She could never again be Miss Montgomery to him now. Had he ever thought her an abomination? It seemed impossible.
“Arden.” His name on her lips was a sigh, a prayer.
She must have removed his hat, because her fingers were tunneling through his hair, nails raking his scalp. He sucked harder, so hard, he was sure there would be a bruise on the tender, creamy flesh. Lucien could not resist skimming his hand over one of her lush thighs. He breathed into her skin, inhaling her scent, relishing her, this wild American spitfire, so submissive in his arms.
Up her inner thigh he traveled, and she parted her legs for him, granting him access. Higher still, to where her heat warmed the tips of his fingers. Higher, to the mound hidden from him by the billowing drapery of her trousers. He cupped her there, where he wanted to drive himself home.
She made the most erotic noise he had ever heard, half growl and half mewl, as she arched into him. Pure, animal lust tore through him, sudden and fierce. Everything in him clamored to claim this woman. To make her his. But somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind, in the part of him that was a gentleman and the leader of the Special League, the part of him who still believed in honor above his own selfish wants, knew he could not possess her here. He could not tup her in his carriage as if she were not worthy of being worshiped.
For no other woman alive had been more made for worship than Hazel.
So instead, he took her mouth again. He kissed her lingeringly, making love to her lips the way he longed to do to her body. With great reluctance, he left the apex of her thighs and slid his hand higher, to the waistband of her trousers. Buttons,thank Christ.
He slid them from their moorings, one by one, as he buried his tongue in her mouth. The fabric gaped, and there remained only one layer now, between him and her warm sweet curves. Still kissing her, he found the slit in her drawers. Wet heat met his fingers as he parted her folds and found her pearl. She bucked against him when he circled the tender flesh with his forefinger, just the lightest of touches.
She moaned into his kiss, her tongue playing against his with greater urgency. Her hips rolled, silently begging him for more. And so he gave it to her, increasing his pressure, toying with the turgid bud. How desperately he longed to take her in his mouth. But that would have to wait. There was no time for leisurely lovemaking now.
But there was time for her to spend. And he was a greedy bastard when it came to Hazel. He wanted to make her come undone again. Wanted her husky cries of ecstasy, her head thrown back, her cunny thrusting against him. He wanted everything, and he wanted to be the man who gave it to her.
He wanted to beherman, even if it could only be for this fleeting moment, this carriage ride. This next ten minutes. This next breath, this next kiss. He would take it. He would take it all. He would take whatever he could.
“Hazel,” he said against her lips, kissing her again, working her hungry flesh, before breaking away to gaze down at her. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were glassy. Tendrils of her dark hair had come free from her loose coiffure. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses. But her eyes were closed.
“Hazel,” he said again, stroking her harder, faster. “Open your eyes and look at me when you come.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and a cry tore from her throat at the same moment her body convulsed against his hand. Wetness coated his fingers, and he could not resist delving deeper, circling her entrance, teasing them both. She was even wetter there, and the thought of plunging his cock into her tight passage was torment.
He wanted inside her so badly.
The carriage stopped.
So did Lucien. His sanity, or what remained of it, returned gradually. He withdrew from her, his fingers coated in her essence. Glistening in the light of day. God help him, but he had not bothered to draw the curtains over the windows, and anyone could have glimpsed what they were about.
She was still breathing heavily, flushed and gloriously disheveled, watching him with a curious expression he had never seen her wear before. Complete befuddlement, he expected, as if she were asking herself the same perplexing question he was posing to himself:What the devil came over me?
He could blame his lack of discretion and control upon lust, but he feared the way he reacted to Hazel Montgomery was caused by more than such a base urge. He respected her, admired her even, and he could not recall a time when he had ever appreciated another woman in the way he did her. His affairs had not been many, but when he had sought lovers in the past, it had always been based upon primal need, rather than anything else. He had never conversed for hours on end with his lovers. He could deny it all he liked, but Hazel was…different.
Which meant she was a risk.
He reached into his coat and extracted a handkerchief as his driver knocked discreetly upon the door. It was old habit, ordinarily unnecessary, but Lucien was grateful for Cobb’s discretion today.
“A moment,” he called, his voice hoarse and strained, even to his own ears. His erection was still raging, desperate for relief he could not indulge in; not now, and not ever.
Hazel’s eyes had gone wide at the unexpected intrusion, and she instantly stiffened, her hands rushing to restore the buttons of her trousers to their proper places. He was about to wipe his hand clean, but it occurred to him, if this was to be the last time he ever touched her, he could not deny himself the forbidden knowledge of what she tasted like.
He raised his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean. She was earthy and musky, and squelching his groan of pure, libidinous enjoyment required all the effort he possessed. She looked back up at him as she smoothed her waistband into place and righted her bodice.
He ought to have been ashamed of himself. She was an unmarried woman. He was a gentleman. She was also his partner. But a rush of pleasure went down his spine and settled in his groin at the knowledge she was watching him savor the traces of her, which remained upon his skin.
“I should apologize once more,” he told her, finally using his handkerchief to wipe his hand. “But I cannot find a speck of contrition within me for what just occurred. Instead, I will promise you it will not happen again.”
She stared at him, saying nothing, simply devouring him with her unnaturally pale gaze, until he wondered if he had robbed her of speech. Her lips, still dark and swollen from his kisses, parted at last.
“That is a pity, Arden,” she said at last. “Because I can think of nothing I would like better.”
With that parting volley fired, she rose from the bench and threw open the carriage door on her own, alighting without waiting for Cobb to offer her his aid. Lucien watched the tempting swell of her backside and her luscious legs as she descended, a grim sense of finality settling over him. Hazel Montgomery was more than a risk.
More lethal than dynamite. More tempting than the lure of the Sirens.
