Lessons in Seduction (Greentree Sisters 1)

“A note from some grateful and worthy charity?” he drawled sardonically.

She sniffed, and stuffed the paper back into her bag, not caring if she creased it. But she did not seem herself, and the tension had not left her shoulders. Oliver’s gaze sharpened. She knew he was watching her, but she did not return his gaze. Her breasts rose and fell on a deep, quiet breath, and the red shawl slipped from her shoulders and pooled about her on the seat.

“Have I displeased you in some way, Vivianna?” he mocked, trying to invoke her temper. “I can’t help it if I have a weakness for beautiful, bossy reformers. Perhaps if you were to let me kiss you more often I might begin to recover from this most worrying malady.”

He was enjoying teasing her. At any moment he expected her to give him a look from those brilliant eyes, or unleash her tongue on him, and he was looking forward to it. Instead she did something utterly astounding.

Vivianna glanced down and smiled a small, secretive smile, and smoothed her hands down over her skirts.

But it wasn’t the same as when she had smoothed her skirts a moment ago. This was different, so different that it made his heart rate double. She ran her hands over the silk in a manner so sensual that he forgot to breathe. Her gloves glided over the shiny cloth slowly, and he could tell she was thinking about her body underneath. One hand rested momentarily at her waist, and then brushed upward, her fingers barely touching the tight boned bodice, brushing across the full curve of one breast, and lingering there. Almost, but not quite, cupping herself.

He felt light-headed. Her fingers began stroking idly against her skin, as if she were enjoying it too much to stop, and his imagination went wild, and then she lifted her hand to her face and fiddled with a curl of hair that had freed itself from beneath the straw hat.

She was watching him, her hazel eyes fixed on his. Could she see the state he was in? Probably. If she dropped her gaze to his groin she’d realize he was almost beyond thought, unless she was too innocent to know what the heavy swelling pressing to his trouser buttons meant.

Oliver let out a relieved breath. But of course. She was an innocent—a spinster and a virgin. She did not know what she was doing, she did not understand how he was…

Vivianna licked her lips. Just a brief flick of that delectable little tongue, and then again, as if she had some particularly sticky toffee adhering to the plump, sleek surface.

It was amazingly erotic. He almost groaned aloud, and he was certain that his cock grew another inch. Two, maybe.

“Oliver,” she said, her voice low, and leaned forward slightly. His eyes slid to the shadow of her cleavage, and he was so busy enjoying the curves of her breasts swelling over the top of her dress that when her hand pressed his knee he swore and nearly leapt through the window.

Vivianna jerked back, blushing. “I—I’m sorry,” she managed stiffly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to say how grateful I—I was that you had agreed to come with me to Candlewood. How much I—I appreciate it.”

Oliver wondered if he had heard right. It crossed his mind to puzzle what had had this amazing effect upon her, but then she was licking her lips again and he found he couldn’t think straight anymore, and he really didn’t care anyway.

“You appreciate it?” he asked, watching her through narrowed eyes. His blood was pulsing through his veins and he had the urge to loosen his cravat so that he could breathe properly again.

“Oh, I do. I do.” She smiled, her mouth curved in a pink bow, her eyes slanted and mysterious, promising him…things.

Bloody hell!

She wriggled a little in her seat, and he felt a bead of sweat gather on his temple, picturing that curvaceous bottom beneath her petticoats, and then she pouted as if she could not get comfortable. Vivianna reached up and began to undo the red satin ribbons that held her straw bonnet in place. It slid down from her chestnut hair, slowly over her back, the ribbons trailing across her breasts. She placed her bonnet on the seat beside her.

“That’s better,” she said.

Today she had coiled those thick, wavy locks into braids and wound them around her head. His fingers itched to unwind her hair and rub his face against the silky strands. To take in her womanly scent.

He was watching her, he realized, with a mixture of fascination and suspicion. She could be a viper ready to strike, but although somewhere deep in his brain he knew the danger, he lusted after her too much to care.

Oliver watched, his body rigid, his throat dry, as she leaned forward again and slowly, carefully, began to remove her gloves in front of his unblinking gaze. She peeled them down and eased out each finger with exquisite care. Such a simple procedure—he had seen it hundreds of times—and yet she turned it into something so sensual, so stimulating he was nearly panting.

Vivianna had placed the gloves upon her straw hat, smoothing them, petting them, as if they were alive.

“Ah, that’s better,” she said again.

He cleared his throat. “Much better,” he drawled, but she wasn’t fooled. There was a glitter in her eyes now that told him she knew she had him in the palm of one of her soft, white hands.

“I believe that when you are not playing the black sheep you are a very nice man. I believe that, deep in your heart, you really want to give me Candlewood. Don’t you?”

He laughed; he couldn’t help it.

Chagrin filled her face and she turned away, but this time he wasn’t having it. His hands snaked out and he grasped her fingers and held them tightly.

“I am not a nice man at all,” he said in a low, husky voice. “I am a very bad man, and I give you fair warning.”

“If you were a ‘very bad man’ you