Unclaimed (Turner #2)(70)

That almost did break her. He was vulnerable, too. They were both groping about in the dark, afraid to find one another.

Jessica found the clasp of her cloak in the dark and released it. The sodden weight slid from her shoulders. “Mark,” she said, “I would never wish you harm.” Her voice shook. “Whatever you need from me, I’ll give it. Gladly.”

“I need this.” His arms came around her. Water from his coat soaked through her dress. She couldn’t make herself care about it, not now, not with his mouth seeking out hers once more, not with his lips covering hers, his body hard against hers. He was so firm, and yet she had only to set her hand on his chest and he pulled back. No; he wasn’t going to hurt her. Not today. Not now.

But what of tomorrow?

Jessica shook her head, clearing it of those worries, and gave herself up to his kiss. There was nothing but the give and take of lips and tongue and teeth, nothing but the ebb and flow of breath cycling into kiss cycling back into breath again. She pulled back briefly, fumbled in the dark until she guided him to the sofa in the front room. They sank onto it, and he kissed her again, leaning over her. The cold and wet of his clothing gave way to a warm, damp humidity.

His hands cupped her cheeks. He held her as if she were precious. Tonight, maybe, she would be precious to him. This minute and for every minute it lasted.

The buttons of his coat were hard lumps pressing against her; she undid them, at first absently, and then in earnest. He paused only to strip the garment off. And then he found her lips in the dark once more. Not just lips; their bodies met, her hips nestling against his, her chest brushing his. It felt so right to cradle him, so right to feel that pleasure flooding her. He felt so good, she was sure this couldn’t last.

When he pulled away, she wasn’t surprised; she’d been expecting it for minutes. But instead of calling a halt, he knelt before her. His hands tangled in her skirt, lifting it, pushing her petticoats up to gather at her hips. Cool air touched her thighs. Her whole body tingled in anticipation.

And then his hands, hot now, slid up her knees.

“Jessica.” His thumbs slid farther up, finding the wetness of her sex. He made a strangled sound.

But it was nothing to the shock that filled her. His caress, tentative at first, slid against her most intimate parts. His fingers were hesitant in their discovery, then became more sure.

“Is that right?” he asked, his thumb sweeping over the nub of her pleasure. It felt so good.

“Yes.”

“This?”

Her hand joined his. “Right there. Like that. Oh, yes. Like that.”

Again he tempted her, tormented her, his hands uncovering all her secrets.

“I want—” she began, but stopped, letting out a small cry, as he caressed her once more.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice was strong, urgent.

“No—oh, Mark—we can’t. We have to stop. I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

He paused. And then he pulled his hands away, letting her skirts fall. She ached all over. Her body screamed at her for completion. Still, she scrambled to her feet.

“There’s a basin over there, if you want it.” She pointed, realized he couldn’t see her, and stumbled over to a side table near the entrance. Her hands shook as she found a lucifer by shape, shook when it failed to light once, twice—on her third try, a sharp sulfurous smell filled the room. She cupped the precious flame and lit a candle. The light danced, too bright, and too late she realized her mistake. If he could see her eyes, he would see…everything.

Behind her, Mark had found the basin. He washed his hands methodically before turning back to her.

“Let me explain something to you,” he said. His trousers were tented out in front of him; she tried not to focus on that telltale bulge. “You warned me once not to make a romance of you.” He advanced on her again. But when he got to her, he didn’t try to kiss her. He turned her around, so her back was to him, and folded his arms around her. “You have only one chance to escape.”

His hands slid to her waist, curled in the sash of her dress.

“I plan to thwart you,” he said against her neck. “I am going to make you understand that you deserve to have romance. And you, my dearest, will not be able to stop me.”

He pulled the ends of her sash, letting it float to the ground.

“Mark?”

He undid the top button at the nape of her neck. “I never should have listened to you about that anyway.”

His lips touched her ear—the lobe of it, just a brush, the heat of his breath in sharp contrast to the chill of his hands. Her ni**les tightened, pointing; a well of warmth rose up inside her. And then he was not just kissing her ear but catching it lightly between his teeth, his mouth tracing the edge. His tongue—oh, heavens, his tongue, flicking out. She felt it in her hands, her br**sts, that rising sense of pleasure.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, just finished unbuttoning her dress, his fingers moving slowly. “Thank you for lighting the candle,” he said quietly, as he slid the sleeves down her shoulders. He pressed his lips to her neck. “I wouldn’t have been able to do this without light.”

His hands slid to her corset laces. He leisurely untied the knot, unlaced the ribbons and pulled the garment away. She wanted to grab for it, to pull it back. It wasn’t just her body he wanted; it was intimacy, and that was more than she’d given in years. She couldn’t help but feel that at any moment, he would come to his senses and leave her where she stood, trembling and hurt and wanting.