and turning her inside out all at once. Her lungs burned, she could not breathe, and when her lips parted to pull in air, he moved inside with bold alacrity.
The caress shocked her. Rocked her.
A single thought flashed in her head: more.
He tasted of decadence, of freedom. He probed boldly, and she responded with the ungovernable need rising within her. His tongue slid against hers, and a molten wave washed over her. She moaned and the kiss tangled, growing hotter and hotter. Just when she thought she might die with the pleasure of it, he left her lips to suck her earlobe, to lick his way down her neck.
She was afire; she wanted more heat. A whimper lodged in her throat as he cupped her breast, fondling her through the bodice. Beneath the thin layer, her nipples sprouted, and need steamed in her veins. Touch me there, oh please touch me—
The bright chime of a clock shot through her sensual daze.
In a single, shocking moment, several facts crashed into her awareness. She was sprawled across a desk, clinging to Gavin Hunt like a limpet to a rock. His tongue was planted firmly in her mouth, while his hand palmed her breast, his thumb strumming lazily across its hardened tip. As she registered this last fact, a shock of pleasure radiated from that wanton bud to the juncture of her thighs. A flush of wetness alerted her to reality.
Dear God. Panic imbued her with sudden strength. She shoved at Hunt's heavy shoulders with all her might. "Let me go!"
He barely budged, but he did lift his head. His thick brown hair lay disheveled over his forehead. The laces of his shirt dangled, hair-dusted muscle visible where his cravat had once been. The buttons of his waistcoat had popped free.
Good heavens ... had she done all that?
The wicked gleam in his eyes told her the answer and sent a humiliated ripple over her already tumultuous senses. A pulse beat madly in her throat. If he meant to ravish her ...
"As you wish," he said and pulled her into sitting position.
She was off the desk like a shot. She yanked her bodice up, her face so hot she was certain the skin would melt from her bones.
"I m-must go," she stammered, edging toward the door. "My companion ... 'tis late ..."
"About our meetings, Miss Fines."
Meetings? Her feelings were a fracas. Her body tingled in all the places he had touched her ... and some where he hadn't. What has he done to me?
"Will Friday evenings work for you? I will come for you at, say, ten o'clock?"
She moved her head numbly.
"Excellent." Male satisfaction imbued that single word. Before she knew what he intended, he caught hold of her hand and kissed it. His eyes roved over her with dark possession. "I must say, I am looking forward to the next six weeks."
Not knowing how to respond, she tugged her hand free and dashed out with as much dignity as she could muster.
TEN
Returning to the Seven Dials, Gavin felt neither shame nor pride about his origins. The rookery had spewed him from her dirty womb and left him to survive or die. The way he saw it, he'd paid any filial dues he owed in blood, sweat, and misery. He kept his eyes moving, scanning the derelict buildings. Beside him, Stewart was doing the same.
Instinct—it never left you.
"Why do the club owners always insist on meetin' at The Blind Stag? I hate the Dials. Nothin' but cadgers and thieves." Stewart scowled. "An' blowsy bunters, to boot."
Following his mentor's gaze, Gavin saw a drunken strumpet in the street up ahead. With a bottle of gin in one hand and a rod in another, she shouted obscenities at a boy and beat him as he huddled against a wall. A scene straight from Gavin's own childhood. Inside his gloves, Gavin's fists clenched ... but he walked on. From his own experience, he knew that interfering would only guarantee the boy double the knocks afterward.
Motherly love, he thought with derision. Nothing hurt more.
Then his glance shifted over to Stewart, and his scar throbbed with another indelible memory. He and
The caress shocked her. Rocked her.
A single thought flashed in her head: more.
He tasted of decadence, of freedom. He probed boldly, and she responded with the ungovernable need rising within her. His tongue slid against hers, and a molten wave washed over her. She moaned and the kiss tangled, growing hotter and hotter. Just when she thought she might die with the pleasure of it, he left her lips to suck her earlobe, to lick his way down her neck.
She was afire; she wanted more heat. A whimper lodged in her throat as he cupped her breast, fondling her through the bodice. Beneath the thin layer, her nipples sprouted, and need steamed in her veins. Touch me there, oh please touch me—
The bright chime of a clock shot through her sensual daze.
In a single, shocking moment, several facts crashed into her awareness. She was sprawled across a desk, clinging to Gavin Hunt like a limpet to a rock. His tongue was planted firmly in her mouth, while his hand palmed her breast, his thumb strumming lazily across its hardened tip. As she registered this last fact, a shock of pleasure radiated from that wanton bud to the juncture of her thighs. A flush of wetness alerted her to reality.
Dear God. Panic imbued her with sudden strength. She shoved at Hunt's heavy shoulders with all her might. "Let me go!"
He barely budged, but he did lift his head. His thick brown hair lay disheveled over his forehead. The laces of his shirt dangled, hair-dusted muscle visible where his cravat had once been. The buttons of his waistcoat had popped free.
Good heavens ... had she done all that?
The wicked gleam in his eyes told her the answer and sent a humiliated ripple over her already tumultuous senses. A pulse beat madly in her throat. If he meant to ravish her ...
"As you wish," he said and pulled her into sitting position.
She was off the desk like a shot. She yanked her bodice up, her face so hot she was certain the skin would melt from her bones.
"I m-must go," she stammered, edging toward the door. "My companion ... 'tis late ..."
"About our meetings, Miss Fines."
Meetings? Her feelings were a fracas. Her body tingled in all the places he had touched her ... and some where he hadn't. What has he done to me?
"Will Friday evenings work for you? I will come for you at, say, ten o'clock?"
She moved her head numbly.
"Excellent." Male satisfaction imbued that single word. Before she knew what he intended, he caught hold of her hand and kissed it. His eyes roved over her with dark possession. "I must say, I am looking forward to the next six weeks."
Not knowing how to respond, she tugged her hand free and dashed out with as much dignity as she could muster.
TEN
Returning to the Seven Dials, Gavin felt neither shame nor pride about his origins. The rookery had spewed him from her dirty womb and left him to survive or die. The way he saw it, he'd paid any filial dues he owed in blood, sweat, and misery. He kept his eyes moving, scanning the derelict buildings. Beside him, Stewart was doing the same.
Instinct—it never left you.
"Why do the club owners always insist on meetin' at The Blind Stag? I hate the Dials. Nothin' but cadgers and thieves." Stewart scowled. "An' blowsy bunters, to boot."
Following his mentor's gaze, Gavin saw a drunken strumpet in the street up ahead. With a bottle of gin in one hand and a rod in another, she shouted obscenities at a boy and beat him as he huddled against a wall. A scene straight from Gavin's own childhood. Inside his gloves, Gavin's fists clenched ... but he walked on. From his own experience, he knew that interfering would only guarantee the boy double the knocks afterward.
Motherly love, he thought with derision. Nothing hurt more.
Then his glance shifted over to Stewart, and his scar throbbed with another indelible memory. He and
Similar Books
