Portrait of a Forbidden Love--A Sexy Regency Romance by Bronwyn Scott

Author:Bronwyn Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2020-10-06T17:17:05+00:00

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‘If you put another oyster in your mouth, be warned you are playing with fire,’ Darius growled, desire riding him precariously hard at the moment. Dear lord, certain parts of him had become granite in the middle of a country party watching Artemisia Stansfield seduce him with oysters. Not that he was alone in the arousal—this was a rather mutual game of public seduction between them. It was unfair, though, that her arousal was less obviously displayed than his. He didn’t dare stand up for a while.

‘You’ve quite the...um...imagination.’ Artemisia gave him a wicked, teasing smile, her eyes flicking to the fall of his trousers. He was glad he’d not worn breeches tonight. Trousers were only slightly less tight, but he’d take any relief at the moment.

‘My “imagination” wants to step outside and take you hard against the nearest wall.’ He leaned in, stealing a kiss, his tongue licking the briny salt of the oyster from her lips. ‘You taste like freedom, Artemisia,’ he whispered at her throat. Freedom and redemption, possibility and promise. Yet he was aware that so much lay unresolved between them and aware, too, that Artemisia had agreed to nothing—nothing permanent, nothing irrevocable. Neither had he. Nothing was decided that could be binding. He found he was having too much fun tonight to want to force those decisions. They could wait for a more solemn time.

She answered him with a kiss, long and lingering, her tongue taking its turn to taste him and he let her. This was a country party in the middle of nowhere. No one noticed, no one cared who kissed whom in the shadowy recesses of a fishery floor. No gossip column would make a scandal of this indulgence. He took the kiss from her, deepening it, his hand in the pretty twist of hair at the nape of her neck, guiding her mouth against his. Had any kiss ever been this sweet? Maybe aphrodisiacs were purely mental exercises. They’d not made love on the beach at Oare today, although their kisses had left him primed.

He was still primed. His senses had been primed all night from the moment he’d picked her up in the coach, seeing her in the dark blue gown with its subtle indigo pattern of palm fronds and the vee of her bodice showing off the firm curve of her breasts, the simple gold locket at her neck begging a man to kiss that long, slim, elegant column and the pulse at its base. He knew how that pulse could race. He placed his hand over it. It was racing now. For him. Because of him.

‘Shall we go outside, Artemisia?’

‘Yes,’ she breathed against him.

He led her out into the darkness, her hand gripping his tightly as they sought privacy. He steered them around a corner of the building and pulled her against him with a hard kiss, his hands on her buttocks, pressing her close as he lifted her. She moaned into his mouth, her legs wrapping about him, her skirts falling back in the effort to reveal long, slim thighs.

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