Unraveled (Turner #3)(41)
Finally, the housemaid ducked in once more.
“Mr. Turner to see you,” she said.
He stood behind the maid, and her heart stopped beating.
Miranda had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she’d not heard him arrive. He waved the maid away—she wondered, briefly, what the servants said amongst themselves about this arrangement—and leaned against the doorway. His eyes met hers, smoldering with barely suppressed intent.
“Everything to your liking?” he asked.
He was damnably handsome. He was tall and imposing, topping her by more than half a head. There was something sharp about his features, true, but he was saved from severeness by the small smile he gave her. Her gaze dropped to contemplate his long fingers. He’d stroked her with those; he was going to do it again. She was going to know all of him, and by the way he looked at her, she was going to enjoy it. He was dressed in dark wool; his white shirt and a green silk waistcoat gleamed in contrast. His cravat was tied neatly.
There were no diamond stickpins, no cuff links made of precious stones. She’d known he was a duke’s brother. But somehow, she’d not quite comprehended what that meant. He lived by himself in a tiny house. How was she to have expected this luxury? And what did it mean that he’d casually lodged her here and promised her a thousand pounds without even flinching?
It means he has more money than you can comprehend, she told herself fiercely. It’s his to spend as he wants. And if he’s eccentric enough to want you to enjoy yourself, it’s because he expects to enjoy you, too.
Her whole body tensed at the thought. His eyes wandered down her form, newly clad in silk, and then up to the neckline of her dress. The corset they’d fit her into had shaped her body. It had given her bosom curves and definition that Miranda hadn’t known she’d possessed. His eyes rested there, briefly, before returning to her face.
“Everything is lovely.” She took a lemon cake off the tray beside her, and crossed the room to him. “Especially these. They’re delicious.” She held out the cake, feeling utterly brazen. “Try one.”
Slowly, he slid his fingers around her hand. He brought it up to his mouth, and took the cake from her, his lips brushing her fingers.
He held her gaze as he chewed. Swallowed.
“Let’s see if we can discover what else is to your liking.” His hand tightened around hers and he drew her close, until she could smell the lemon on his breath. And then he dipped his head and kissed her.
He tasted of sweetness and citrus, but there was nothing sweet about his kiss. It was hard and demanding.
Oh, God. This really was going to happen. Tonight. This very hour. She’d not imagined he would be the sort to dilly-dally, but his kiss left no doubt. There would be no waiting. Her body sang with anticipation. Her hands clenched in his lapels, and she kissed him back.
He lifted his head. “I’ve been thinking of you all day.” He twined his fingers in the sash of her gown with deliberate, possessive intent. “I’ve been thinking of this all day.”
She swallowed. He drew her to him, leaving little doubt as to what he meant by this.
“Tell me, have you been thinking of anything else?”
She could feel the tense muscles of his arms beneath her hands. She shook her head. “No. It’s all been you.”
“Good.”
There was no preamble. No small talk about the weather. Just the intense flare of satisfaction in his eyes, and then his mouth, hot and possessive, over hers. She should have known that he’d be direct about it. He wanted her, and he was going to have her. It was that simple.
It wasn’t just the slide of his tongue against hers. It wasn’t the way he pushed her against the wall, pressing the full length of his hard, slim body against hers. It wasn’t even the way he took hold of her skirts, gathering them up in his hands until she felt the cool air against her ankles.
It was something about the way he held her. As if kissing her had become as vital as breath. As if he couldn’t have stopped except by conscious effort—and then only for a short space of time. He had taken his time with their kisses before now—progressing slowly from kiss to caress, until she burned for more. But tonight he hiked her skirts to her knees and pushed her firmly against the wall.
It felt fabulous. It felt wonderful. He parted her legs, slid his fingers between them. Cool air touched her thighs, and then her waist. His hands followed in sure, steady strokes, outlining her knees, her hips. He set his thumb on the cleft between her legs. And when he sank into her warmth… She let out a breath of air that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She was on fire for him.
“Oh. You’re definitely ready for me,” he murmured. “Miranda Darling, you’ll forgive me this first time, won’t you? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
It was only when he reached for the placket of his breeches that she realized that if she said nothing, he’d be inside her in seconds.
She’d agreed to it. Her body thrummed for that completion.
And still… “Wait.” She put her hands over his.
He stopped. His breathing labored. He had her against the wall, and his chest pressed against hers. His hand rose to tangle in her hair. “Wait,” he gritted out. “You want me to wait. How long?”
“I—there’s no good way to say it. You’ve obviously done this before. It’s just…I haven’t.”