Page 11 of Too Wicked for Heaven

Flashing him a look of pure defiance, she set herself up on the even stretch that came before the drop.

“You don’t have to do this,” Nev called up from the bottom.

“I know,” she muttered, but before she could think any more about it, she pushed off from the top.

The slide down was a heart-stopping blur as her satin skirts sent her sailing along the well-polished wood. The air whipped her hair back, tugging some it loose from the pins and making her gasp. Her pulse raced and the speed made her delightfully giddy.

All too soon it was ending. She saw Nev’s face register surprise as he moved into a position right below the bannister as if to catch her. Then she reached the bottom and vaulted into him. He staggered back, but she’d gained too much momentum, and they both went crashing to the floor.

For a second, she lay atop him, stunned into silence by the impact. Then realizing he was perfectly still beneath her, she pushed up onto her elbows and peered into his face.

“Nev?”

He didn’t so much as blink.

Her heart raced. Surely she hadn’t killed him. Then again, he’d fallen awfully hard. “Merciful heavens, Nev . . . speak to me!” She cupped his face in her hands and peered into his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . Oh, Nev, I’ll die if I’ve hurt you!”

Then she felt his arms clamp about her waist. He opened his eyes and grinned up at her. “You were saying?”

She scowled, then pushed against his chest. “You wretched scoundrel! I thought I’d killed you, and here you are, perfectly well.”

“Not perfectly well.” Without warning, he rolled over, putting her beneath him. “I’ll probably have bruises upon bruises tomorrow, but I’m not dead.”

He shifted until he lay half on her, half off, supporting his weight on one elbow as he rested his free hand on her waist. “No, not at all dead,” he added as his gaze drifted over her face, then lower, to her breasts, which were near to bursting out of her dress, thanks to her corset and her awkward position.

Heat rose in her cheeks. One of his legs lay cradled between hers and he pressed it along the length of her thigh in a sensuous movement that made her suck in her breath.

That seemed to delight him. “Or perhaps I am dead,” he murmured as he bent to nuzzle her forehead. “Dead and gone to heaven.”

“I doubt that’s where you’d go,” she retorted, trying to stem the tide of emotions surging in her at his touch.

“Probably not.” He flashed her a seductive smile, staring down at her through eyelids heavy with desire. “I’m much too wicked for heaven.”

And to prove it, he ran his fingers through her already half-fallen hair until it was completely free of pins. Lazily he scattered the strands of hair through his fingers before stroking them away from her face.

Her pulse quickened. Oh, dear, this wasn’t wise at all. She should tell him to move. She should push him away.

But their bodies fit so well together. And it was exciting to have his weight on her.

That was her last thought before he lowered his head. Then he was covering her mouth with lips so warm, she thought they would melt her. They caressed and stroked with light, teasing touches until her breathing grew heavy and her heart raced.

He ran his tongue lightly along her lips. This time he didn’t need to prod her to open her mouth, for it seemed to open of its own accord, letting him plunge his tongue into the very depths, sweeping the inside with a stroke that was at once soothing and thrilling.

But he didn’t stop there. His mouth slanted over hers more demandingly as his tongue began a driving rhythm that turned her to jelly. In a daze, she brought her arms around his waist, holding him to her. The dear torment of his kiss so captivated her that she hardly noticed when his hand traveled down to rest on her breast or when he parted her legs even more with one muscular thigh. She was too caught up in tasting the brandy on his breath and smelling the musky male scent of him to push him away.

He kneaded her breast through the satin of her gown, and she sighed low in her throat. She felt warm and full to bursting, like a ripe peach threatening to split its skin.

Her own skin tingled all over, alive with delicious new sensations. She seemed to be thinking on a level below consciousness, where her body acted on its own instincts, rising against him wantonly and arching into his hand in a desperate attempt to soothe the ache he roused in her breast.

And still the kiss went on, deeper and more drugging until she was practically insensible. Only then did he drag his mouth from hers, just to move it lower, scattering kisses over her throat, the sloping curve of her neck, and then the half-moons of her breasts showing above her bodice. He kissed the swells of flesh, his whiskers scraping the tender skin.

Then his fingers stopped their caressing motions to pull down her bodice, corset, and shift, freeing one breast for his perusal. The chill air against her warm skin brought her briefly to her senses and she pressed her hands against his shoulders, but when he lowered his mouth to cover one pink nipple, her fingers curled into his shirt as she gasped.

It was so . . . so hot and exciting and daring. It seemed right to let him do this scandalous thing to her on this night, her stolen night. And he did it so very well, sucking the nipple until it grew hard as a pebble, then swirling his tongue around it, over and over . . . and over.

“You like that, don’t you, my beauty?” His eyes glittered like cut emeralds as he stared at her. With a mischievous smile, he blew a breath across the wet, puckered skin, making her clutch him to her. “Oh, yes, you definitely like it.”

“I’m very bad, I suppose.” Was this where she should tell him to stop? Could she?