she shrieked. “The only one I’ve had thus far. And I’m certain you will shrivel in comparison to the next man.”
The speed at which he reached her desk and hauled her into his arms was staggering. And the speed at which her mouth parted to accept his tongue even more so. Her only excuse was he had caught her unawares. She hadn’t had the time to fortify her resistance. And her stupid body didn’t know it wasn’t supposed to succumb to this man again. And again, and again.
She tasted like peppermint. She felt soft and firm in all the right places—her delectable bottom, her beautiful breasts. And God, she could kiss. She knew how to use her tongue for such an innocent. She had a way of capturing his between her lips, and languidly sucking, coaxing, sipping on it as if she were enjoying one of those flavored Italian ices that were so popular.
Thomas adjusted their positions so he could fit his erection against her sweet mound, silently cursing the endless swaths of grey fabric of her skirt. His cock jerked at the contact. He ached for nothing more than to take her right there on the study floor.
Again, he was experiencing a loss of control. Amelia had somehow managed to turn him into a simpleton when it came to matters of the flesh. He dragged his mouth from hers and feathered down the smooth line of her neck back up to the sensitive spot behind her ear. At his kisses, she began to pant and moan. His mouth then sought the indent of her shoulder. She moaned again.
Drowning, that sound was his lifeline back to sanity. Summoning up a will he required in Amelia’s presence, Thomas released her. His release was so abrupt she stumbled backward. Her hands caught the edge of the desk to steady her. She stared up at him, her blue eyes unguarded for a moment. Surprise, lust, and yearning were all there on her face. She quickly turned her back to him, her breath ragged, her slender shoulders heaving with the exertion of unspent passion.
Thomas thought to say something—anything. He could think of nothing. He cleared his throat, his heart pounding as if he’d been holding his breath under water until his lungs threatened to burst. And each drawn breath didn’t bring him the relief he sought. Slowly, carefully, he turned from her bent figure, and made his way from the room as if she were opium and he, addicted.
Amelia straightened only when the door whistled closed. Her breath escaped her lips in an audible, jagged hiss. She tentatively put her hand to her throat and then touched her face to ensure she was still there. Then the knowledge rushed through her with the force of a wave crashing against the shores. It had been he who had called a halt to the kiss, not her. He who had pulled away.
Her face burned; her hands trembled. What was this man doing to her? She had offered little to no resistance when he’d taken her virginity. She had liked it. Who was she fooling, she’d been like a gourmand at the most lavish spread in all of London, gorging herself to satiation, and then wishing she could go back for more.
Chapter 23
Amelia’s gaze toured the bronzes and Staffordshire figures on the rosewood étagère in the drawing room. The ornaments displayed were not so plentiful as to give it a cluttered appearance. She herself preferred sparse simplicity rather than a hodgepodge of knickknacks laying claim to taste and money. Yes, Lady Armstrong had made Stoneridge Hall a place anyone would be proud to call home. Which was one of the other reasons Amelia so desperately needed to leave—the sooner, infinitely the better.
She hadn’t intended to become comfortable here. More important, she and Thomas had crossed a line in their relationship and couldn’t go back. With the heat of his touch and kiss … his possession, he could send her high as a kite in flight, ascending the dizziest heights. But all too soon, she was cast down low to the darkest depths of despair. Never in her life had a person affected her so. She feared the risk of remaining would somehow include her heart—a risk she wasn’t willing to take.
Since Lord Alex’s departure three days ago, they now circled each other like strangers. Their conversation—such as it was—extended to staggering five-word sentences. Good morning. I’ll be at the stables. And the moment he finished, he’d vanish