Tempting Mr. Townsend (Dashing Widows 2)

"Good." She flung the reins aside as he strode up to the carriage.

He seized her by the waist and lifted her to the ground. "Come with me."

"The horses?"

"Won't go far." With a careless toss, he hitched the reins over a convenient post. Frankly, he couldn't give a damn if the nags ended up in Scotland. He twined his arm around her and swept her into the noonday hush of the stables.

"Are you—" she began shakily.

"I am."

"Oh, Lord," she gasped on an excited laugh that whipped him to a frenzy.

In an empty stall, he slid her onto a fragrant pile of hay and came down over her, already tugging at the front fall of his breeches.

She stretched out on the makeshift bed and stripped her gloves off, flinging them into the shadows. In the half light, the certainty shining in her eyes made his blood rush.

"Speak now, or forever hold your peace," he said roughly.

Even burning like flame in his arms, she hadn't smiled like this. Like she knew every sensual secret. And meant to reveal those mysteries to him alone, lucky sap he was. "That sounds dauntingly matrimonial."

"Aye, it does."

"Then we're of one mind."

"I haven't had a mind since I met you," he muttered, and at last kissed her. She responded with an abandon that, even without her words, told him she'd overcome all doubt. Distantly he was aware that she’d agreed to marry him, but right now he had other fish to fry.

His tongue delved deep into her mouth until she whimpered with anticipation. The knot in her bonnet ribbons defied his shaking hands until, swearing, he tore it apart. She made a sound, half-appalled, half-admiring, as she released the front fastenings of her green carriage dress. Clearly she didn't trust him not to rip that to shreds as well. Wise woman.

When the stylish jacket parted at last, his greedy hands rose to cover her lovely breasts. She wrenched her lips from his and fell back into the hay with a gurgle of laughter. "Don't wait."

With one ruthless movement he swept her skirts up, revealing lacy white drawers. "Nice," he grunted. Words longer than one syllable were beyond him.

"Rip them," she gasped. She made no secret that she craved this joining, and he loved it.

Laughing exultantly, he obeyed. Feverishly he stroked her thighs and cleft and stomach. But neither of them had the patience for lengthy preliminaries.

His chest heaving, he hooked his hands under her knees and plunged inside her. She was hot and ready and needy. They were both too desperate for finesse. Her swift, wild climax astonished him, then he was lost in the gathering storm.

Vaguely through his primitive drive to possess and please and mark, he felt her reach another peak. Then fire blasted him and on a long groan of release, he filled her with a titanic torrent of longing and loneliness and desire.

Utterly exhausted, breathlessly happy, he slumped over her. The remnants of her pleasure still quivered through her. Their passion had scoured the world clean.

As the fierce beat of his heart calmed and he returned to earth from the outer limits of the sky, he became aware of how tenderly she touched him. Little, glancing caresses across his hair, his ears, his neck, his bare shoulder where his shirt had slid down during that unfettered encounter. The erratic exploration made his heart clench with poignant emotion.

"I'm assuming you missed me," she murmured unsteadily, affectionate amusement running like a warm river under her teasing.

He leaned his forehead into her neck. The evocative scent of the stables surrounded him, but richer still was the scent of Fenella's satisfaction. "Like the very devil."

"I missed you, too."

"I guessed that when you galloped up like the hounds of hell pursued you. Did you come all the way from London like that?"

"A nervous groom accompanied me as far as Winchester. I left him to recover his breath at a tavern outside the city. I didn't want an audience when we met again."

Anthony smiled reminiscently and kissed her neck before rolling off her. "I must be crushing you."

"It's rather…exciting."