Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick by Deb Marlowe

Author:Deb Marlowe
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-08-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Courage. Their kiss tasted of it—glorious heat and climbing passion and the incredible blaze of courage that it took for each of them to lose themselves in the dangerous give and take of this moment.

Risk lived here. Chloe understood it—she knew that exploration went hand in hand with jeopardy. That she was making herself vulnerable to the one person left on earth with the ability to do her true harm.

She didn’t care.

His kiss burned hotter, coaxed harder than it had done earlier and she responded in kind. Her arms crept higher. Up and up again, she allowed her fingers to wander, over the broad expanse of his chest and along the strong and solid column of his neck. She fulfilled the fantasies of a thousand nights when she slid her fingers home—into the thick, silken strands of his hair.

Unreal. Almost unbelievable, that this was happening at last. She was consumed with want, transformed by joy and wild, fierce need into an unfamiliar, untamed, and demanding version of herself. With a moan climbing from deep within, she pulled him closer and tighter against her.

He heard her, knew better than she what she needed. She gasped in protest when he tore his mouth from hers. But he wasn’t leaving her.

‘We are a pair of damned fools,’ he growled.

She nodded—and tugged on his shoulders, urging him back. Instead he wrapped thick, strong arms around her and lifted her as if she were nothing more than a rag doll. Feeling warm and incredibly safe, she burrowed into his embrace.

Until he set her down and pressed her hard against the fading warmth of the brick wall.

Yes. A hundred times, yes. Only him. No one else held the power to lure her from safety into the far more hazardous territory of desire. He leaned down to her again and she parted her lips to the insistent pressure of his. Thrust for thrust, she met his tongue and gave back the same searing passion that he poured into her.

Her shawl had disappeared, lost somewhere on the cobbled stones. She had no need of it, in any case. The solid wall behind her gave up its heat, but it was as nothing compared to the inferno left in the wake of the marquess’s hands. Huge and powerful, calloused from swordplay, they encompassed her waist. Heat raged from every point of contact. The flames soared even higher as one hand crept upwards, blazing a trail along her ribs. Ever so slowly his fingers teased, breaching the swell of her breast, circling with tantalising slowness—before abruptly cupping her entirely.

Delicacy was abandoned. She tore her mouth away and groaned deeply. Breath exploded from her as he rubbed a palm across the engorged peak of her nipple. Her back arched, pressing her into the caress, asking for more. He answered with a quick, hard pass of his thumb and then he pinched her right through all the thin layers of intervening fabric.

Her legs nearly gave way beneath her. With gratitude she pressed her shoulders against the brick behind her and asked again.

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