A Most Sinful Proposal (The Husband Hunters Club 2)

ith the most beautiful scent, and your flowers are even more beautiful—full and generous and silky soft. There is no dishonesty about you, no artifice, and everyone who sees you loves you.”

Tears stung her eyes at his rose-colored vision of her. “Oh, Valentine, I wish I was like that.”

“What is it, Marissa?” He appeared genuinely concerned. “You don’t seem yourself. Please, tell me what is wrong?”

But she couldn’t; she wouldn’t.

“It is just that I’m longing to be with you and I hate this waiting.”

He kissed her again, more deeply, and she felt the warm tingle of desire flush her skin. But satisfaction of that desire was impossible, and she stepped away and shook her head.

There was a wicked gleam in his eyes. “There is a small summer house behind the orchard.”

She glanced in the direction he pointed, biting her lip.

“There is a rather uncomfortable daybed in there, but I took the precaution of asking the servants to see that everything was aired and clean.”

“Valentine…”

“Of course, if you’d prefer to remain chaste until the wedding, I understand.”

Marissa caught his hand in hers and began to run, hearing his soft laughter. The summer house was charming, a white timber froth set in a small wilderness section of the garden. Once inside, Valentine locked the door then drew the shutters over the windows before lighting a lamp. Soft light spilled over lush furnishings, and Marissa saw that the summer house was more like a sultan’s hideaway than the starkly furnished garden houses she’d known.

“Oh,” she whispered in delight.

He began to remove the combs and pins from her hair, running his fingers through the tumbled mass. “The first time I saw you,” he said, “I thought you the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Did you?” She reached up to stroke his cheek, then stretched up to kiss him, using her tongue.

He groaned, drawing her closer. “I’m already missing you,” he said. “I need you in my arms, in my bed.”

She reached for his jacket, slipping it from his shoulders and over his arms. When he tried to reciprocate with her clothing, she caught his hands and shook her head. “No, it is my turn,” she insisted. “I’ve been dreaming of doing this. Let me. Please.”

He subsided, and she unbuttoned the top of his shirt, drawing it over his head, murmuring her admiration. She ran her hands over his chest, following with her lips and tongue, exploring the hard nubs of his nipples. She took her time, enjoying the texture and taste of his skin, breathing in his masculine scent.

“I am only mortal, minx,” he groaned at last.

Marissa looked up into his tense, flushed face and realized she may not have much longer to enjoy her power over him. With a grin, she reached to the buttons of his trousers, popping them open as slowly as she dared, while he looked down at her fingers, grinding his teeth.

She wrapped her hand around him, feeling the width and length and iron hardness. Leaning down, her hair shielding her face, she gently ran her tongue along him.

He caught up the silky tendrils and held them behind her head, and she realized he wanted to see what she was doing; that watching her was as exciting for him as this sense of control was for her. She slipped her mouth around him, freeing herself to do as she wished. He tensed, the muscles of his thighs bunching, and she heard the hiss of his indrawn breath.

“Hmm.” She reached beneath the thick rod, exploring the balls, making him arch toward her. Her mouth took more of him in and she felt him give an involuntary thrust of his hips, seeking her moist heat.

Marissa knew he was enjoying what she was doing, and she was certainly enjoying it herself. When suddenly she found herself picked up and placed facedown on the daybed, it was a surprise. She protested, but he was already lifting up her skirts, sliding one arm under her hips, his fingers searching inside the opening of her bloomers.

Any protest she might have uttered died as she groaned and wriggled against him.

“I don’t want to ruin your clothing,” he said breathlessly.

“How…how dreadful that would be,” she panted.

She felt him kneel behind her, widening her thighs, and then the blunt head of his cock nudged against her entrance. Marissa held her breath, her whole body rigid with waiting…And then he entered her with one smooth motion, going deep inside her, filling her until she became a part of him.

His hands closed on her thighs, holding her firm while he withdrew, just as slowly, and thrust deep again. Marissa copied the rhythm, moving with him, quickening the pace when he threatened to slow it down again.

“Patience, minx,” he growled.