Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

Holy Moly…!

Sliding over curves, caressing every inch, only separated from my skin by a threadbare scrap of a chemise, Mr Ambrose’s hands worshipped me as if I were a cheque for a million pounds he had found in the street. His hands were just as hard as his body was, and yet at the same time inexplicably soft and almost…tender?

Oh God, oh dear God…if this is a sin, please change the heavenly rules fast, because I’m not giving this up, no chance in hell!

‘Mine!’ Mr Ambrose’s one-word growl tore me from my delirious state of bliss right into another. His hands left my body to grasp my face again, holding it as if it were the most precious diamond in all the world. As he gazed into my eyes, not kissing, not even really touching much, just looking, I felt something rise inside me more powerful than any emotion I had felt before. I felt hot and cold all over. I felt as if I could conquer the world, and lose it all in one single instant. I felt like a goddess - a goddess who would fall from heaven if he ever stopped looking at me like that.

‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?’

It was a question - yet even I didn’t know what exactly I was asking. He gave me the best reply I could have wished for: his silence and his hungry lips. A moment or two later, his hands joined in the fun again, sliding over me with effortless grace and tightly leashed power.

But, hey - why were his hands the only ones that were busy? Why the heck was he the only one having fun? I was a feminist, for heaven’s sake! I didn’t need a man to do things for me! Why were my hands just dangling limply at my side? If I was going to sink into the depths of depravity, I was bloody well going to jump right in and do my part, thank you very much!

Besides…the thought of my hands on that tight, hard body of his…

Enough said.

My hands were already halfway up towards him befo

re I had finished the thought. Even through thick layers of cotton, I could feel the hard muscles of his arms, flexing and contracting as his hands explored my body with shameless demand. I clung on, wanting to feel, wanting to own, but he tore free as easily as a lion from a cobweb, continuing his merciless assault. Gliding to his chest, my hands grabbed fistfuls of his tailcoat, trying to pull it aside, to get at what I wanted, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. I cursed the fact that unlike me, the stupid man hadn’t had the foresight to toss away his clothes over the last couple of days. Blast! Did a girl have to do everything by herself nowadays?

I grabbed the buttons of his shirt.

‘Mr Linton…’ he growled against my throbbing lips. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I think you can stop calling me “Mr Linton” now,’ I breathed.

Pulling away from my mouth, he captured my earlobe with his teeth, making me gasp. For a moment, he held me like that, then let go and, his lips brushing against my ear, whispered: ‘Mister Linton!’

‘Oh dear. Stubborn, are we?’ I felt a smirk spread over my face. ‘Well, I guess I’ll just have to provide you with proof of my femininity.’ I opened the first button. ‘After all, we wouldn’t want you running around with delusions, now, would we?’

My fingers were flying now. Button after button on his shirt opened, but soon I was interrupted by his tailcoat, and switched to that.

‘Mr Linton…!’

There was a note of warning in his tone. I completely ignored it. Opening the last button, I shoved the tailcoat back off his strong, broad shoulders. It fell to the ground with a wet thud.

‘That tailcoat is almost new, Mr Linton! Only ten years old!’

‘Then why don’t you get it, Sir?’ I whispered, running a finger over his hard cheekbone. ‘Why don’t you pick it up off the ground?’

‘I…’

‘Don’t want to, do you? Maybe because you see something more interesting?’

‘Mr Linton-’

‘You know,’ I murmured, standing on my tiptoes, straining up towards him until my body was mashed against his, ‘you really have to stop calling me that, don’t you think? Feel that.’ I moved against him with delicious friction, eliciting a growl from the back of his throat. ‘Does that feel like a mister to you? Or…’ I strained up even further, until my mouth, my tongue, my tickling breath was right next to his ear. ‘…does it feel feminine?’

The noise he made then was not human. It belonged not in London, England, in the strict, ordered world of Empire House, but right here in the wild depths of the jungle.

At the sound, heat rose inside me like a volcano, and my fingers were back at the buttons of his shirt in an instant. The wet fabric clung to his skin as if it didn’t want to let go, but I was a damn sight more determined than his shirt! Button after button, the white linen parted, revealing a marvel of marble with which no ancient Roman statue could compete. When my tentative fingers first touched the hard planes of his chest, a groan rose from the back of his throat.

‘Hmm…’ Leaning in, I ran my nose along the ridge between his iron-hard pectorals and breathed in his scent. I didn’t care that it was indecent. I didn’t care that we had been trekking through the jungle for days, and sweating every minute. He smelled of man, money and power, and I loved it! ‘Very nice. Very nice indeed.’

Reaching the top of his chest, I placed a soft kiss on his collarbone that made him shudder. His arms closed around me in a vice-tight grip.

‘Don’t stop!’