The fabric of his waistcoat was fine, with a subtle texture beneath my fingertips as my hand found his waist. My other hand found his cheek, the silken strands of his hair kissing my fingers as his overgrown stubble bit at my palm. His lips and tongue and teeth stung and soothed as well.
Christ, this was better than I remembered. How was that possible? That first time, he’d allowed me the chance to explore, to discover. Apparently, he was done with that. He maneuvered me as he liked, kissed me the way he wanted, touched me the way he desired. The efforts left me weak-kneed, breathless, and hungry.
His lips ripped off mine, traced the line of my jaw as I pathetically, helplessly, fingered the buttons of his waist coat.
“Why are you here?” he growled in my ear. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Alone, the words would have crushed me. But combined with the hardness pressing against my thigh and the play of his tongue along the tendons in my neck, they lost a great deal of their sting.
“Why did you leave me?” I shot back, grabbing his chin in both hands and yanking his mouth back to mine with a nip to the swollen flesh of his lower lip. He mumbled something against my mouth and I just grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him harder to me.
He tasted of Earl Grey, strawberry jam, fire smoke, and dust—nothing like his previous herb and forest scent and malty scotch. But I liked it all the same. I rather thought he could smell and taste of anything and I would love it.
Blood rushed through my ears, drowning everything except the deliciously sinful slick of our lips, the sensual rustle of fabric, and the lewd harmony of our moans. Lord, his groans—there was something about the masculine note that settled in the base of my spine and left me panting with want.
“Left you for your own damn good,” he muttered, nipping at the knot of my throat as he worked sightlessly at my cravat.
“You don’t get to decide what my own damn good is,” I shot back, grabbing the back of his head and slamming my lips back onto his.
His tongue fought mine for dominance before he pulled away again, fingers moving toward the buttons on my waistcoat. “I do if you don’t have a damn fiber of common sense.”
I caught his lower back, pulling him against me, forcing him to feel what he did to me. “There’s your common sense.”
I felt the laughter in his breath against my neck and the shaking of his shoulders. “I know that’s where it went. That’s the whole damn problem.”
My own laugh broke through the haze of irritation and lust. Xander returned to my lips, kissing me gently as he rebuttoned my waistcoat and straightened my cravat.
He pulled away, whispering, “We can’t do this here. Fenella will be by any moment to take a shit.”
“What?”
“The sheep.”
“I don’t….”
“And Godfrey and the others are probably wondering where I’ve gone off to.”
“Who…”
Strong fingers tucked back a lock of my hair before he ran his hands along the fabric of my waistcoat, smoothing it. He nodded, seemingly satisfied with whatever he found, then started off toward the front of the house, catching my hand as he went.
“Wait, your hair?—”
“Damn,” he laughed, turning back to me. I took my time, enjoying the moment of putting this man back together, brushing a wayward strand of hair into place, straightening his waistcoat. Every sensation was one worthy of luxuriating in.
By the time I finished, his lips were still swollen, and probably a little darker than usual, but he was more or less presentable—less obviously ravished.
He caught my wrist again, dragging me toward the front of the house.
“What happened to this place?” I asked as he lifted the sheet covering the doorframe for me to duck underneath.
“Apparently nothing. For the best part of a decade.”
“Truly?” It was an inane question. Anyone with eyes could see the peeling wallpapering and chipping paint. The broken windows and warped floorboards, too, were obvious. And the scent of dust and decay overwhelmed everything else.
“It’s a long story…”
“Who was that at the road?” A feminine voice called from down the hall. My heart stopped for a moment. But then I caught sight of the girl who stepped into the hall. She was a little less delicate than Lady Davina and clearly with child, but her dark hair and brows spoke of Hasket blood. “Oh, hello.”
