“No?”
“Never. I can’t remember the last time I waltzed. It seems too… intimate for someone I don’t particularly care about.”
“Don’t know if what we’re doing counts as a waltz, love. It’s a miracle I haven’t crushed your foot.”
“If you do, it will be a worthy sacrifice. But I doubt it. You’re quite good actually.”
“Not too embarrassed?”
“Never.” That was enough to pull a smile from me. “Would you be devastated if we left before supper?”
“I’ve never wanted anything more.”
“Nothing?” She raised a teasing brow.
“I’ve only wanted one thing more.”
“We can slip out when everyone heads for the dining room.”
“No one will mind?”
“All the better to gossip about us.”
“Wonderful.”
The dance came to an end eventually and gentlemen escorted ladies into the dining room. Celine led me, her arm tucked in mine, to follow at the end of the pack. Once we escaped the room, we turned the opposite direction.
The carriage awaited us just outside the door. At my questioning glance, she explained, “I didn’t think you would object. I had it called before I found you.”
I handed her in, then followed and clambered onto the seat across from her. No sooner had the door shut behind us than she was in my arms.
She was in my arms and she wasfrantic. There were a thousand reasons this was a terrible idea. The practicalities of a moving carriage. The intricacies of our apparel. The fact that I was still somewhat infuriated with her. That I had no idea what upset her so earlier. All very valid justifications to stop her.
But her fingers were clenched on my jaw dragging my lips to hers and the other hand was knotted in my hair, pinning me in place.
There was nothing tentative, sweet, or gentle in her touch or her kiss. It was hard and fast and ferocious. In an instant, it went from the bearable, everyday arousal I had come to call a friend in her presence, to an inferno. I caught her knee where it was braced on the edge of the seat, and yanked it to meet my hip. She collapsed in a desperate heap on my lap, her lips never leaving mine.
I pulled back to taste her jaw while she panted my name. Her hand finally left my jaw, dropping to the nonexistent space between us, industrious fingers searching for the falls of my trousers. Her obvious intent was the only thing that could dampen my lust even slightly. Catching her fingers, I laced them with my own and distracted her with a nip to the freckle behind her ear.
That earned me a whimper as her hips rocked against mine. The free hand left my hair to continue its twin’s efforts. I caught that one too.
“Will…” It was a beautiful and far too loud whine that certainly left no doubt as to our occupation at the moment—if there had been any before.
“Not here, love.”
“But…” It was an impressive feat, to claw my way through the fury of lust to deny her. I pulled away from the tempting curve of her neck to meet her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. She stopped struggling to free her hands and resumed her effort toward my trousers with a squeeze of my hands.
I released her hands, trusting the promise in those clenched fingers. “You’re fine, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” I caught the back of her neck with one hand, dragging her décolleté to my lips, the other found her hip. She had managed to create her own instinctive rocking motion, and I made it ours.
Her hands still clutched at me desperately, hair, jaw, back, shoulder, arm. But she allowed me the control. With each jolt of the carriage and our bodies, she gifted me a new whimper.
I slipped a hand underneath layers of skirts and petticoats and delicate fineries and drew a finger across where she was aching for me. Oh, that was a heady thought. An equally heady sound ripped from her mouth, caught by mine, as I slowly continued my ministrations.
“Will, please.”
“What do you need, love?”
“You.”
