Scandalous (23 page)

"When I was shooting you, I would I'd had a truer aim!"

"Ah, well, it's a sad fact of life that we all have to live with our mistakes."

"Bastard." The shocking word, which she had never uttered before in her life, exactly expressed her sentiments.

"Sticks and stones, Gabriella," he said mildly.

To meet his gaze, she had to tip her head back. Tipping her head back brought it in contact with his upper arm. That his upper arm made a solid support for her head, and was hard with muscle besides, she could not help but notice.

The fact that she noticed merely heaped coals on the fire of her anger.

"I knew you could not be trusted." Bitterness iced her voice.

"On the contrary, you're the one who didn't live up to her end of the bargain." He smiled at her then, almost tenderly. Despite her fury, that smile made her breath catch.

He was really the most damnably— and under the circumstances that was precisely the word she wanted— handsome man.

"I kissed you. You know I did." With her head resting on his arm, his face was so close that she could see every individual whisker that darkened his jaw. She could see the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he smiled down at her. She could see the texture of his skin, the shape of his ears, the twinkle of amusement that lurked in the depths of his blue eyes.

The twinkle was what did it, she thought: it told her that she was being teased. It also eliminated any last trace of the sudden, instinctive fear of a predatory man that being pulled into his arms had roused. But that didn't mean that she wasn't still angry at him, because she was. She was irate at being tumbled willy-nilly into his lap, outraged at finding herself imprisoned in his arms, and uncomfortable at sitting nestled on his thighs. Also, she didn't much like being tricked.

"That was the kind of kiss you'd give your maiden aunt on her deathbed. It doesn't count."

"It's the kind of kiss I'd give
any
body. And it does, too, count."

The amusement in his eyes grew more pronounced.

"What do you know about kissing, anyway? I'd be willing to bet anything I possess that you've never kissed a man before."

Looking up into those teasing eyes was having the most amazing effect on her, she discovered. Almost she felt her anger starting to slip away. Realizing this, she rallied enough to snap: "I'd say that's a pretty safe bet, considering that you don't seem to actually possess anything. Everything here belongs to the earl of Wickham, and you are not he."

He ignored that home thrust in favor of sticking with the original topic.

"Tell the truth now, Gabriella. You've never kissed a man before, have you?"

Gabby bristled, lifting her head from his pillowing arm as she replied. "What makes you think that?"

"The kiss you gave me is not the kind of kiss a woman gives a man. And that's the kind of kiss I meant." His voice was firm.

"I don't recall there being any particular specifications attached to the bargain," Gabby said, with her nose figuratively in the air. She was leaning against his chest now, and his arms were wrapped— rather more loosely than before— around her waist, trapping her arms as well. She could probably have pulled her arms free if she tried, but she couldn't discover in herself much inclination to do so. Instead she was almost— comfortable in the shocking position, she realized, and, just as bad, enjoying bandying words with him. "You agreed that if I kissed you once on the lips— which I did— you would treat Claire as if she were your sister in truth.
I
kept my end of the bargain. Now it is up to you to keep yours."

"Gabriella."

He was smiling at her with that tender look in his eyes again, and the warmth of his gaze made her feel deliciously languid. "Hmm?"

"If you want me to keep my end of the bargain, you're going to have to kiss me the way I want to be kissed. Otherwise, the deal's off."

Their gazes locked. Her heart was beating far faster than was its norm, she realized, and her breathing had quickened, too. Her muscles were starting to feel weak, and her insides were as trembly as if they had turned to jelly. She was conscious of feeling very relaxed, and at the same time more than a little confused.

This man was dangerous; he was engaged in a criminal enterprise; he had threatened her life; he had handled her in a way that should fill any gently-bred female with enough shame to last a lifetime.

And yet— all she had to do was breathe, and the scent of him made her dizzy. All she had to do was lean her head back against his arm, and the hardness of the muscle there made her own muscles dissolve. All she had to do was nestle against his chest, and the warm resilience of it sapped her strength.

Sitting on a man's lap was undoubtedly sinful. It was something that a demirep might do, perhaps. Certainly no lady of quality would indulge in such a practice— would she? In any case, never in her wildest flights of erotic imagination had she pictured herself doing such a thing. Yet— she liked it. More than liked it, in fact. She would not be averse to remaining exactly where she was for hours on end.

What would it be like to kiss him as he wanted her to? What would it be like to find out for herself "the way a woman kisses a man?"

If, with twenty-five years in her dish, she had never kissed a man like that, then it was likely she never would. She was firmly on the shelf, she knew. Romance had passed her by. No knight was ever going to come riding in on his white horse to sweep her off her feet.

If she wanted to learn what kissing a man was all about, here was her best chance.

Perhaps her only chance.

And she discovered, with some vestigial dismay, that she very much wanted to take it.

"Very well," she said, the forced crispness of her tone belying her inner quaking. "What is it exactly that you want me to do?"

24

"First put your arms around my neck."

Gabby stared into his dark, amused eyes. Then she swallowed, and, lifting her arms, slid them rather gingerly around his neck. The silk brocade of his dressing gown felt very smooth beneath her fingers. Beneath it, the broad strength of his shoulders and back felt almost jarringly masculine in contrast. His hair, crisp and cool, just brushed her fingers. She curled them into his nape in unconscious response.

"That's good." If his voice was a little huskier than it had been, she barely noticed.

"Now what?" The reason she barely noticed was because she, in turn, was finding it hard to breathe.

"Lean forward, put your lips against mine, and open your mouth."

Gabby's brows knit. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why open my mouth?"

"So I can put my tongue in it."

"What?"
Gabby recoiled. He had to catch her arms to keep them in place.

"No backsliding now," he warned.

"You— put your tongue in my mouth?" It was an appalled whisper.

"Mm-hmm. And you put your tongue in mine."

"Oh, dear Lord." Gabby stared at him, desperate for a gleam that would tell her that he was teasing. He was, she decided after a searching glance, dead serious. "I don't think I can."

"Certainly you can. Come on, Gabriella, I haven't got all night. You agreed to the deal. Now do what I told you, and kiss me."

Gabby looked up at him, at the hard-planed, handsome face just inches above her own, at the indigo eyes that had somehow, during the course of their interchange, darkened almost to black, at the not quite smiling, beautifully shaped mouth.

Her heart pounded. Her palms grew damp. He was going to put his tongue in…. It was so shocking that she couldn't even finish the thought. What would the reality be like?

Gathering every last bit of her resolve, she clutched the front of his dressing gown and leaned forward. Her breasts brushed his chest, and the sensitive tips tingled and grew hard. His hands dropped away from her arms, moving down to rest lightly on either side of her waist, neither imprisoning nor compelling her as he seemed to wait. Gabby understood. For the bargain to be met, this was for her to do.

She pressed her breasts more firmly against his chest, then lifted her mouth to his.

This touch of their lips was, like their last, quick and tentative. Gabby couldn't help it. She brushed her mouth across his, briefly registered the dry heat of his lips and the abrasion of his unshaven jaw against her skin, then pulled back.

His eyes were impossible to read as their gazes met.

"Still not good enough. Try again. And this time, close your eyes, Gabriella, and open your mouth."

The words were a throaty murmur. She could feel their warmth against her mouth. Just a little closer, just a hair, and she would be able to feel his lips moving against hers.

At the thought, a scalding heat suffused her veins.

"Oh, I— can't." But she didn't draw away. Instead, her fingers clenched even tighter on the fabric of his dressing gown. Her body felt curiously boneless. Her breasts swelled against his chest. The place between her legs began to tighten and ache.

He had fondled and kissed her breast, run his hand over her lower body, pulled up her skirt….
The memory made her feel like she was going to faint. Her body seemed to burn. Desperately, shamefully, she realized that she wanted him to do it all again.

The kind of kiss he wanted led to that.

"Yes, you can. Put your lips against mine, and then slide your tongue in my mouth."

Gabby took a deep, shaken breath. There was no help for it, she realized— and she realized, too, that she didn't even want to turn back. Still hanging onto his dressing gown for dear life, she lifted her face, and pressed her lips to his. Then, remembering his instructions, she closed her eyes, and tentatively put out her tongue.

It encountered the barrier of his closed lips. As soon as she touched them, they parted, and she screwed up her courage and slid her tongue inside his mouth.

It was wet and scalding hot and tasted, faintly, of fine brandy and cigars. His tongue touched hers, stroked it, then pushed inside her mouth, claiming it with a boldness that stopped her breath. His lips molded themselves to hers, and her head began to spin. Goose bumps prickled to life all over the surface of her skin. Her stomach clenched.

Never had she imagined that a man would kiss like this. It was shocking, overwhelming, enthralling. His hand came up to cup the back of her head, and he shifted position so that her head rested against his hard shoulder. Of their own volition, her hands slid up the front of his chest until they locked behind the strong column of his neck. She felt helpless in the face of his strength, and realized that she liked the feeling very much indeed.

His lips moved against hers, compelling a response. His tongue explored the hidden crevices of her mouth. Lying across his lap, her arms locked around his neck, Gabby savored the sensations like a gourmet might savor the flavors and presentations of a rare feast. Shyly she stroked his tongue with hers, and was rewarded by a sharp indrawing of his breath.

It was good to know that she was not the only one affected by their kiss.

Then she felt his hand cover her breast.

It was her turn to catch her breath. Although two layers of cloth— her nightgown and wrapper— separated her flesh from his touch, she could feel the heat and strength of his hand with an acuity that shocked her. Her nipple swelled into his palm as if begging for attention, as if her body, remembering his touch, longed for more. Her loins clenched, then began to throb in an aching, thrilling, too well-remembered rhythm.

He ran his thumb over her nipple, pressed against it, and her body burst into flames.

Her senses were overwhelmed. She could no longer think, but only feel. She clung to his neck, returning his kiss with growing abandon, suffering his hand to caress her breast— no, loving it as his hand caressed her breast. She was trembling, she realized groggily, and her body was arching hungrily against his chest and the place between her thighs was once again beginning to melt….

She could feel the male part of him beneath her thighs, she realized, and realized too that it was hard and heavy with wanting. Unable to help herself, she squirmed against it, and felt it boldly pressing up against her bottom.

That was what she wanted inside her…. At the knowledge, a tiny moan escaped her, only to be swallowed up by his lips.

His mouth left hers to trail tiny, nibbling kisses along the line of her jaw. Gabby's eyes fluttered open then, as she realized with the small part of her brain still capable of rational functioning that the bargain had been well and fully met. But she no longer cared about the bargain, she found, and it seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind, too, as he pressed more kisses down the side of her neck. His mouth was hot and wet against her skin, and his hand on her breast was warm and hard….

The bargain was forgotten entirely as he tugged the front of her nightclothes down to expose a breast. Her eyes stayed open long enough to watch with a kind of shocked anticipation as he bared the curving white flesh with its taut pink crest. No man had ever viewed her nakedness before— but she suddenly, fiercely, wanted him to look at her, wanted him to touch her. He lifted his head then, gazing down at her breast, and gently cupped a hand beneath it almost as if he would test its weight.

Gabby's lips parted. His hand was big and dark against her tender flesh. It felt warm, and faintly rough, and…

His head dipped. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized that he was going to kiss her bare breast. She felt the gentle touch of his lips as he nuzzled her, and the abrasion of his unshaven jaw against her skin, seconds before he sucked on her nipple, drawing it into the scalding hot interior of his mouth.

Gabby's senses exploded. It was the most erotic thing she had ever seen, or felt. Unable to help herself, she gave a little choked cry as his tongue found her nipple, and her nails dug deep into his shoulders as she watched him suckle at her breast like a babe. What he was doing was indecent, she knew, and lewd beyond description, and yet it sent her body up in flames.