Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“But you say far more wise things,” he murmured. He came close—too close. “And by the by, you called me John the last time we were alone in London. I should like for you to do so now.”

“I—it doesn’t seem right. That was when we were…friends.”

“We aren’t friends now?” he questioned.

I don’t know what we are, she thought. Perhaps there wasn’t a word to describe it.

When she didn’t answer, he took another step, and once again, she was in his arms. “I should hope we are, Olivia. I feel a special bond with you that I don’t have with anyone else.”

She lay her cheek on his shoulder. “How strange, I feel quite the same way. I mean, I am very close to my sisters, but this feels…different.”

A low chuckle. “I should hope so. I would be a little worried if you wished to kiss your sisters.”

“I shouldn’t wish to kiss you, either, Wrexham.

“John,” he corrected. “Why not?”

“Because…” A wave of longing crested inside her. Tipping her head up, Olivia stared at the stars, hoping to hide the pearls of moisture clinging to her lashes. “Because of a great many reasons.”

“Such as?” he pressed.

“Corsets, to begin with,” quipped Olivia, though her throat was painfully tight.

“Ah. Corsets.” John twirled them in a tight circle. “I imagine they are deucedly uncomfortable things to wear.”

If anything, his mood was even stranger than hers.

“Anything else?” he asked.

As if that wasn’t enough? However, if he wished for more then she would humor him.

“Then let us move on to the rules of Polite Society. Do you wish a list of each and every one? As it is, we’ve already broken too many to enumerate.”

“True.” His voice was low and little rough around the edges. “But there are times when rules must yield to a more elemental force.” And with that, he framed her face between his palms and possessed her mouth in a bruising kiss.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Madness.

The night before a battle, soldiers often felt a strange sort of spell bubble through their blood, thought John dimly as his lips moved hungrily over hers. A

lust for life, perhaps. An affirmation that there was hope and joy in the world, not merely darkness and pain.

Olivia flinched and then softened. So sweetly, so sweetly.

And then suddenly he wasn’t thinking anymore about abstractions.

Her warmth, her taste, her skin next to his—pure, primal need overwhelmed all else.

Their tongues twined, sparking a groan deep his throat. Entangling his hands in her hair, John deepened the kiss, drinking in the intoxicating spice of her essence.

Silk on silk—his impatient fingers slid from her curls to the ties of her gown.

“Olivia,” he growled, saying it over and over and over again.

In response, she found the fastenings of his trousers. One by one the buttons slipped free.

Their clothing came off, the thump-thump of shoe leather punctuating the soft sighs of cotton and wool.