Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

The sounds gave way to his need-roughened rasps. Her breathing was coming in ragged little gasps.

“J-J-John.”

“Say it,” he demanded, sliding his palms over the swell of her hips. “Shout it.”

Her cry reverberated against the surrounding stone, and he dared to believe that she wanted this just as much as he did. Swinging her up off the ground, he whirled round and round, his wild steps carrying them out to the very edge of the firelight. Spinning, spinning, their naked bodies gilded in gold and shadows.

Like two demented spirits sparked to life by some ancient alchemy.

Breathless, John slowed to a staggering stop. Olivia was laughing, and yet there were tears glistening on her lashes.

“Oh, I fear I’ve freed some impish inner demon in you,” she whispered, her voice betraying a note of uncertainty. “And that come morning, you will regret it.”

“Regret?”

“With all my unorthodox ideas and headstrong words, I’ve managed to turn your careful life topsy-turvy.”

John held her very still. “For which I am profoundly grateful. Cecilia was right—I was in danger of becoming a stick-in-the-mud, stuck in conventional thinking. You have challenged me to see things from a different perspective.”

“Yes, by knocking you flat on your arse in Mr. Hurley’s garden,” she quipped.

“But as I landed atop your luscious body, it was well worth the come-down.”

“Ha! I’m not particularly well-padded,” exclaimed out Olivia. “I’ve none of the voluptuous curves that draw a man’s attention.”

“On many things, I am quite willing to defer to your intellect,” he said softly, letting his hands add the emphasis. “This is not one of them.”

“John!” Her eyes widened. “That is very naughty.”

“So is this.” He lowered his head and flicked a tongue over her bare nipple.

“However, there’s naught but the forest foxes to witness my impish inner demon having his evil way with you.”

Her laugh was back, a low throaty sound that had his body clenching with desire.

“You are going to let me have my evil way with you, aren’t you?” asked John.

Yes.

“Yes,” repeated Olivia, this time aloud. She touched his cheek. “Yes.”

The blankets were already tucked in a shallow crevasse behind the fire. John eased her down on the flame-warmed wool.

They were both a little desperate—he to forget his fears, she supposed. And she to remember this last wild night of passion. It would, she knew, be her last lovemaking with him. This couldn’t go on. She wasn’t so foolish as to think a liaison was possible once they returned to London. Scandal would ruin both of them, along with her family.

But she wouldn’t think of that now. Not the loneliness, not the yearning, not the ache that would lodge in her heart.

Caro, ever the romantic, would wax poetic on doomed love.

But I can only be pragmatic and seize the moment, come what may in the future.

“Make love to me, John,” she whispered. “I want you inside me.” Connected in body and soul if only for a fleeting interlude. “I…” The word “love” almost slipped free.

I love you.

That, too, she wished to shout loud enough to be heard in the heavens. But it would be unfair to him. His fine-honed sense of honor was already cutting like a blade against his conscience. No matter her own pain, Olivia could not bear to sharpen its edge.

She had refused his offer—best to leave it at that.