m not certain I even want to sleep. Why invite unwanted dreams when I can lie awake and imagine in perfect, crisp detail all the erotic things I want to do to you, all the places I intend to put my hands, my mouth—”
“Sebastian!” Clara’s intake of breath stirred his grim satisfaction. “You speak indecently.”
“I will act even more indecently,” Sebastian assured her, “when you are naked and trembling in my arms with your—”
“Stop.” Clara whirled to face him, her calm dissolving in the violet turbulence of her eyes. Their breath mingled in the heated space between them, energy crackling in the air.
“I gave you the opportunity, did I not?” Clara hissed, her gaze sweeping down to stroke his mouth. “I threw myself at you and acted a perfect wanton. You quickly forestalled the entire incident, so don’t think now you can shock maidenly blushes from me with your lewd remarks.”
Sebastian grabbed the folds of her cloak and pulled with such force that she fell against him with a gasp. His mouth descended on hers with an utter lack of decency, heat firing his nerves. Clara’s body arched back like a strung bow, her hands splaying over his chest to prevent his advance. He deepened the kiss, swiping his tongue across her lower lip, pulling a moan from her that went straight to his blood.
The tension slid from her frame like melting honey. She parted her lips and whispered his name, drawing him into her. He forgot himself, sank into the warm, sweet haven of her mouth, inhaled the essence of her skin. She thrust her fingers into his hair, angling her head so their mouths locked together seamlessly.
Mine. The word burst through him again, but it wasn’t just a word. It was a vow, an assertion, a command.
A truth.
“Sir? Sir.” A rap thumped the cab from above.
Sebastian surfaced from the haze of passion, aware the vehicle had ceased moving. He cursed on a breath of frustration and shoved to his feet, blocking Clara from sight in case the driver had descended from the bench.
Shoving open the door, Sebastian sucked in a lungful of cold air and fought for control. Light smeared the dirty windows of the Eagle Tavern. Patrons lurched outside, voices thick with drink, laughter gathering like rain clouds.
Clara’s voice came from behind him, clear and steady. He turned as she spoke to the driver and held out a pouch weighty with coin. The driver doffed his cap and clambered back to the bench. He opened the box and withdrew a scroll of papers, which he extended to Clara as if it were a sword, both fearsome and precious.
She nodded her gratitude and approached Sebastian. He tried, and failed, to smother revived anger. His fist crushed the scroll as he took it from her.
“Wait in the cab,” he said, then added through the pain of a clenched jaw, “Please.”
Clara shook her head, the folds of her cloak rippling like a stream. She pivoted and started toward the tavern.
Sebastian grabbed her arm too hard in his haste to delay her. Her soft skin yielded under his grasp, but her spine straightened with determination. Her eyes flashed as she met his thundering glare.
“All right then,” Sebastian snapped. “But keep silent and do as I say.”
Still holding her arm, he strode into the tavern. Noise swelled through the hot, smoke-drenched interior—shouting, arguments about card games, the shrill whistle of a pipe. A fire blazed in the hearth, logs shifting and crackling.
One sweeping glance told Sebastian that Darius had not yet arrived. He shoved two chairs away from a table strewn with smudged, empty cups and spills of drink. After seating Clara with a firm hand to her shoulder, he gestured to the barman for two ales. A serving girl came to clear the table and plunked down the foaming tankards.
Sebastian downed half the ale in three swallows and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I do enjoy your maidenly blushes.”
Clara’s eyebrows rose, a mixture of surprise and unexpected pleasure flashing blue-violet in her eyes. She parted her lips to speak just as the lanky figure of Darius approached, weaving like a needle through the tapestry of jumbled tables.
“I wasn’t certain you’d come.” Darius slid into the opposite chair, his gaze arcing from Sebastian to Clara. “Mrs. Winter, isn’t it? I certainly did not expect you, but find your presence most agreeable. I welcome the opportunity to thank you in person for your assistance with my request.”