Secrets of a Summer Night (Wallflowers #1)(63)

He made her forget everything in those silent, febrile moments—she lost awareness of time, of where they were, and even who she was. All she knew was that she needed him closer, deeper, tighter…his skin, his hard flesh, his mouth wandering in heated trails over her body. She gripped at his shirt until it loosened from his trousers, clutching handfuls of the starched white linen in desperate need of the warm skin beneath. He seemed to understand that she had no experience at controlling this level of desire—his kisses became soothing, his hands beginning to move over her back in calming strokes. However, the more he tried to ease her craving, the worse it became, her mouth moving frantically beneath his, her body twisting in an anxious rhythm.

He finally resorted to taking his mouth away and holding her in a crushing embrace, his lips buried against the flushed curve of her neck and shoulder. Annabelle was absurdly grateful for the brutality of his grip, his arms forming heavy bands of muscle that helped to contain her violent trembling. They stood like that for what seemed an eternity, until Annabelle became hazily aware that the room was silent. Sometime during the past few minutes, the musicians had finished their preparations and left. Lifting his head, Hunt slowly reached for the edge of a curtain panel and moved it an inch to the side. Seeing that the music room was empty once more, he returned his attention to Annabelle, using the tip of his thumb to brush back a lock of glinting hair that had fallen over her ear.

“They’re gone,” came his rasping whisper.

Too stunned to think coherently, Annabelle looked at him without speaking. His fingertips traced the hot surface of her cheek, the swollen cushion of her lips. With something like despair, she felt the skyrocketing response of her unappeased body, the renewed vigor of her pulse, the wash of pleasure that slipped over her skin. That was the time to pull away from him, or her disappearance would soon be remarked on. To her shame, she remained still, her body hungrily absorbing sensations as Hunt continued to caress her. His hand moved to the back of her gown, and she felt the deft workings of his fingers, even as he bent and kissed her mouth again. This time she could no longer hold back the sounds; the small sobs that broke from her throat, the whimper of relief as the tight bodice of her gown was loosened. The cut of the neckline had made it impossible for her to wear a corset with cups— instead she had worn an under-the-bust style that had left her br**sts unconfined beneath her chemise.

Continuing to kiss her, Hunt drew her down with him to the upholstered window seat. He cradled her in his lap, his fingers smoothing the sagging bodice downward, and he made a sound of pleasure against her mouth as he discovered the fullness of her br**sts. Suddenly frightened by the realization of what she was allowing, Annabelle pushed weakly at his wrist. He lifted her body higher and pressed his mouth to the center of her chest, where her heart thumped in a hard, regular rhythm. His supportive arms maintained the arch of her back as his lips slid downward to investigate the plump rise of her breast. At the touch of his passion-heated breath on her nipple, she stopped straining and went still, her hand balling into fists against his shoulders. He took her into his mouth, his tongue brushing gently until the peak was wet and tender-hard, and her veins were filled with simmering honey. He whispered reassurances as his hand smoothed over her breast, his thumb rubbing the glaze of moisture into her glowing skin. Murmuring incoherently, she circled her arms around his taut neck, and gasped as his mouth closed over her other nipple and tugged gently.

A new urgency crept through her, something that drew shuddering moans from her chest, and made her body tighten rhythmically in his lap. Hunt was tormented by the same compelling need—she could feel the violence of his heartbeat and the strain of his lungs as they labored with each breath. But he seemed far more able to bridle his passion than she, the movements of his hands and mouth remaining careful and controlled. She thrashed in the densely layered silk of her gown, her fingers clawing at the sleeves of his coat and waistcoat—too many clothes, everywhere, and she was going mad with the need to feel his skin on hers.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispered against her cheek. “Relax. No, lie still in my arms…” But she couldn’t make her body obey, couldn’t seem to stop the writhing of her h*ps and the shivering pleas that came from her kiss-bruised mouth.

Hunt continued to murmur softly as he held her, brushing his lips over her face, his fingers massaging the delicate hollows where her pulse beat frantically. She felt him adjusting her clothes, gently lifting her as if she were a doll, fastening the back of her gown. At one point he even gave a soft, shaky laugh, as if bemused by his own actions. Later, she would come to reflect that he had seemed just as dazed as she was; but right then, in the flush of frustrated longing, she could not unravel her tangled thoughts. As the desire ebbed from her body, it left behind a sickening residue of shame.

Struggling from his lap, Annabelle faced away from him, her legs quivering. She could summon only two words to break the heavy silence. Without looking at him, she said hoarsely, “Never again.” Pushing through the paneled curtains, she left the room as quickly as she was able and bolted down the hallway.

CHAPTER 17

After Annabelle had fled the music room, Simon had remained there for at least a half hour, fighting to settle his roaring passion, letting the fire in his blood cool. He straightened his clothes and raked a hand through his hair, moodily contemplating his next move. “Annabelle,” he muttered, more troubled and confused than he had ever been in his life. The fact that he had been brought to this state by a woman was infuriating. He, who was known as a crafty and disciplined negotiator, had made the clumsiest possible offer for her, and he had been roundly rejected. Deservedly so. He should never have tried to force her to name a price before she had even admitted that she wanted him. But the suspicion that she might be sleeping with Hodgeham…Hodgeham, of all men, had nearly driven Simon mad with jealousy, and all his usual skills had deserted him.