He could take no more, apparently.
His lips were on hers, and she found herself pushed up against the wall of the entryway.His leg found the space between her own.She let out a little moan of satisfaction—at how solid he felt, how strong.
The kiss wasn’t tender or sweet but full of hunger.His hand found the side of her face and clutched it, and she returned his intensity.His body grew harder against hers, and she felt the insistent press of his cock once more.
Yes, she wanted to whimper.
She remembered how that cock had felt between her legs, in those dreamy moments when sleep had become reality, and how she had thought so often about what it would be like to have it actuallyinsideher since.
Instead, she drank him in, reveling in the way he held her a little roughly, almost clumsily, to him.He didn’t have the practiced hands of a libertine.But it didn’t matter to her.Every indelicate gesture only made her want more.
His hand found her waist.He drew her into him, bringing her closer, and the exquisite friction created between by the pressure of his solid thigh had her panting into his mouth.
“Please forgive me,” he murmured.
She thought he was about to pull away.But instead, he reached down and cupped her breast over her bodice while kissing her neck, finding a sensitive hollow and sucking on it.He swore and grew harder against her.
“You’re perfect.”
It felt so good to be touched, to beenjoyed, by this man.After the end of her engagement seven years ago, she thought no one would ever take pleasure in her body but herself.And now here was this ardent, handsome man, clearly enjoying it, enjoyingher.
Why not enjoy it?
Why not seize more?
It wasn’t right that she should languish while she still had youth and feeling left.
“Yes,” she breathed, as he worried her nipple through the fabric.“Please.”
And then an audible creak sounded on the stairs, and he sprang away from her.
A light edged over the last few steps of the stairwell, and she heard an uncertain voice asking, “Miss?”
It was her maid.The poor girl had been waiting up for her, of course.
“Yes,” Scarlett managed, wiping her hand over her mouth, her heart still pounding.“I am just coming in.I’ll be up directly.”
The girl did not move, however.She had no suspicion on her face.She merely seemed intent on doing her duty.Scarlett realized she had no choice but to go upstairs herself.
“Goodnight, Mr.Brown.”
“Goodnight, Miss Perkins.”
Later that night, after she had dismissed the maid, trying not to be in a pet with the girl for her intrusion, she wondered if she should knock on Malcolm’s door.What would he say if she did?Would he welcome her?And what would happen on the other side if she made it there?
She was tempted, sorely.But she could not find the courage.He might regret their hasty kisses in the entryway.
Still, she thought of his kisses, of his big hands cupping her breasts, and made herself come thinking of it.
Even as she did so, she resolved not to let this opportunity vanish.
He found her comely.Beautifulwas the word he had used.
Their relationship couldn’t last longer than these few weeks of summer—she understood that.
But why couldn’t she enjoy him while the house party lasted?
She contemplated that question for far too long.
