Suddenly You(42)

“I find bad company quite interesting.” She didn’t look afraid of him at all, nor did she seem to understand what he was trying to tell her. “And perhaps I’m merely studying you for research purposes.” She startled him by throwing her arms around his neck and touching her lips to the corner of his. “There—you see? I’m not afraid of you.”

Her soft mouth burned him. Jack could no more control his response than he could stop the earth from turning. His head dove down, and he caught her mouth with his, kissing her with undiluted passion. She was luscious and sweet, her small but bountiful figure caught firmly in his arms, the abundant shapes of her br**sts impelled against his chest. He explored her with deep strokes of his tongue, trying to be gentle, while a great bonfire blazed inside him. He wanted to tear the velvet dress off her and taste her skin, the tips of her br**sts, the curve of her stomach, the fiery curls between her thighs. He wanted to debauch her a thousand different ways, shock her, exhaust her until she slept for hours in his arms.

Blindly he found the curves of her bu**ocks and clamped his hands over them, bringing her loins against the prodding stiffness of his sex. Her skirts muffled the sensation, folds of heavy material preventing the intimate contact he longed for. They kissed even harder, straining together, until Amanda whimpered in growing agitation. Somehow Jack managed to tear his mouth away, his breath coming in steamy gusts, and he crushed her against his aroused body. “Enough,” he whispered harshly. “Enough…or I’ll take you right now.”

Her face was hidden from him, but he heard the jerking rhythm of her breathing, and he felt her efforts to hold still despite the tremors that coursed through her body. Clumsily he petted her hair. The gleaming auburn curls were like coils of fire beneath his palm.

It was a long time before Jack could bring himself to speak. “Now you see why it is a bad idea to invite me into the parlor.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said unsteadily.

Jack eased her away from his body, although every nerve screeched in rebellious protest. “I shouldn’t have come here tonight,” he muttered. “I made a promise to myself, but I can’t seem to—” A soft growl rose in his throat as he realized that he was about to make yet another confession. What had happened to him, a man so scrupulously closemouthed about himself, that he couldn’t seem to stop talking when he was around her? “Good-bye,” he said abruptly, staring at Amanda’s flushed face. He gave a brief shake of his head, wondering where the hell his self-possession had gone.

“Wait.” Her fingers caught at his jacket sleeve. He looked at her small hand and struggled with the insane urge to snatch it and drag her fingers down the front of his aroused body and clamp them around his aching sex. “When will I see you again?” she asked.

A long time passed before he responded. “What are your plans for the holiday?” he asked gruffly.

Christmas was less than two weeks away. Amanda’s gaze dropped, and she industriously settled the waistband of her gown to its proper place. “I intend to go to Windsor, as usual, and spend the holiday with my sisters and their families. I’m the only one who remembers the recipe for my mother’s flaming brandy punch, and my sister Helen always asks me to prepare it. Not to mention the plum cake—”

“Spend Christmas with me.”

“With you?” she murmured, clearly startled. “Where?”

Jack continued slowly. “I host a party at my home every year on Christmas Day, for friends and colleagues. It’s…” He paused, unable to read her blank face. “It’s a madhouse, really. Drinking, carousing, and the noise will deafen you. And by the time you manage to find your supper plate, the food is always cold. Moreover, you’d hardly know a soul there—”

“Yes, I’ll come.”

“You will?” He stared at her, astonished. “What about your nieces and nephews, and the flaming brandy punch?”

She became more certain with each second that passed. “I’ll write out the recipe for the punch and post it to my sister. And as for the children, I doubt they’ll even notice my absence.”

Jack nodded dumbly. “If you wish to reconsider,” he began, but Amanda shook her head instantly.

“No, no, this will suit me very well. I welcome a change from all the screaming children and my sisters’ badgering, and I deplore that bone-rattling carriage ride to Windsor and back. It will be refreshing to spend Christmas at a party filled with new faces.” She began to usher him from the dining room, as if she half suspected that he would have the bad manners to rescind the invitation. “I won’t keep you, Mr. Devlin, as you indicated that you wish to leave. Good night.” She rang for the maid to bring his coat, and before Jack could fully grasp what was happening, he had been bundled out of the house.

Standing on the icy front doorstep, his shoes grinding into the sand that had been sprinkled to prevent them from slipping, Jack shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. He walked slowly to his own waiting carriage while the driver prepared the horses for departure. “Why the hell did I do that?” Jack muttered to himself, stunned by the unexpected outcome of the evening. He had simply wished for an hour or two of Amanda Briars’s company, and somehow he had ended up inviting her to his home for Christmas.

Jack climbed into the carriage and sat tensely, his back not quite touching the fine leather upholstery, his hands gripping his knees. He felt threatened, off-balance, as if the world he had comfortably inhabited had suddenly changed beyond his ability to adapt. Something was happening to him, and he didn’t like it.