Beauty Tempts the Beast (Sins for All Seasons #6) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,75

him to answer, didn’t want to know the number of women with whom he’d lain.

“I can remember the sequence of the cards placed in an ever-changing order within the deck. I need see something only once to recall how it goes.”

She didn’t believe for a single second that he’d only ever been with one woman, but deeply appreciated his attempt to reassure her. How many men would have boasted, would have exaggerated the number, in order to demonstrate their virility or to prove how irresistible they were? But Benedict Trewlove never felt a need to prove anything to anyone. He made no excuses for who he was, was content with who he was.

Leaning in, she took possession of the mouth that so often seemed to utter the words she dearly needed to hear. She didn’t linger, but soon straightened, took his hands, and placed them against her chemise.

He loosened the ribbon at the top and set the buttons free of their moorings. Which in turn freed her breasts of all constraints.

His hands replaced the cloth, felt so much lovelier than the cotton and muslin that her reduced circumstances had necessitated. In spite of the shadows, she saw the flash of his teeth as he grinned.

“I knew they would fill my hands. Perfectly. Your skin feels as though silk, satin, and velvet were all woven together to create a texture that would drive men mad.”

Men. A courtesan would have a parade of men in her life. Was that what she truly wanted? Lovers constantly changing? The habits of one so very different from those of another? Suddenly, it seemed it would be enough to drive only one man mad. This one.

Lowering his head, he peppered each breast with kisses, a dozen, two. She didn’t want him to stop. But when he did, it was to circle his tongue around her nipple, and the heat that sluiced through her threatened to scald her. When he drew it into his mouth and suckled, every part of her body wanted to stretch and contract at the same time. Her fingers dug into his shoulders in an attempt to keep her tethered when she felt as though she could float. While his mouth gave attention to one breast, his thumb and forefinger were devoted to the other, rubbing the hardened pearl between them. She was the one being driven mad. Or if not mad, then wild.

Nothing had prepared her for this, for the sensations ricocheting through her, for that secretive, sensitive place between her legs begging to be touched next.

And perhaps it would have been, if the carriage hadn’t begun to slow.

He cursed harshly and began buttoning her bodice. “I instructed the driver to give us an hour before returning to the residence. You were right. I should have undone those fastenings more quickly.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. His mouth slamming against hers stole her laughter and her breath.

When the coach rumbled to a stop, he quickly but gently moved her off his lap and drew her cloak snuggly around her. “Just clutch it so it stays closed.”

Before the footman could arrive, he was opening the door and disembarking. He reached back in for her, and she placed her hand in his. Once her feet hit the pavement, without waiting for him, she dashed up the steps, her unfastened corset bouncing against her back. She should have brought up the hood on her cloak. If anyone caught sight of her face, which was no doubt a fiery red, they’d know she’d been up to no good. She rushed into the foyer and headed for the stairs.

Jewel was standing in the doorway that led into the front parlor. “How was your adventure to the gaming hell?”

She didn’t even slow down. “Interesting.”

“If you can believe it, I’ve never been to a gaming hell. I want to hear all about it.”

“Tomorrow.” She darted up the flights, not stopping until she was safely ensconced in her room, her back flattened against the closed door. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. They were incredibly hot. Her breasts felt heavy as though they were straining for his touch, his mouth. She was also relatively certain they were slightly abraded from his whiskers moving over them. The prickling should not feel so welcome and delightful.

It was one thing to lose herself in the throes of passion while in the dark, but how the devil was she going to meet Benedict’s eyes when they were engulfed in lamplight or worse—bright daylight?