Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“Miss Sloane,” he gasped.

“Lord Wrexham,” wheezed Olivia, an odd little burr roughening her already throaty voice.

For an instant, he feared she was going to burst into tears.

Instead, she began to laugh.

And laugh.

Scottie was right. It was a delightful sound, its top notes shaded with a rich, sensual echo that seemed to stroke over his skin like a moon-dappled midnight breeze.

A twitch tugged at his lips. His dignity—as well as his coat—was in tatters, his pride was bruised, and though he should not find it at all funny, John felt a rumble vibrate deep in his throat.

Olivia tried to get up again, but her limbs were too weak with mirth. “Good Lord, what a ridiculous picture we must make!” she wheezed in between burbles of laughter.

“Here, let me help you.” Levering to his feet, John lifted her up and as she seemed a bit shaky, he kept his hands on her waist.

“Well, it’s not every day I take a tumble in the hay with an earl,” she quipped.

“Please don’t think that I make a habit of ruining a young lady’s reputation,” he answered.

Her cheeks, already pink from the breeze, turned a lusher shade of red as she looked up and wet her lips.

John felt his body clench. His legendary sang froid began to bubble…His steely self-control went up in smoke…

Olivia flinched as his mouth possessed hers. She was like summer rain against his tongue. So soft, so sweet.

Her hands came up around his neck.

Hell, it would serve him right if she throttled him on the spot.

But then, all of a sudden, she was kissing him back.

In a daze, John twisted around and braced her back against the ivy-covered wall, the glossy leaves crackling under the crush of silk. He was dimly aware of a roaring like cannonfire in his ears, and as his hands slid down to cup her breasts he realized it was the pounding of his own heart.

Knocking all reason to flinders.

A gust of air ruffled his hair, stirring wild, wicked thoughts of her waltzing naked through the trees. In response, his own privy parts began dancing to their own drummer. Thump. Thump. Thump. His pulse was pounding a military tattoo, commanding all soldiers to stand erect.

And Dear God, his Major Organ was responding with unabashed enthusiasm.

Olivia didn’t seem disgusted by his display of primitive lust. With a tiny moan, she tightened her hold and hitched her hips into him.

Lud, it felt good. No, better than good.

Exquisite.

He thrust himself against her thighs, reveling in the softness of her skin-warmed silks against his growing arousal. With a rough groan, he deepened his kisses, mindless of his crushed cravat and the fact that his shirttail had somehow pulled free of his trousers.

Olivia swayed as heat licked through her limbs. Her body felt so strange, as if it belonged to someone else. And perhaps it did, she thought hazily. She certainly didn’t recognize the woman who had taken possession of her skin. The real Olivia Sloane was a spinster bluestocking, not a wanton jade.

And yet, the Earl of Wrexham didn’t seem to be experiencing any reservations.

Nor was she.

His kisses had ignited a sudden spark of longing somewhere deep inside her. And while its flame burned hot, she meant to seize the chance to experience passion.

God only knew when it would come again.