Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

His gaze still on her body, he lifted his hands, every movement slow and heavy, as if his limbs were leaden. His fingers closed about hers-then he lifted his blue gaze to her face, to her eyes, and she saw the wicked laughter flare.

"Not yet."

He pulled her into his lap.

Catriona went to shriek-and had to swallow the sound. She tensed to struggle-and had to suppress the impulse. Sharp sound, or a fight, could wake him. She wriggled in his lap and managed to face him. His thighs felt like solid oak beneath hers, his chest when she placed both palms against it, felt like warm rock. About her, his arms lay heavy and relaxed-they might as well have been steel bands holding her trapped.

They shifted; she felt his fingers slide up the back of her neck, splaying into her thick hair. He angled her head-his lips closed over hers.

Hungrily.

She was kissing him back, exchanging breath for breath, caress for fiery caress, before she had a chance to think. Heat rose, pooling within her, radiating from him. As her wits whirled and desire danced in the air, she didn't think she'd have much trouble carrying out her plan. Provided she could get him to the bed.

With an effort, she drew back from the kiss. He let her go, her head tipped back-and back-as he trailed fire down her throat. "The bed," she gasped. "We have to get to the bed."

"Later."

Catriona's temper kicked in. She opened her mouth-and lost her breath on a gasp as his hands closed possessively about her breasts, protected only by thin lawn. His thumbs circled, then finger and thumb closed tightly. She bit her lip hard, denying her instinctive shriek.

His hands left her breasts and she breathed again. Only to feel long fingers, hard palms, tracing her body, investigating every curve, subtly caressing yet with a deeper purpose-as if he was learning her.

Licking lips suddenly dry, she managed to gasp: "Richard-the bed."

His hands stopped; she sensed his attention-and held her breath. Would he wake? What had she said to focus him so?

Slow and sure, his hands resumed their meandering, imparting heat through her thin gown.

"That's the first time you've said my name." He breathed the words against her jaw, then feathered a kiss across her already swollen lips. "Say it again."

Catriona dragged in a breath too shallow to steady her head; she lifted a hand and brushed back the heavy lock of hair falling across his forehead. "Richard?"

He kissed his name from her lips, then drank deep while his hands continued to roam, tracing breasts, hips, the long muscles of her back, the backs of her thighs, the globes of her bottom. Slowly arousing her-and him. When next he lifted his head, she was quivering. "Richard-take me to your bed." She had no difficulty investing the plea with believable feeling.

His reply was a wicked chuckle-a sound that played havoc with her overstretched nerves.

"Not yet. What's the hurry?" He tipped her chin up and nibbled his way down her throat. "We've all night-and time stands still in dreams, anyway."

Not this one. Catriona struggled to harness her wits. "Just think how much more comfort

able we'll be in your bed."

"I'm perfectly comfortable here-and so are you. And we're about to be even more comfortable yet."

Catriona righted her head, registering as she did that one large hand was presently cradling her bottom, fondling far too knowingly, leaving her flesh heated, fevered. She looked down-and saw long fingers, dark against the white of her nightgown, artfully slipping the tiny buttons free.

Her eyes flew wide; she sucked in a desperate breath-and lost it in a shuddering, achingly desperate sigh as his hand flicked back the open bodice and his fingers brushed the peak of her swollen breast.

His artful fingers returned, caressing, tracing, teasing, then possessing.

She let her lids tall, felt her bones melt, felt her will evaporate like mist before the sun. But… "The bed," she whispered.

"Later," he insisted. Cool air caressed her heated breasts as he pressed back her gown and bared them fully. One hand closed firmly, gently kneading. "This is my dream. I intend to enjoy it-and you-to the full."

Catriona bit back a groan. Cracking open her lids, she studied his face, lit by the fire's glow. Saw the sleepy smile of lustful anticipation on his lips, felt the heat of desire in his gaze, fixed on her breast, on the throbbing, aching nipple his wicked fingers teased and taunted.

He sensed her gaze, and glanced at her-then smiled, oddly confiding, and returned his attention to her breast. "There are ladies in London who imagine they're cold." His smile deepened-for an instant distinctly predatory. "Some like to believe their flesh is chilled, that their passion is locked in ice." His knowing fingers played over her aching flesh-never forceful, always teasing. His lips twisted, wryly triumphant. "I've melted quite a few of them. There's a knack to it."

As if to demonstrate, he shifted her in his arms, exposing her other breast, simultaneously letting her feel how intimate was his hold on her bottom.