To Taste Temptation (Legend of the Four Soldiers #1)(73)

“I dunno,” Higher Voice replied meditatively. “Better than lawn bowls, surely? At least indoors it is.”

Samuel drew back his head and met her eyes. He grinned like the devil himself as his hand reached the apex of her slit. She had to consciously keep from moaning as he slid one finger over her clitoris. Gently he shook his head and at the same time circled that delicate bud.

“What about the windows?”

“What windows?”

“The windows in the great hall.”

“Well, what about them?” High Voice sounded peeved.

Samuel bit his lip as if to still a laugh, but Emeline was riding a wave of terrified bliss. If the footmen outside opened the curtain now, they’d discover her nearly naked from the hips down and with Samuel’s large hand working at her *. He inserted a thick finger into her core slowly, carefully, watching her face all the while. At the same time, his thumb pressed firmly down on that special bit of flesh. She opened her mouth in a silent gasp, glaring at him.

“Tennis balls would break them, won’t they?” Low Voice said.

Whatever was the man babbling about? Not that it mattered, as long as the servant was engaged. Samuel slowly withdrew his finger and then quickly thrust it in again, making her hips jerk in reaction. She couldn’t stand this much longer; she would give them away. She did the only thing she could do. She wrapped her hands about Samuel’s neck and drew his mouth down to her own. He began a rapid thrusting of his finger, and she opened her mouth and invited his tongue in. She needed him. The feelings, the emotions, were intense. She wanted to climb his body, she wanted to suck his tongue, she wanted to bring him to his knees as he’d brought her to hers. Why did this man, of all the men she knew, have power over her? She turned into a puddle of yearning want around him, and only he seemed able to fill the void at her center. Her breath caught because he was indeed filling her. A second finger had joined the first, and he plunged them into her together, then spread them, widening her. She was wet, and even that thought couldn’t bring her embarrassment right now. She was emotion and pleasure and never wanted this to stop.

“Best be back to work,” Low Voice said. A shoe scraped against the passageway’s stone floor as the man evidently put away his pipe. “Haven’t looked in the cellar yet, have we?”

“Don’t be daft, man.” The footsteps were receding now. “The tennis things won’t be in the cellar.”

“You’re such a clever one, tell me where they are, then.” Low Voice’s words floated back down the hall to them, and then there was silence.

Oh, Lord. Samuel had never stopped moving his fingers within her or kissing her open mouth all this time, and now she felt the first tremors start. She broke away and gasped, biting her lip, so that she wouldn’t cry out loud.

But he withdrew his hand from her suddenly, catching her about the waist and lifting and shoving so that her rump balanced precariously on a barrel. Then he was between her legs, and she opened her eyes to watch him frantically rip at his breeches.

“God!” It was a groan. He freed himself and thrust into her, huge and hot, in the same movement. “God!”

She sank her nails into the cloth covering his shoulders and hung on for dear life, wrapping her legs high over his hips. He jerked rapidly in her, thrusting again and again and again. Her orgasm had not fully crested and now it began anew on a higher, sweeter, almost painful note. He had one hand braced flat against the wall by her head, one at her hip, and his cock buried deep in between her spread legs. She tore at his coat, ripping it off his upper arm, and filled her mouth with clean linen and his shoulder. Her eyes closed in bliss as she bit him. She clung to him while his cock took his pleasure of her. He rode her hard, rode her until she wanted to scream, rode her until he grabbed the back of her head and kissed her, his mouth wide and gasping as he came, his great body shaking. She could feel the heat of his seed flooding within her. And she knew, even as she crested the wave herself, she knew.

This must be the last time.

“MAY I TALK to you?” Emeline asked Jasper that afternoon. She’d caught him in an upper hallway. The guests were beginning to linger by the dining room in anticipation of a late luncheon.

“Of course.” He smiled his wide, slightly lopsided smile, and she could tell that he wasn’t really paying attention to her.

“Jasper.” She touched his sleeve.

He stopped and turned to her, his bushy eyebrows knit. “What?”

“It’s important.”

His eyes searched hers. So often they were vague or camouflaged behind the fool he liked to play. It was rare for him to look clearly, for her to see the man who lurked beneath the mask. Now, though, he was looking at her. Really looking at her. “Are you all right?”

She took a breath, and to her own astonishment, the truth escaped her lips. “No.”

He blinked, then raised his head to glance around the hallway. They were at the back of the house, but there were still people about, footmen and maids bringing in the luncheon, guests assembling in the next room. He took her hand and pulled her through a doorway into another passage. Several doors lined the hall here, and he seemed to pick one at random. He opened it and stuck his head in.

“This’ll do.” He pulled her inside and shut the door behind them. It was a small sitting room or office, evidently unused because the fireplace was empty and sheets covered most of the furniture. He folded his arms. “Tell me.”