The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(100)

She laughed. And how very wonderful it felt to laugh—with him. One could almost believe the world wasn’t on fire. “Very well.” Reggie snapped the sheet music from his hand and adjusted it. She nudged him with her hip, and he scooted to the end of the bench, allowing her room at the center of the keyboard.

Fingers poised over the keys, she drew in a deep breath.

“It’s just me.”

He was never “just him.” He was the one who held her heart and who’d soon marry a proper miss. She shoved the thought from her head. Hating that unknown stranger for intruding. Hating Broderick for going forward with this. And hating that she couldn’t be enough for him.

Regina stroked the keys, bringing the song to life, forgetting Broderick at her side and losing herself in the verses.

“’Tis the last rose of summer,

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,

No rosebud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes,

Or give sigh for sigh.”

She felt Broderick go still beside her on the bench.

“Since the lovely are sleeping,

Go, sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter,

Thy leaves o’er the bed,

Where thy mates of the garden

Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,

And from Love’s shining circle

The gems drop away.

When true hearts lie withered,

And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?”

Reggie stopped. The echo of the keys vibrated in the nighttime quiet, even after she’d depressed the last note.

It had been so very long since she’d played or sung, and avoiding his gaze, she came to her feet. To leave . . .

“I was wrong,” he whispered, bringing Reggie slowly back to face him.

Passion blazed from within his eyes, burning her with the heat of it, stealing her breath. “W-wrong . . . ?”

He stood, erasing the small space she’d previously put between them.

Reggie’s lashes fluttered. “About?”

He swallowed hard. “Your voice alone will do.”

Her body swayed toward his. Their lips met in an explosion of heat and hunger.

She parted her lips to allow him entry, and as he swept inside, Reggie met every stroke of his tongue. Their kiss was a duel and a dance. Thrusting. Parrying. Meeting one another in an age-old dance of passion.

Reggie tipped her head sideways, and he caressed his mouth down her nape, lingering his lips on the place where her pulse beat wildly. He sucked at the flesh. Teased. Nipped.

She sank her teeth into her lower lip. She wanted to know him in every way. Before he found his bride and she left this place, she wanted to steal whatever pleasure was to be had in his arms. Reggie gave herself over to his embrace. Turning, she twined her hands about his neck, angling her head to better receive his kiss.

He groaned. Not breaking contact with her mouth, Broderick worked his hands between them, and loosening the ties of her wrapper, he shoved the whisper-soft article down her shoulders. The cool night air was like a sough upon her heated skin.

“So beautiful,” he whispered against her lips. He trailed a path of kisses down her jaw, worshipping the column of her neck. A keening moan spilled from her as he filled his hands with her breasts, molding the thin fabric to her skin.

Her nipples peaked, aching for his attention. Through the thin cotton he tweaked those buds, teasing. Tormenting. Flicking them back and forth. “Please,” she begged, yearning to feel his hands upon her naked skin.

Broderick slid the straps down, releasing the small mounds from their constraints. “Tell me what you want, Regina,” he murmured, circling the pink areolae with the pads of his thumbs, that delicate, whisper-soft touch sending a shudder of longing through her.

He was allowing her control. He wanted her to have a voice in her pleasure. And her heart swelled anew with love for him. Reggie slid to the edge of the piano bench and then took his hands in her own. She drew Broderick’s large, callused palms to her breasts. Her chest rose and fell fast, and she forced her heavy lashes open, meeting his gaze. “I want you to touch me,” she whispered. “I want to feel your touch everywhere.”

Swallowing loudly, Broderick fixed his eyes on those twin mounds. With a groan, he dropped a knee onto the piano bench and, lowering his mouth, closed his lips around one of those engorged tips.

Reggie’s legs weakened under her, and her buttocks found purchase on the instrument behind her. The keys clanged a dissonant medley, their reverberations echoing around the room and inside her head as he continued his blissful torment.

Then he suckled. Drawing that bud deep, laving the tip. Swirling his tongue around that sensitized flesh. Reggie slid her eyes closed, and threading her fingers through his tousled golden curls, she anchored him close. Each pull and each suck sent a throbbing ache to her center. She felt herself, for the first time, hot and wet, and reveled in that pleasure.

Gave herself over to it. And there was no shame. There was only a violent hungering, and with an incoherent plea, she parted her legs and thrust against him.

The keys chimed and sang to every frantic arch of her hips. A discordant symphony that matched the fire that raged within her.