Winterblaze - By Kristen Callihan Page 0,36

his assault. Her breath turned to rough pants. She was soaking now. Her sex pulsing. The sound of their combined breathing, the wet slap of flesh against flesh, and the rocking bed filled the silence between them.

A small sigh escaped her. Poppy cursed her weakness, but he’d heard it. Win’s lips parted. The pump of his hips did not stop but the rhythm changed, his strokes shifting from purposeful to lingering. And she felt it with the whole of her body, the way he slowly started to… explore her. The ice in his expression thawed, melting as his eyes stayed on hers. His body leaned into hers, closer, closer, almost touching. A shiver of heat caught hold of her, and she arched her back. Her nipples ached to be sucked, and the lack of the sensation only made them more sensitive. Fisting the sheets, she held on, letting him take her.

When that familiar crinkle between his brows formed and he bit his lower lip, she exploded, a keening cry breaking from her lips. Winston came with a hiss between his clenched teeth, his fingers biting into her hips. He stayed tense, grinding his length into her for one long, glorious moment. His chest brushed against hers as he panted, the soft bursts of breath warming her neck. Poppy licked her lips and stared up at the ceiling, too weak to do anything more and too afraid to wrap her arms about him as she wanted to do. Then he was up, pulling out in a move that made her cringe from the loss. Cool air filled the space between her legs that had once been scalding hot. She had barely lifted her head when she heard the door to the suite slam shut, leaving her alone once more.

Chapter Ten

London, 1869—A Proposal

Do you suppose,” Poppy said, glancing down at him with her steady brown eyes, “that man walking along the path realizes the lady he’s escorting is no older than fifteen?”

Winston stirred slightly, for he too had been watching the couple as he and Poppy reclined under their willow tree. For a week now, they’d taken a daily walk together, and always they ended up sitting beneath the willow where he’d kissed her for the first time. Today, however, she’d eased his head down onto her lap. The shocking intimacy of it, and that Poppy—his reserved and proper Poppy—had been the one to initiate liberties had almost unmanned him. But he was not so foolish as to protest. Besides, the comfort of her lap was utter heaven.

Poppy had felt him start at her question, for her cheeks pinked. “I like to people gaze. I can’t seem to help myself.”

He let his fingers touch hers where they rested lightly on his arm. “Neither can I.” When she glanced down in surprise, he smiled. “Now then, you were saying about the strolling couple? Tell me your theory. You cannot see her face, as they are walking away from us. So then why do you assume she is a youth?”

Poppy’s fingers pulled free from his and drifted up to his hair. He almost purred at the way she toyed with the ends as her gaze went back to the couple. “Her walk. She is not used to gowns of that length. Her skirts are tangling about her ankles because she hasn’t yet learned to properly step.”

“Mmm.” He willed himself not to close his eyes but kept them upon the couple. He hadn’t noticed that. “I do believe you are correct.”

Poppy’s brown eyes gleamed as she leaned in, the action bringing her rather pert bosom wonderfully close to his nose. “The question is, however, does he know?”

Winston cleared his throat, taking in a subtle breath of her intoxicating scent. Soon. Soon he would see those breasts. Anticipation simmered as he gave her a conspiratorial smile and paid attention to the subject at hand. “No, the question is, does she know he is cash poor?”

“Cash poor?” She nibbled on her bottom lip, but stopped quickly, as if correcting herself, and Winston wondered if she constantly self-governed her actions.

“I see nothing in his clothing to indicate poverty,” Poppy said.

Because the sad truth was that clothing made the man, or woman. With a lift of his chin, Winston gestured toward the man. “Observe the soles of his shoes. There is a hole wearing on the left one. No man with proper means would allow that to happen. Unless,” he nodded back at the man, “he saves his funds

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