Instead, his mouth moved to her ear, and his teeth bit down on her earlobe. Instead of pain, warmth flooded her body, and her eyes flew open again. “Just so you know there are other, surprising places that can be almost as much fun as lips,” he whispered, before his mouth closed over hers.
She’d been expecting the kind of kiss she’d given him that first night when he had passed out, the pressing of lips against lips, with the possible addition of some excited grinding. This was entirely different.
His mouth merely brushed hers, so softly it was feather light, and she knew a moment of disappointment. Until he did it again with a mere touch, so tantalizing that her body began to rise to meet his. She kept herself still, as his lips traveled over her jaw, her cheek, across her closed eyes, and then back to her mouth again, so softly, like a butterfly exploring a flower. And she was forgetting to breathe, entranced.
She could feel his breath against her, and then the totally surprising touch of his tongue against her lips. Why? But his hand was still cupping her chin, holding her gently, and his long finger caressed her jaw. She automatically opened at his urging, just as his mouth covered hers again, his tongue swept inside her, wet and hot and seeking, and she knew she should be disgusted, knew it as her tongue slid against his, tasting him. This was what she’d been waiting for, though she hadn’t known it. This was what she had needed.
It wasn’t a kiss of domination, strange as it was, it was a kiss of discovery, of tasting and touching and teasing, of utter joy and promises of oh, so much more, and she sank into it, danced into it, reveling in its unexpected delight. She didn’t want it to end. She couldn’t breathe, and she didn’t care. He was everywhere, all around her in the warm bed. He’d slid his hands down to her shoulders, holding her, and then they moved down her arms, and she didn’t care. She wanted him to touch her, touch her everywhere. In the darkness her scars were invisible, in the darkness this beautiful man wa
nted her, and she would endure anything for the bizarre glory of this deep, draining kiss. She made a low moan of protest as he lifted his head, and she realized that at some point she’d reached up to clutch his shoulders. Naked shoulders, strong and well muscled, naked as the rest of him. He was looking at her now, breathing heavily, a surprised expression on his face. “Well,” he said in rough voice. “Well, now.”
Before she could say anything he kissed her again, no teasing this time, just a hungry demand, and she felt her body tremble with longing that she didn’t understand, could only feel. She wanted this man. She wanted to stay here, lie beneath him, have him push between her legs and take her as a man took a woman. It was wrong, it was selfish, and it didn’t matter. Everything about her ached with need, and she slid her hands up his arms, clutching his shoulders, arching into him. She wanted to tell him not to stop, it didn’t matter if she couldn’t breathe, if he was crushing her, and she felt his hands sliding down her legs.
Her nightdress had ridden up, bunching around her thighs, and he moved his hand and pressed it, low and flat across her stomach. She liked that too, the warmth from his big hand filling her, soothing her, and for the barest moment she relaxed, sliding into the wonderful feeling. Safe. Wanted, when it seemed no one had ever wanted her. Protected.
And then he moved his hand down between her legs.
She tried to let out a shriek of protest but his mouth still covered hers. She tried to buck at him, but he simply lifted his head and smiled at her lazily.
“You might actually like it, my precious.”
She tried to kick him, but he stilled her thrashing legs with one of his. She could feel the strong, warm, hair-dusted leg holding her still, the sensation momentarily distracting, and he used that distraction, stroking her, until she felt a powerful sizzle of reaction blaze through her.
It took more strength of will than she would have thought she had to shove him away. “No!”
“No?” he repeated gently. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
She was breathless, aroused, and she knew she should be ashamed. She wasn’t. “I’m not supposed to know what I’m missing,” she said tartly.
“And you a widow?” He laughed softly, but she was past worry about a slip of the tongue.
“We had a very restrained marriage,” she snapped.
“I imagine you did,” he said. Before she could stop him he’d cupped her face, sliding his long fingers into her hair, and kissed her again.
How could there be so many different kinds of kisses? This time it was a claiming, pure and simple, except there was nothing pure about it. She hadn’t even realized she’d put her arms back around him, moving underneath him, kissing him back without any hesitancy, tongue and teeth and lips, and she wanted him to slide his hand down again, this time she wouldn’t stop him, she wanted him to touch her there again.
But then he stopped, suddenly, and a moment later he lifted his head and rolled off her, sitting up in the bed. “Now that,” he said, “is going to cause a very great deal of trouble.” His voice was dazed, speculative, and reality came crashing in.
He’d been playing some sort of game, of course. Even in the darkness she was imperfect. She started to scramble out of the bed, but he caught her arm and hauled her back, staring down at her, an unreadable expression on his face.
She swallowed. She wanted him to kiss her again, to strip off her clothes and kiss her everywhere. She wanted him to let her go. “Was there anything else, my lord?” she inquired, the perfect servant.
For a moment he said nothing, just watched her out of oddly troubled eyes. Then he spoke. “One more thing. Ask me nicely.”
She stared at him in shock. More games? Of course—that was all he ever did. Still, could it be that simple?
“All right,” she said. “Let me go. Please.” She ground out the last word, hating it.
He released her. “If you insist.” And he slid his arm away, turned over and proceeded to fall asleep.
Or at least she assumed as much—she wasn’t waiting to find out. She scrambled off the bed, almost falling on the floor, and she was across the room in a matter of moments. She opened the door silently, slipping through. And then, at the very last moment, she slammed it as hard as she could.
The Earl of Kilmartyn rolled onto his back, amusement still fighting with arousal over his endearingly clumsy spy. Really, if he had to have someone infiltrate his house to try to find out his secrets he couldn’t have chosen a better one. There was no question who would win their little battle of wills. She was going to find nothing about his darkest secret. But she was going to give herself to him, body and soul.
As well as the name of the man who’d hired her.
He suspected it was one of Cecily’s many lovers. Not that he should complain—he’d hardly been monogamous. He had no illusions that his wife really wanted him—it was simply that she couldn’t have him that made her wild.