A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,54

over his shoulders and down his chest. “Everything you do is exciting.”

“Helena, we mustn’t,” he rasped. “This tent is not private. This . . . interlude is not part of the plan. This is the opposite of the plan.”

“I hate the plan.” Her lips were so close to his mouth.

“The plan is your idea.” He felt behind him, grabbing her hip.

“But you designed it.”

She kissed him. She couldn’t reach his lips, but almost. She kissed the side of his mouth, his cheek, his ear.

Declan turned his head to meet her. The kiss was meant to be quick and finalizing. But she licked him. She went up on her toes, almost climbing his back. One kiss became two, became ten.

He growled and twisted, grabbing her by the waist and sliding her into his arms.

“It’s not a bad plan,” he said, kissing her properly, “all things considered.”

“It’s a lovely plan,” she breathed. “I’m thrilled by the plan . . .”

And now she jumped up, straddling him. He caught her bottom with two hands.

“You thrill me,” she laughed.

Declan bounced her in his hands, finding the exact perfect alignment of her body. They were suspended there, reveling in the rare combination of familiar and fleeting. He knew her body, even when he should not. They’d done this before, but they shouldn’t do it now. It was reckless and pulse-pounding and she was impossible to resist.

“Do you know,” she panted between kisses, “I was actually worried I’d be bored when I came to London.”

“Easily bored, are you?” he teased, but in his head he thought, I am a diversion to her.

And then, Does it matter? He delved his tongue into her mouth. He’d pleasured scores of women in his life and never cared about it beyond their mutual release. This could be no different. He could be her diversion.

“Running away was a suitable distraction.” She sighed, digging her hands beneath his collar to find heated skin. “But I’d no idea how diverting compliance would be.”

“I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. This is not compliance.” He shifted her into one hand and bit off a glove, shifted her again and bit off the other. Every readjustment pressed her tantalizingly against his need. Helena squirmed and moaned into his mouth, setting off an explosion of sensation. Declan kissed her harder, kissed her breathless. He kissed her until his legs shook and he was forced to widen his stance to support them. Her roving hands slid between them, seeking the heavy bulge of his erection.

“But can I . . . ?” she breathed into his ear. “Is this alr—”

Declan moaned and went down on one knee, pulling her with him. Plush cushions were stacked nearby. He need only fall back to sprawl her across him.

“Declan,” she breathed, “I need . . .” She closed her fingers around him. All useful thought ceased. Her touch was a pulsing burn of pleasure.

“Declan,” she pleaded.

“What—?!” ranted a voice from beyond Declan’s haze of desire.

He froze.

“What is the meaning of—”

Helena giggled against his mouth. Declan swore in his head. He looked in the direction of the sound.

Sunlight spilled through the raised flap of the tent. An angry textiles merchant glowered at their entwined bodies.

Declan looked back to Helena. She bit her lip. Her expression was the blushing, bemused embodiment of Oh dear.

In that moment, he would have traded Newgate to kiss her one more time.

But he pivoted sideways, tumbling Helena gently onto a pile of cushions and blocking her from view.

“Easy, mate,” Declan called to the merchant, and disentangled from Helena. He vaulted to his feet.

“I’ve got a guinea for five more minutes.” Declan dug into his pocket and came up with a jingle of coins.

“I run a respectable business,” the merchant insisted, staring at the coins.

“Of course you do,” Declan agreed, tossing the gold, “and a successful one. Which is why you’ll not pass up the opportunity to turn your easiest profit of the week. Five minutes.”

The merchant grumbled but closed his hand over the coins and went away. Declan secured the tent flap and turned back to Helena. She was flushed and tousled but smiling, working her hands into her gloves.

“Five minutes?” she asked. “You could have bought us an hour.”

“We do not have an hour,” he said, tugging on his own gloves. “We don’t have five minutes.”

“You are a terrible groom,” she sighed, tucking back her hair.

Yes, but what of the diversion? he thought. Before he could stop himself, he said, “Liked that, did you?” It came out with