realised she had rather liked that tone, a revelation he tucked away to be considered later.
“But I can touch you,” he added with a wicked smirk.
He tugged at his gloves, biting into the finger ends to pull them off and casting them down on the seat beside them before reaching for the hem of her skirts. Phoebe gasped as he found his way beneath the yards of silk and the petticoats that frothed beneath until his hand closed around one dainty, stocking-clad ankle.
“Got you,” he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle the sweet spot beneath her ear and nipping at the soft lobe as his hand moved up, slowly but inexorably, following the curve of her calf and then caressing the sensitive skin at the back of her knee. He kissed the line of her jaw, aware of the way her breathing quickened, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts pushing against the indecent neckline of her gown. His questing hand moved on, lingering on the garter just above her knee. “Show me.”
Her breath caught at the dark command, but she lost no time in reaching for her skirts, hiking them up until he could glimpse the ribbon and the neat little bow.
“Black,” she whispered.
Max groaned and sought her mouth, revelling in the sweet taste of her, the enthusiastic slide of her tongue against his. He almost laughed with joy as he considered her enthusiasm, compared to the disaster of his first marriage. His poor first wife had been raised with such a fear of physical intimacy she would not even look upon her own nakedness, let alone his. He had been filled with regret and pity for her, and he had tried his best to be kind, even when she was not.
Never again, though. Never again would he suffer years of loneliness because of vows that tied him to a woman who could not bear to have him touch her, who found the act of lovemaking not only distasteful but abhorrent. Phoebe moved closer to him, seeking more, pressing herself against him, hiding nothing of her desire for him, wanting him so blatantly that he wondered how to keep a hold on the situation when he was mad with wanting her too. He did not, however, wish for an interruption from Jack, which would likely see him dead in a ditch if the old rogue believed he had laid hands on his princess.
“Max,” she whimpered against his mouth. “Max, please….”
He hushed her, kissing her deeper, crooning love words as his hand slid over the warm silk of her thigh and brushed the curls that marked the sweet centre of her.
She gasped and he chuckled. “This is what you want, darling.”
“Yes,” she agreed, clinging to his neck, her eyes drifting shut as he slid his fingers through the curls to the delicate skin beneath.
It was his turn to gasp, to hold his breath against the tortured moan that built in his chest as he found what he sought, hot and slick with desire.
“Oh, God,” he whispered, the words ragged with need. “I want to kiss you here, to put my mouth upon you and taste you.”
For a moment, he wondered if he had gone too far, if even Phoebe had her limits. She was innocent, after all. She might believe herself otherwise, but he knew Montagu had guarded her as well as anyone could guard Phoebe…
“Yes. Yes, please.”
She was staring at him, her eyes dark, cheeks flushed, and Max laughed at his own foolishness, imagining he could shock Phoebe of all people.
“Please, Max,” she whispered.
Max swallowed, his mouth watering with the desire to do as she wished, but he could not, not here.
“No,” he rasped. “Not enough time. We’ll be at the hotel in ten minutes, and I’m damned if I’ll rush such a thing.”
“Oh, but….”
“Hush,” he soothed her. “Let me touch you.”
He shifted her across his lap to lean into the corner of the carriage, kissing her slow and deep while his fingers caressed the soft place between her thighs. His heart thudded too hard, too fast, his body aching with need, but he was focused on nothing but her pleasure. Max slid a finger inside her, his breath catching as hers hitched too.
“Oh,” she said, her hands clutched in his hair, tugging his mouth back to hers as his questing finger slid deeper into her tight heat.
For, a moment he imagined himself there, imagined the pleasure of it, slick and warm and welcoming, and the tide of desire