“Oh, God, yes.”
He gave a murmur of approval.
And then continued stroking her.His strokes were not as practiced as her own, she could tell that, but it didn’t matter.She needed very little it turned out.And his fingers were large and strong and gentle, and she was so slick that every touch was to great effect.
It helped, too, that he was growing harder beneath her.
“Christ, Scarlett,” he murmured.
She had to agree.“Please,” she repeated.
Which she hoped he understood to mean,Don’t you dare stop.
He didn’t.
She couldn’t help it.
He was the most handsome men she had ever laid eyes on her, and she was a plain spinster whom men never looked at twice, and his hand was between her legs.She couldn’t be expected to withstand such temptation.It wasn’t humane.She had no idea of his motive—but she suspected that she was just the lucky woman who had gotten trapped in a closet with him.And he was too virile to have a woman so near and not succumb to temptation.
Well, there was already one secret between them, she thought, desperately.
What was another?
She was nearing her peak.“Oh God.”She sobbed.“Please.”
He groaned.“Scarlett.”
She came, her gasps echoing in the closet, her core clenching and unclenching over his fingers, hot and terribly needy.He might scorn her later for her wanton nature, she thought, but right now, he was hers.
He gave his own shout of pleasure, taking his hand from her core and steadying her between his arms.
She couldn’t be sure, but his own breathing sounded so wracked she wondered if he had—was it possible that he, too, had found bliss?
Before she could contemplate the question or even come down from her own high, there was a bang of a door in the hallway.And then voices.
The others had arrived.
She was saved.
No, she thought darkly.
Saved in one sense.
And utterly wrecked in another.
Chapter Thirteen
He had comein his own goddamn trousers.
And now his goddamn brother was outside the door.
And if he wasn’t mistaken, he was with Miss Tilly Perkins.
And it appeared that they were—arguing.
“It isn’t your right, Mr.Westmore,” Tilly said in an emphatic voice, “to speak for my preferences!Not to George.It isn’t right.”
“And why is that?”Severn said, in a tone significantly more heated than any Malcolm was used to hearing from his slyest, coolest brother.
