Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)

“Blasted impractical rags you women wear,” he muttered.

A soft huff of amusement. “I thought you liked my new ensemble.”

“I want your hands on me.”

“I do, too.” She curled her gloved fingers around his and drew him toward the couch. “Next time.”

He resisted. “I have a better idea.”

An idea that threatened to incinerate his brain to ash, it was so audacious.

So far in bed, they hadn’t progressed much beyond the basics. The pleasure of having her lying beneath him was more than enough. He never tired of the rapturous surprise glowing in her eyes with every climax. It still appalled him that her old duffer of a husband hadn’t had the gumption to value what he had. Wilfred Mowbray had had paradise in his grasp, and he hadn’t known it.

But perhaps tonight offered Pascal a chance to try something a little more exotic.

Curiosity lit her eyes to bright green. “Oh?”

He caught her hips and turned her toward the desk, then released her to take off his coat. “Trust me.”

“I trust you.” Her ready agreement made him smile. It had taken him a long time to gain her trust. Now he had it, he intended to keep it. “Do you want me to get onto the desk?”

“You don’t sound shocked.”

She shrugged, although intriguingly her blush intensified. “I bow to your greater experience.”

He wanted to tell her that what they shared beggared his experience. With Amy, there was an emotional link he’d never felt before. Old, familiar moves seemed new and meaningful. But right now, she was ready and willing, and time ran away with a speed he cursed to Hades.

Soon he’d have to settle their future, persuade her to marry him, perhaps even confess what lay in his heart. But not now. Now pleasure and a beautiful, ardent woman awaited.

He shifted behind her and rubbed luxuriously against her buttocks, holding her upper arms in a caressing grip. “I commend your bold spirit, my love.”

She swayed back, and he turned his face into the soft mass of her hair. She never reacted to his endearments. But then, why should she? He’d called so many women his da

rling and his sweetheart, and meant nothing special.

Sometimes, God forgive him, an endearment hid that he’d forgotten a lover’s name. With Amy, though, he meant every tender word—and he paid the price for his thoughtlessness, because the one woman who should believe him didn’t notice.

“You’ve made me brave,” she murmured. “Let me go, so I can get onto the desk.”

Pascal smiled with salacious expectation into her silky hair. “Oh, no, my dear. That’s not how we’re going to manage this.”

He felt her sudden tension. “Gervaise?”

“You’ll like this. I’d wager another diamond bracelet on it.”

He ran his hands down her arms. The oh, so proper satin gloves—well, apart from that vivid red—added extra spice to what he intended. Like stockings on an otherwise naked woman.

He bumped his hips forward, coaxing Amy closer to the desk. Then he stretched her hands across the desk’s leather top and flattened them under his. By the time he bent over her, pressing her down, she was trembling.

She guessed his plans now. But then, she was a clever woman.

For a long moment, he paused, his body crushed into the long line of hers and his nose buried in her hair. Her scent, redolent with arousal, was the air he breathed. Her unsteady gasps betrayed uncertainty and excitement.

He kissed the side of her neck. She pushed back in silent invitation.

Fumbling, he released his trousers. Once his cock sprang free to nestle in the tumbling red skirts, he grunted with relief. When she edged back more insistently, he shuddered and bit her neck. She gave a soft cry.

He squeezed her breast, luxuriating in its softness. Then unable to bear the barrier between his hand and her skin, he dipped his fingers under her bodice and found her nipple. Hard and tight with arousal. He tugged on the peak, and she jerked delightfully. With his nail, he teased that sensitive tip until she was shaking.