The Magic of I Do (Faerie 2)

His breath blew across the shell of her ear as he held himself suspended above her, one hand on the back of the settee and one stiff beside her. “You’re playing with fire,” he growled. Then he unlaced her arms from around his neck, shoved himself back, and sat down on the opposite end of the settee. “You certainly know how to ruin a good meal.”

She turned into the corner of the settee and nuzzled her body into the edge. She was more foxed than she’d planned. She should probably go to bed and try a different tack tomorrow. That would be the safest thing to do.

“Such a spoilsport,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and nuzzled farther into the settee.

He got up with a groan and went to pour himself another drink. She heard the clink of the glass against the edge of the decanter. Perhaps she would get her wish after all and would disarm him long enough to get her magic back.

***

Finn set his glass to the side and glared across the room where she slept on the settee. He supposed he should do the gentlemanly thing and wake her so they could go to bed. He had no intention of sharing a bed with her. He planned to put her safely beneath the counterpane and settle himself in an oversized chair in front of the doorway. He could sleep that way. He’d spent many a night in that chair. One more wouldn’t hurt him.

He walked across the room and looked down at her sleeping face. Damn, but she was pretty. Gorgeous, in fact. Her strawberry blond hair fell in loose ringlets around her neck. And her lightly colored lashes lay heavily against her cheeks. He was almost afraid to wake her. When he did, he would have to deal with that sharp tongue again. He sighed heavily and nudged her shoulder. “Claire,” he said softly. She didn’t budge. He held a finger beneath her nose, just to be certain she was still breathing. “Claire,” he said a little more loudly. She still didn’t move.

He groaned as he lifted her in his arms. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice drowsy from sleep.

“Taking you to bed,” he said softly. “Go back to sleep.”

“All right,” she sighed. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and snuggled deeper into his chest. He resisted the thought that she felt good in his arms. She was trouble. Trouble. Problems. Neither of which he needed.

Her breath blew across the sensitive skin of his neck and he held back an oath as he took the stairs carefully, turning sideways to avoid hitting her feet against the wall and into the doorway to the master chamber. A fire crackled in the hearth, but the room was dark. Soft shadows played across the walls from the flicker of the flames. Finn crossed to the side of the bed and was about to lower her to the feather ticking, but she suddenly moved in his arms and he lowered her to her feet instead. “Are you all right?” he asked as he steadied her.

“Fine,” she said quickly. She yawned into her open palm, and Finn couldn’t help but think of how endearing a sound that was. She was completely unreserved, and that was a rarity. She turned her back to him. “Can you help me with the fastenings?”

“Pardon?” he squeaked. She regarded him over her shoulder as a governess might an unruly child.

“Please?”

She didn’t make any quips about the number of women he’d undressed in his lifetime. Or say a word about the accommodations. She just held her hair to the side and presented her back to him. He steeled himself for a moment and then began to unfasten her dress. She couldn’t sleep in it, could she? And he hadn’t let her bring a maid. He supposed he had no choice.

The delicate skin of her shoulders was the first to appear. And he had to hold himself back from placing his lips on her freckles, one by one. He groaned low in his throat, a noise he didn’t even know he could make. She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes dark as night in the low light of the room. As he revealed the back of her chemise, his trousers became unbearably tight, and if she chanced to look at him now, she would get the surprise of her lifetime.

He wanted her unlike he’d ever wanted anyone. “Are you still foxed?” he asked as she spun around in his arms and began to shove her gown down over her hips.

“No.” She looked him in the eye as she tugged the string at the neck of her chemise.

“What are you doing?” His voice crackled with strain.

“Getting ready for bed.” She smiled a wicked smile at him. She was still drunk, no matter how much she didn’t want to admit it. The vacancy in her gaze gave her away.

But then, all rational thought left his tiny little brain. The chemise slid down her body and landed in a heap on the floor. Her pert, puffy nipples were the same color as her lips. He didn’t know which he wanted to kiss more. When she wore nothing but her stockings, she shoved his coat from his shoulders. And he let her. Like an idiot, he let her disrobe him. First, it was his waistcoat and his cravat. Then his shirt came over the top of his head. At any time, he could have stopped her. But he didn’t.

She smiled softly as she ran her fingertips though the dusting of hair on his chest. Then her fingers trailed down his stomach, and she began to work the fastenings of his trousers. When she shoved them down, he stepped out of them and let her pull his boots off.

He’d had just enough to drink that her tug on his boots nearly toppled him. Her skin glowed in the low light of the room, and he reached out, grabbed her hips, and pulled her to him. “You’re certain you’re not foxed?”

She nodded and stepped onto her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his. He expected her lips to be hesitant, untried. But her tongue slipped past his teeth to tangle with his. He growled low in his throat and drew her naked body against his raging hardness. She gasped and stiffened. But she didn’t stop the torturous assault on his lips. She was nearly as out of breath as he was when he finally lifted his head. But he only lifted it long enough to bend and take the tip of her breast into his mouth. She tasted sweet and hot, her hard nipple pebbling against his tongue.

A sound left her throat, breaking the shroud of silence in the room.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked.

“Done what?” she asked as she sat down on the edge of the bed and scurried like a crab to the center. He crawled up after her, settling between her legs.

“This,” he said, rocking his hardness against her softness.

She merely laughed and arched her hips toward him.

She wasn’t an innocent. Thank God. He shoved forward, and it wasn’t until a moment later when she cried out that he realized the big mistake he’d just made. He was foxed. She was foxed. And he’d just taken her innocence. He stilled inside her.