A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(50)

“You don’t see yourself,” he said. “When you’re around the Gramercys, it’s like a flame comes to life inside you.” He marched a column of kisses down her neck. “You don’t light up for me.”

She pressed her body to his. “I burn for you, Thorne. I’ve never felt this way. I never knew I wanted to feel this way.”

She pulled at his neckcloth, unknotting the fabric and tugging it free. She pressed a kiss to the dark notch at the base of his throat, then nuzzled there, inhaling the arousing musk of his skin. His raspy breathing gave her hope.

She was getting to him. Delving through the layers, uncovering the man beneath.

All those buttons of his coat must come next. She worked the top one loose with trembling fingers.

“You called me scared,” she said, “and I am frightened. But not the way you think. I’m terrified that I’ll part ways with you, and I’ll live my whole life without feeling this again.”

She chanced a look at him then, pleading with her eyes. Begging him to give in to her, to take control of this . . . just do something, before she was forced to rip open her bodice and say something truly embarrassing like, Make me a woman.

“It’s only desire you’re feeling.” His brow was heavy, disapproving. “Curiosity. If I give in to it, you’ll despise me afterward.”

“I could never despise you.”

“Yes, you could. You spent a full year doing just that.”

She cursed under her breath. He would have to point that out. “I was a fool. I didn’t know you. I didn’t know my own heart.”

His gaze sharpened. “What makes you think you know it now?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I don’t know. But this afternoon, Lark Gramercy came to me and offered everything I ever thought I wanted. A family. A home. Security, friendship, society. More wealth than I’d ever dreamed. And at that moment, I knew in my heart it still wouldn’t be enough. Either I’m the most greedy, ungrateful woman in England, or I’m . . .”

God, could it be true?

Her heart told her it must be. Nothing else made sense.

“Thorne, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Katie.” He took her face in his hands. Roughly, and with a possessive power that thrilled her. A brooding divot formed between his eyebrows. “Katie, you’re so—”

She wondered what delightfully misanthropic word he would choose this time. Wrongheaded? Foolish? Stubborn?

Kissable, apparently.

He gave up on words and claimed her mouth instead, kissing her with more passion and fire than she would have ever dared to hope. One of his hands slid down her back, coasting over silk and sweeping hot sensation all the way to the base of her spine. But he didn’t stop there. His touch dipped farther. He spread his fingers to cup her backside, then lifted and squeezed, pulling her pelvis flush against his. Pleasure sparkled through her veins. She moaned into his kiss and clutched his neck so hard, her fingernails would surely leave marks. He didn’t seem to mind.

He kissed her deeply, pushing her jaw wide and swallowing her desperate gasps of pleasure. She writhed against him, pressing close to feel the abundant evidence of his lust for her. The solid ridge of his arousal pulsed against her belly. She wanted to feel that heat where it belonged—against her sex. As they kissed, she twined one leg around his booted calf, grasping his shoulders to work herself higher . . . closer . . .

Drat.

Badger pulled them back from the brink of paradise. Some yards away, the puppy started barking like a creature possessed.

“Ignore the dog,” she murmured, tugging Thorne back to the kiss. Catching and sipping at his bottom lip. “He’s perfectly fine.”

“He’s fine,” he echoed. “It’s just another rat.”

“Yes.”

Yes.

His hand swept over her curves, lingering for a brief, delicious squeeze of her backside before dipping to caress her thigh. He gathered a large fistful of her skirt and tugged, drawing her body just as tight and close as she craved and exposing her ankles to the cooling afternoon air.

With one hand, he delved under her skirts and petticoats, encircling her thigh in his grip. The feel of his work-roughed palm against her stockinged leg inflamed her. And her desire only mounted as he swept his touch higher still. Over her ribbon garter, up the sensitive slope of her bare inner thigh, and . . .

There.

It amazed her, how easily he claimed her most intimate, untouched places, and how little timidity she felt. His fingertips traced the cleft of her sex, slipping easily over her aroused flesh.

“So wet,” he murmured.

The words shocked her. She wanted to hear more.

He stilled, resting his temple against hers. His breath stirred her hair as he traced her intimate flesh in slow, tantalizing strokes.

“For me?” he whispered. The vulnerable rasp in his voice undid her.

She kissed his jaw. “For you. Only you.”

He rewarded her boldness. Deftly parting her folds, he slipped one broad, callused fingertip inside.

A startled cry of joy escaped her.

“Hush,” he soothed. “Hush. I won’t take too much. Only let me ease you this once.” He nibbled lightly at her ear and neck, stroking deeper. “You’ll feel better afterward, see matters clearer. It will be enough.”