Page 37 of Managing the Major

She licked her lips nervously. “I win.”

As he bent forward, his lips moved close to her ear, and she shivered at the warm breath fanning her cheek. The scent of sandalwood mixed with something deeper and woodsy made her want to turn her face into his neck and inhale deeply.

“When you bite your bottom lip, I can’t help but imagine your mouth moving over my body, kissing and licking and biting me.”

Her breasts swelled, the peaks tight against the silk of her bodice. “Oh, my…do people do things like that?” she asked breathlessly.

He groaned softly, and a quiver ran through her at the timbre of his voice.

“Will you meet my stakes, Octavia?”

She knew it was dangerous…though inexperienced, she could feel the tension between them, like tinder ready to catch fire. She shouldn’t go any further, but she couldn’t resist.

Taking the next card, she turned over the deuce of spades. Her breath hitched. It was the worst possible pick.

Alastair took his turn and held up the eight of spades. Seventeen. She had no choice but to draw again.

His expression was unreadable, but she was astounded to see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Despite his audacious behavior, he wasn’t completely in control. More confidently, she drew a second card and caught her breath. The ten of clubs.

“This time, I win,” he said huskily.

She had been kissed before—hasty, stolen kisses in a library or garden—but like everything else about Alastair, this was different. He took her chin and lifted it, and his mouth hovered above hers, their rapid breathing intermingling. His lips touched one corner of her mouth, feathering to the other side. When they finally settled, firm and warm against her own, Alastair rose and pulled her around to him, scattering markers and cards on the floor. The kiss deepened, and his tongue dipped between the seam of her lips.

Octavia became lost in the heat and pressure of his mouth. She wound her arms around his neck, raising on tiptoes, and wondered how she thought she could live without this.

Alastair raised his head, grazing her cheekbone with his lips. “We must stop,” he whispered against her hair.

Through the layers of clothing, his heart hammered against hers. Naïve as she was, Octavia recognized the danger of continuing. She disentangled herself, smoothing her gown with unsteady fingers. “I will retire.”

“We both should. I might apologize, but I won’t. Don’t worry, Octavia—in the morning, things will return to normal.” He reached for her hand, turning it over to kiss the palm, then the pulse beating in her wrist.

As she fled upstairs, she had the feeling nothing would ever be normal again.

The next morning, it took a moment to recall her surroundings. She touched her lips gingerly and smiled. Alastair’s kisses had been everything she imagined, and she already wanted more.

She was an early riser, but the sun was full in the sky. What time had they agreed to ride? Nine? Nine thirty? An enameled clock on the fireplace mantel said eight o’clock. She threw a shawl over her nightdress and peered into the hallway. Annie, the maid, was waiting by the stairs. She motioned her into the room.

“Has Lady Hope awakened yet?”

“No, miss.”

“Could you knock on her door and see if she’s stirring?” The girl returned a few moments later.

“She said to go away, miss.”

Octavia laughed. “Don’t worry, Annie, that is often her response in the morning. If you help me dress, I’ll go downstairs, and when Lady Hope is awake, please ask her to come to the stables.”

“The major is at breakfast now, miss.”

“Excellent.”

Forty-five minutes later, she walked down to the dining room, clad in a sage-green riding skirt and a jacket with tall boots. Freya wasn’t in her chamber when she woke, and Octavia discovered her lying at the head of the table beside Alastair. She looked up, wagging her tail, and he put his newspaper down near a plate bearing the remnants of breakfast. A glass of daffodils graced the table.

Suddenly shy, she slipped into the seat next to him and unfolded her napkin. “I slept late this morning.”

“Did you? I consider it quite early for a lady of the ton.” He smiled.

She rolled her eyes, and his lips twitched. “Isn’t that an accurate description?”