She went to brush past him, but he still held her wrist, and he pulled her against his chest. “You’ll do no such thing. You will not ride that horse, Miss Somerset. Not today.”
His voice was low and rough, and he felt a slight shiver go through her.
Finn went still as his senses leapt in response. Her stared down at her, into eyes such an endless blue he felt as if he were hurling himself into an ocean, willingly, even though he knew he might never surface again. She was so close he could see the quick rise and fall of her chest under her riding habit, and caught the soft, delicate scent of her hair. Jasmine, perhaps, but with something else, too, something unexpected and exotic.
“How do you intend to stop me, Lord Huntington?”
An unmistakable challenge sparked in her blue eyes, and then, somehow, his lips were mere inches from her ear, so close the springy tendrils of hair that seemed to be forever escaping her pins brushed against his jaw, and he had to bite back a sudden, unexpected groan at the teasing caress of those curls.
“Look around you, Miss Somerset. I already have.”
Another lady would have shuddered at his rasped command. Another lady would have submitted to him, or pushed him away and fled the stables.
But not her.
She drew closer, until her lips were a breath away from his ear. “For now. But Chaos will be waiting for me tomorrow, and so will Lord Wrexley.”
The moment she said Wrexley’s name, the tight control Finn held over his emotions snapped. His riding crop landed on the floor of the barn as he caught her other wrist, then pulled her harder against his chest before his mouth crashed down on hers.
She let out a startled squeak at the first touch of his lips, but within seconds her mouth went soft under his, and when the tip of his tongue darted out to trace the seam of her lips she made another sound—a sigh, or a quiet moan—and her mouth opened to him without a hint of resistance, her breath a warm drift across his tongue.
And oh, God, she was sweet, sweeter than he could have ever imagined. Was this why he’d resisted kissing her? Because he’d known, even before his lips touched hers, he wouldn’t be able to get enough of her?
His mouth clung to hers, coaxing her to open wider with a single gentle stroke of his tongue, and then another. He still held her wrists, and he lifted her hands to his chest. Her warm palms pressed flat against him and her fingers curled into his waistcoat. He released her wrists then and slid his fingers into the mass of silky hair at the back of her neck and drew her tighter against him, a low groan tearing from his chest as his tongue darted over the delicious curve of her bottom lip.
Finn tried to pull air into his heaving lungs, tried to remember that Wrexley and Lady Honora were just on the other side of the stable doors and could walk in at any moment, but he couldn’t breathe or think. He could only taste her, his mouth growing more desperate with each eager stroke of her tongue, his hands rough in the heavy silk of her hair. He wanted to pull each pin loose until it spilled over her back as it had yesterday, so he could tangle his fingers in it, pull her head back and devour the soft, white skin of her neck and throat.
He nipped at her bottom lip, and a strangled moan escaped her as he trailed his fingers over her neck and down her back to palm the curves of her hips. He dragged her body tighter against his so the soft warmth of her belly cradled him, and he thought he’d go mad,wasgoing mad, his brain clouding with frantic desire.
“We can’t…this isn’t…” She was breathless, her whisper a soft, warm breath against his neck.
Finn could almost pretend she hadn’t said the words, that she hadn’t gripped his forearms to pull his hands away.
Almost.
But he was still close enough to feel her trembling, and the thread of panic in her voice cleared some of the fog of desire from his brain. For the briefest moment he let his cheek rest against the top of her head, let himself bury his face in her hair, desperately inhaling her warm scent one last time before he forced himself to release her.
He dropped his arms to his sides.
They stared at each other, both of them breathing hard, neither of them moving, until at last he took a step back, away from her.
“Do you still think I’m a child, Lord Huntington?” There was a flicker of triumph in her eyes.
Finn stared down at her in a daze. “No.”
She was no child. She was a woman who needed to be kissed, often, by him, and only him. Her mouth was made for his, and no one else’s. He dipped his head toward hers again. Her taste was still on his lips, and all he could think about was getting more of it.
But she pressed her hands against his chest and held him back. “I’m not a child, and I’ll decide what horse I’ll ride and who I ride with. If I choose to spend time with Lord Wrexley, that’s not your concern.”
But it was, because he’d made it—her—his concern. “You think I’ll just let him have you? You may think Wrexley is a wise choice, but he’s—”
“He’s myonlychoice. Nothing has changed since I jilted you, my lord. Both of us know I’m not the kind of lady you’d willingly choose for your marchioness. You don’t want me, not really, and I don’t…” She stopped, her throat working, then said, “I don’t want you.”
Liar. I can still feel you trembling, still hear your breathlessness.
She did want him, and he wanted her, so much he was dizzy with it, but he couldn’t deny the thought of making her his marchioness filled him with both longing and dread at once. She was defiant and willful, tempting and beautiful, and he’d never wanted a wife who made him lose control. A wife who made him want her, who drove him mad with fury and desire.
He’d never wanted someone extraordinary.
