“You cannot reach it this way,” she said. “I have a better idea.”
“I can do it.”
Again, he leapt…and missed.
“If you would just listen?—”
“Stand aside,” he ordered.
Seeing the stubborn set of his jaw, she raised her brows and moved out of the way. Conrad backed up, pawing his feet against the ground like an angry bull. He sprinted at full speed, taking off with an impressive leap. Bemused, she had to admire his determination as he soared through the air. Her breath caught when his fingertips brushed the underside of the ledge.
Close, but not quite there. He landed in a crouch, letting out a string of expletives.
She tapped the sweaty bulge of his shoulder.
“I almost had it.” He rose, his hands clenched. “I’ll try again?—”
“We don’t have time for your heroics,” she informed him. “This time, we’ll try it my way.”
“Don’t be afraid,” Conrad said. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m not afraid.” Gigi’s voice floated down to him. “Hold steady and stop distracting me.”
He gripped her delicate ankles, providing stability as she rose and stood upon his shoulders. Damn, but she had the grace of an acrobat. The fearlessness of one, too.
“You’ll have to bring us closer to the ledge,” she said.
Given his precious cargo, he took the steps with care. Sweat beaded on his forehead as she wobbled, her bare heels digging into his shoulders. Sometime soon, he was going to feel those heels digging into his shoulders again—only this time, she would be on her back, moaning his name while he plowed her snug little pussy. The thought of being skin-to-skin, of being the first to claim her virgin territory, blazed fire up his spine.
Even fully clothed, she made him hotter than hell. He hadn’t spent in his trousers since he was a fourteen-year-old lad. Ratterby, the enterprising bastard, had smuggled a leathery whore into Creavey Hall. For the price of a fortnight’s meals, Conrad had been granted five minutes with her. Even though she’d smelled of sweat and onions, she’d expertly frigged him with her chapped hands, cackling when he spent a mortifyingly short time later. That had been his first experience of intimacy.
Shaking off the memory, he tightened his hold on Gigi.
“Almost there,” she said.
Christ, he liked when her voice had that breathless quality. She’d cried his name in just this fashion when she came, and he’d never heard anything sweeter.
“You can lean forward.” He braced her knees. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m touching the ledge,” she said excitedly.
“Good girl,” he muttered. “Can you pull yourself up?”
“Not quite. I shall have to jump.”
Concern jolted him. “That’s too risky?—”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “But you’ll have to let go of me.”
Like hell I’m letting go of you.
The thought invaded him, along with a foreign feeling of possessiveness.
Frowning, he said, “It’s too dangerous. If you don’t make it onto the ledge, you could fall?—”
“Then I’ll just have to make it, won’t I?”
Peering down at him, she winked. Christ, she was a handful. If he didn’t keep a firm grip on the reins, she’d snatch them up at the first opportunity.
