The Unlikely Lady (Playful Brides #3)(58)

And he did. Oh, God, he did. His finger stroked against her once, twice, before settling between the slick folds and finding the—sweet Jesus—exact right spot. Jane bit her lip. Her hips arched off the settee.

His mouth never ceased its gentle assault on her nipple and a pressure built between her legs. Ecstasy shot down from her breast, making the exquisite torture worse, much worse.

His finger slowed, then stopped.

“No,” Jane cried out.

Then the tip of his finger touched that perfect spot again, the one that made her eyes roll back in her head. “Yes, Garrett, yes,” she breathed.

“Yes, what?” he murmured against her breast, nipping at her skin.

“Yes, please.”

His finger circled that spot, again and again, while her hips rocked in a rhythm she was completely helpless to stop. She strained against the bonds that held her wrists, her teeth clenched, her eyes closed.

“God, Jane, you’re so hot. So hot and wet and—” He groaned. His erection pressed tightly against her outer thigh. She wanted to rip her bonds away and reach for him, feel him, stroke him. But the circling of his finger couldn’t be denied. She arched her back again, pressing her breast more fully into his demanding mouth.

Her breath came in short, shallow pants as the pressure between her legs built. “Oh, God. God,” she cried, twisting her hips away, but Garrett followed their movements with his finger. He didn’t allow her to break their contact.

“Garrett, I can’t—” She bit her lip, her head turning fitfully from side to side.

“Yes you can,” he whispered huskily against her neck. The stubble along his tight jawline was abrasive against the softness of the top of her breasts and that was driving her slowly mad too.

His finger continued its relentless assault, again, again. “Garrett!” she called, just before she spiraled into oblivion, a feeling unlike any she’d ever known consuming her body.

*

When Jane finally surfaced from her haze, she realized that Garrett had pulled down her skirts and was tenderly unwrapping the cravat from around her wrists. They were a bit sore, but deliciously so. He rubbed them individually and carefully pulled her hands back down to her sides. He gathered one of her hands in his, brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. He was still breathing heavily. He pressed his slick forehead to hers.

She reached for his hips, wanting to feel his erection, but he pulled her hand away, pinning it over her head again. “No,” he said huskily. He kissed her again fiercely. “Not unless you want me to take you tonight, right here on this settee.”

Truthfully, she’d considered it for a moment. If him taking her on this settee was anything like what he’d just done to her, she was definitely interested. But that would complicate things. Complicate them a great deal. Instead, she kissed him back. The man had just given her the most amazing moments of her life. A kiss in return seemed inadequate.

“That was … incredible.” The word seemed insufficient, even to her own ears.

“I’m obsessed with your perfume,” he murmured. His breathing was still hot and heavy in her ear. He kissed her there, running his tongue along her earlobe, and she bucked beneath him again. Gooseflesh covered her neck and arms. Oh, what this man did to her.

“So?” he asked, nuzzling beneath her ear.

“So?” she echoed, barely able to discern his words with his mouth still on her skin.

“What do you think?”

Her eyes were still closed, but she had to smile at that. She took a long, shuddering breath. “You’re right, so much better than reading a book.”

“And?” he prompted.

“And it seems rakes can teach bluestockings a thing or two.”

She felt his answering smile against the skin of her neck.

“Furthermore,” she added, clearing her throat self-consciously. “I think we’re going to need to do that again.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m not entirely certain I caught all the nuances in that first lesson. I may need remedial work.”

He captured her mouth with his again. “Happy to be your tutor.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Jane sat next to Lucy in the second row of the quaint, stone village church for the wedding of Lady Cassandra Monroe to Julian Swift, Earl of Swifdon. The weather was glorious—cool and bright—for the ceremony that was held at ten o’clock in the morning. The vicar stood in front of the crowded pews, his white vestments gleaming and a broad smile on his face. No doubt his little church hadn’t seen this much excitement since Cass’s own parents had wed.

“She looks breathtaking,” Lucy whispered to Jane, tears in her eyes. “Look at me, I’m crying already.”

“She does look beautiful,” Jane replied in a whisper. Indeed, Cass was magnificent in a glorious white and silver-beaded gown with a long train and a matching veil. “Thank heavens, the red spot on her nose disappeared.”

“Yes, quite courteous of it, was it not?” Lucy said with a laugh.

Julian looked every bit the handsome soldier turned earl in his dashing military dress uniform.

Cass’s mother, Lady Moreland, sat in the front row. The woman nearly convulsed in a fit of joyous tears while her husband tried to comfort her.