Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(35)

Only Libba did not stand there.

She gaped. Her head fell back to take him in. He wore only trousers and a shirt. No vest. No jacket. A pair of Hessians hugged his muscular legs up to the knees. The white lawn of his shirt contrasted sharply to the darker exposed flesh of his neck. Her throat felt suddenly dry, and she fought to swallow.

She wanted to demand an explanation for his presence outside her bedroom, but speech failed her. She’d thought so much of him tonight, wondering where he’d disappeared to during the impromptu celebration of her forthcoming marriage, wondering if she’d hurt him—hoping she hadn’t. She was unable to erase the memory of his shadow, standing witness as she accepted Thrumgoodie’s offer.

Without a word, he strode past her, his shoulder brushing her arm. She swallowed a hiss at the contact.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. Her head spun. Reeling and bewildered, she took a quick glance up and down the empty corridor. Satisfied no one had seen him enter her room, she closed the door, sealing them in as effectively as if they were in a tomb.

She knew she could demand he leave. She should. Nothing about this was proper or seemly. If he was discovered, she’d be ruined, all her hopes for her family lost.

She wasn’t sure why she was letting any of this happen. Only that she felt compelled—like some other force was guiding her to behave against her will. Against all reasoning. She was willingly betrothed to another man—the precise man she wanted for a husband. The man she’d set out to land for herself.

And yet the precise man she did not want, she had just permitted inside her bedchamber. There had to be a cell in Bedlam for people like her.

He prowled a small circle before stopping in the center of the room. Facing her, his arms hung at his sides, hands clenched in tight fists.

Tension swam on the air, so tangible she could touch it.

She’d never seen him look like this before. The flesh surrounding his eyes seemed tighter. A tiny tic worked madly at the corner of the right eye. His chest rose and fell, lifting against his white shirt.

She couldn’t stand to look at the accusation in his face. She looked away, and her gaze fastened on the exposed stretch of his throat, on the skin there that looked so warm and inviting.

“You did it,” he murmured.

He might as well have yelled the words. She jumped at the whisper. She breathed in and out before answering, “I said I would.”

“Yes.” He nodded, moving slowly, advancing on her. “You did.”

No censure. Not even anger. Just that tension about him. A coil ready to spring. A lion about to pounce.

Ironic considering she moved first, coming at him in a gliding step.

And that’s all he needed to act.

He met her, enveloping her in his arms and lifting her off her feet. His mouth swooped over hers. Her hands slid up to cup his face, holding, reveling in the rasp of his bristly cheeks. His tongue was in her mouth, mating fiercely with her own. His hands clutched her back, the strong dig of his fingers rough and thrilling.

They clung to each other with equal fervor, their lips locked in a devouring kiss that went on and on. His hands slid down, cupped her bottom through the thin fabric of her nightgown. She gasped as he lifted her easily, guiding her legs around him.

Everything about this should have horrified her, but she could only feel. Only taste. She had thought she’d never see him again. That he was lost to her. Nothing could make her break away right now.

Her world jarred slightly with his every step. Soon she was descending back onto the bed, all his splendid weight falling atop her, directly between her splayed thighs. Her nightgown slipped and cool air drifted over her exposed legs.

He released her lips and dragged his hot mouth down her throat just as his hand slid along her rib cage. He nipped her throat and then kissed the bruised flesh, laving with his tongue. She moaned, arching under him, sensation flooding her.

She didn’t know it could be like this. His hand closed over her breast and she gasped, seized with a want so deep that she forgot everything. Who she was . . . what she’d always wanted for herself. For her family. For once the visage of her stepfather didn’t intrude. The only thing she wanted right now was this. Him.

His hand kneaded her breast until she was panting and writhing beneath him. When his lips closed over the hard tip, sucking through the thin fabric of her gown, she arched her back with a sharp cry as hot sensation rippled through her.

His mouth pulled at her, taking her deep. The wet fabric of her gown only served to chafe her overly sensitized nipple. She weaved her fingers through his hair, holding him to her with hungry desperation, determined that he give more. She wanted her nightgown gone—his clothes to melt away. She yearned to feel his skin, to experience the hardness of his body against hers . . . his flesh to her flesh . . .

She was lost. Oblivious to reason. To the world around her.

To the click of the opening door . . .

She was heat imploding in his arms. Logan was overwhelmed with the taste and feel of her. He hadn’t come here for this. At least not consciously. She’d agreed to marry another man. As far as he was concerned, she was beyond his reach. She’d seen to that. It infuriated him, but there was nothing to do about it now short of abducting her.

And yet here he was. Here they were. Lost together. With each other.

He heard the gasp. It registered dully, sinking into his awareness slowly. He lifted his head from her delectable breast and blinked as if waking from a dream.