Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)(61)

He walked toward her, his feet as sure as a leopard’s stalking its prey.

Jenny raised an eyebrow. “I should have thought that science and questions of the bedchamber were far removed from each other.”

“That,” said Gareth, holding out a hand to her, “is where you’re wrong. Very, very wrong. Shall I show you?”

“That depends,” Jenny said. “Will you need pen and paper? I had always imagined a man’s skill had more to do with practiced technique and less to do with theory.”

He took her hand. Instead of pulling her toward him, though, he knelt before her where she sat on the bed. “Never underestimate the power of theory. A certain amount of practice is, of course required. But a woman is not a boat race on a millpond, where repeated application of the proper techniques in the proper order assures victory. She is a science, and thus victory depends upon observation and induction.”

Jenny swung her legs back and forth. “Induction?”

“Repeated testing. Scientific evidence is nothing more than proof by induction—by inductive reasoning, rather.”

He captured her foot midswing. “Like this.” He cupped the ball of her foot in one warm hand. The other he ran up her calf, his blunt nail tracing a sinuous line.

Jenny sucked in air as her skin prickled in response. “That’s proof?”

“That’s theory.” His voice was as husky as her own. “I theorize that this part of your foot—” he caressed her arch near the ball of her foot “—is quite sensitive. And so I repeat the experiment.”

He did. Jenny exhaled.

“Ah, see? I also theorize you’ll enjoy being touched right here—right on the ankle bone.” His forefinger seared against her skin.

Jenny shut her eyes. “How can you tell if you’re right?”

“Little things. Your nostrils flare. Your hands contract. And your breathing becomes ragged.” His hand walked up her calf, fingers tapping. “You see? Just like that.”

His hands were warm and close; his words cold and distant. But when she let her lids flutter open, she could see the truth. For all that he’d spoken of observation and induction, what she saw in the intense press of his lips was simple.

Need.

And he was obscuring it behind scientific jargon—implying, somehow, that the desire and want were all hers, that her response was drawn from her as mechanically as a compass pointing north. All her lonely childhood, she’d poured her heart into companions who never returned her affection. Jenny’s hands contracted—this time, not in lust. “You may not be aware of this,” Jenny said quietly, “but you are allowed to take an interest in me outside of science.”

His hand contracted around the muscle of her calf. He swallowed hard. “Proof…” The word came out on a choking sigh.

Jenny stood up. “Proof can go hang. As can logic.” They were all pallid excuses, and Jenny had enough of those to paper a drawing room. “If you want something from me, you’d better start admitting it. Stop hiding.”

He stared at her from his stooped position on the floor, his mouth open.

Jenny reached behind her and undid the simple laces of her dress. They’d knotted hard in the rain, but a few good tugs loosened the strings. She let the material fall to the floor in a quiet rustle.

Gareth had not moved. His eyes were transfixed on the column of her throat—no. Lower. Her br**sts peaked under his gaze.

“Let us not misunderstand one another,” she said. Her stays followed her dress, and then she shrugged out of her chemise. The air was cool against her bare skin.

He watched her, openmouthed.

“There. You can have anything—everything—you want. But you have to ask for it first. And you have to want it for yourself. Not for science. Not for proof. For yourself.”

Slowly he stood. He did not touch her. Instead, his gaze swept from the dark triangle between her legs up the line of her navel, past her br**sts. Finally he met her eyes. “You. I want you.” He licked his lips.

“If you want me, then take me, you fool.”

Gareth was no fool. He pulled her into his arms, his crisp linen meeting her naked flesh, and then compressing as he pulled her against the hard muscle of his chest. His mouth bruised hers; his lips stole her breath. And by some magic, he doffed his own clothing while kissing her. It seemed mere seconds until his skin was warm and naked against hers.

“I want you to call me Gareth,” he growled, his hands cupping her backside. “Gareth, and nothing else.”

His erection brushed against her belly. That firm ridge leapt at the contact. He sat on the bed and pulled her so she covered his body with hers. The mattress sighed smoothly under their combined weight. The rough pads of his fingers were on her, sighing down her skin. He pulled her closer still.

“God,” he breathed in her ear. “I want you to ride me.”

Jenny stilled in confusion.

He looked up; her bafflement must have been written on her face.

His hands grasped her hips and he showed her his meaning. He angled her body with his hands and gently brought her to his hot, thick member. His hands took hers, and he pulled her down. She stretched around him as he guided her down the rounded head of his penis, down further, filling her with heat.

“Jenny. Say my name.”