Don't Tempt Me (Georgian 4)

“She is like her mother, then,” he said, with a fondness in his voice that made it difficult to breathe.

“Too much so.”

“Allow me to ease your burdens, mon coeur. If you need funds, you have only to ask.”

“Thank you, Philippe. I will reimburse the expense as soon as possible.”

“I ask for only one thing in return.” His gaze darkened. “When I have information to share, I want to do so in the flesh. I want to admire you from afar, since I cannot have you.”

Her mouth dried. “It is too dangerous.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Very much so, but I cannot resist. You will not return to Paris, will you, when you leave again?”

Marguerite shook her head. “No.”

He crossed his arms, his coat stretching over the beautifully defined musculature she remembered so well. The years had been kind to him. She found him just as devastatingly handsome now as she had when first laying eyes on him.

“I will protect you from discovery,” he promised. “You will have to protect you from yourself; you know I will never turn you away.”

“Philippe . . .”

“You do not trust yourself as you should. You are decided against sharing my bed again, therefore, you will not change your mind. You are too honorable, too loyal, too stubborn.” The smile he gifted her with was so despondent, she sobbed for being the cause of it. “I cannot resent those traits in you, since they are why I love you as I do.”

She tried to hold her tongue, but could not. It was unfair that their love was like a flower destined to grow in the dark, stunted by lack of warmth and sunshine, struggling to survive in the barren soil of their hearts, watered only by tears and the mist of memories.

“Je t’aime, ” she whispered.

“I know.”

Lynette awakened to the feel of something tickling the tip of her nose. Exhausted, she swiped at the offending sensation with her hand. Her eyes remained squeezed shut in the hope that she could drift back to sleep again.

“Time to rise, a thiasce.”

The sound of Simon’s deep burr woke more than just her brain. Every nerve ending in her body tingled at the sound.

“Simon.” She smiled, but did not open her eyes.

He leaned over her, his skin smelling of bergamot soap. His lips brushed featherlight over her brow. “A bath awaits you.”

“What time is it?”

“A quarter past three.”

She groaned. “Your servants must hate you.”

He laughed and straightened. “Perhaps it is a usual request.”

A low growl rumbled in her chest.

“Thoughts of you have led to a recently acquired need for chilly submersion,” he drawled, soothing her ruffled feathers.

Opening one eye, she peeked up at him and marveled that he could look so wonderful with no sleep and hours of sweat-inducing exertion. His hair was tied back now, but he was still shirtless and clad only in breeches.

A black brow arched. “Again? You are insatiable.”

“Hmm . . .” She rolled to her back and stretched, gasping as his hands cupped both breasts and squeezed. “Who is insatiable?”

“I am not a man to miss an opportunity.”

She exhaled harshly, tired and loath to leave these hours behind. “Is that what this was? An opportunity?”

He gave her a chastising look, then stood and held out his hand. “I think you should parade around naked for a few moments, by way of an apology for that question.”

Wrinkling her nose, she took his hand. He tugged her up, caught her close, and grabbed her buttocks with a firm smack, making her gasp in surprise. He kissed her nose. “Lack of sleep does not suit your temperament, I see.”

Lynette wrapped her arms around his lean waist, her fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his breeches. “Leaving you does not suit me, mon amour.”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips, while lacing his other hand with hers. He tugged her toward the adjacent sitting room.

A lovely and quite large copper tub waited there, luring her to sink deep into the steaming water and melt away the unfamiliar aches and pains that plagued her every step. The thoughtfulness Simon displayed moved her deeply, showing her that he valued her for more than mere sexual gratification.

There were no servants about and the tension created by walking around unclothed faded away. She smiled.

“What thoughts inspired that siren’s smile?” he asked, his arm providing her support as she stepped into the tub.

“I was thinking that I have become a wanton woman to cross a room naked with a man and not feel painfully awkward.”

“Let me assure you, there is nothing even slightly awkward about you.”

Lynette settled into the oversized tub with a blissful sigh. She was sore in places she had not known could feel discomfort and her limbs were weighted by exhaustion. However, for the most part, she felt better than she ever had in her entire life. There was a certain unique contentment that came with having one’s carnal needs sated so thoroughly. Solange always had an air of indulgence about her that was very alluring. Now, Lynette understood why.

Simon kneeled beside her and began to bathe her himself, covering a cloth in fragrant soap and washing her gently limb by limb. Eyes half-closed, she watched him, admiring the glorious rippling of powerful muscles beneath his skin. What a potently virile animal he was, yet he touched her with such gentleness.

His hands slipped between her legs and she winced.

“Are you overly sore?” he asked gruffly, his movements stilling.

“No more so than should be usual, I imagine.” She winked. “Especially considering your size.”

But his frown did not fade. With steady, yet tentative fingers, he felt along the swollen lips of her sex. She spread her legs as much as possible within the confines of the tub, showing him that she was not afraid or wounded unduly.

His breath hitched at the gesture and his eyes, so softly affectionate a moment ago, heated with something more profound. His touch became less examining, more arousing, his callused fingertips parting her and slipping over the tiny knot of nerves that brought her so much pleasure.

Her hands wrapped around the hot lip of the tub, clenching as he touched her there, his caress featherlight and teasing.

“Simon?”

“Let me watch you,” he whispered, stroking rhythmically. “Keep your eyes on me.”

She whimpered as her womb tightened again, her muscles tensing, her cheeks flushing from the heat of the water and the added heat of the fire he sparked within her.

He purred. “You feel like the softest silk, a thiasce.”

She was completely exposed, pinned by his gaze, her lips parted on desperate pants as her body grew taut as a bow, tightening in anticipation of climax.

The water began to slosh in measured waves, spurred by the movements of his hand at the most private part of her. Over and over, circling around and across the source of her torment. Her head fell back against the tub rim, her hips rising, her body instinctively working toward that blinding release of pressure.

“I wish you were in me,” she gasped, feeling her sex grasping for him, reaching for him.

“Come for me,” he crooned, pushing a finger gently inside her and thrusting shallowly. “Let me feel how much you need me here.”

Arching, she climaxed silently while he watched her, the moment so intimate she felt as if there were no secrets between them.

She turned her head, offering her mouth to him with a breathless plea. “Kiss me.”

He accepted with a groan, his head angled to create the perfect fit between them. This time, she took all that he had taught her about kissing and gave it back to him, her tongue stroking into his mouth until he wrenched away with a curse, breathing heavily.

Pushing to his feet, Simon held his hand out to her. “We must dress you and return you before the hour grows any later.”

His groin was ey

e level and she could not fail to see how much her passion inspired his. If he cared for his own pleasure, he could have her again now. Whether she returned home or not did not affect him at all. Aside from de Grenier’s wrath, he would incur no penalty. Her father would not insist Simon wed her, because he was unsuitable.

Therefore, the desire to see her home swiftly was for her benefit. Another display of his concern for her well-being.

Lynette dressed swiftly, as did Simon. Her hands shook slightly when she saw the tear in the placket of the borrowed breeches. That she inspired such a primitive response in him awed her, but not nearly as much as the thought that he tempered such fervency. For her.

Heavy-hearted, she followed him down to the front door and exited out to the chilly night air. The sky was dark; the streets mostly quiet, aside from a few eager vendors preparing for the soon-to-dawn morning. Piotr waited by the curb, the reins of their horses held in his hands. Simon’s mount was there, too, the one she had espied him upon the night she arrived in Paris.

He assisted her up, then mounted, sitting tall in the saddle, his hand loosely resting atop the hilt of a small sword. His gaze was sharp, though his posture was relaxed. A hunter in disguise. She stared at him, finding it nearly impossible to believe that so formidable a man had been quivering in her arms.

They rode in silence back to Solange’s home, Piotr falling deliberately behind them, while they traveled side by side. Although she had been overly hot during the ride to Simon’s, she was now shivering on the journey home, the chill starting from the inside and working its way out.

When they reached the alley and dismounted, Piotr hurried to the stables with the two horses. Simon stood with her, eyes bright and frame stiff with tension.

“I will send word to you and the vicomtess,” he said, “if I learn anything of note. I trust that you will heed my warning and leave Paris as soon as possible. Until then, stay out of view, I beg you.”