Passion for the Game (Georgian #2)

Passion for the Game (Georgian #2) Page 9

Maria bent over, hands on her knees, breathing hard. Her eyes squeezed shut as she col ected herself. Every part of her body hummed with sensual energy, a vibrating coil of longing and loneliness that urged her to cast aside her pride and go after him. There were a multitude of reasons why she wanted him, not the least of which was Welton’s edict, but she also knew that sometimes denying a man what he wanted was more effective than giving it to him outright.

Blowing out her breath, she climbed the trel is and jumped to the balcony as quietly as possible. She began to disrobe, her thoughts leaping from why she should not accept St. John to why she should. A knock came to the door and she tensed until she realized it did not originate from the gallery.

She call ed out, and her abigail entered with her customary efficiency, col ecting the discarded garments. Dayton had engaged the maid’s services, and Sarah had proven to be the soul of discretion, dealing with bloodstains as well as she dealt with wine stains.

“We leave for Dover in the morning,” Maria said, her thoughts turning to the journey ahead. Though St. John had told her little, she understood the message.

Sarah nodded, accustomed to hasty departures. She assisted Maria with the donning of her night rail, then she departed.

Moving toward the bed, Maria paused, staring at the turned-down sheets. In her mind’s eye, she pictured Simon as he would be at this moment—laughing, rol ing about a bed in all his glorious nakedness, easily obtaining all the information he desired without his partner suspecting his perfidy.

She sighed, envying him that closeness. Though it was only physical, it was more than she’d had in over a year. The search for Amelia competed with the need to be available for Welton, leaving her no time to see to her own needs.

Welton. Damn him. He wished for her to do as Simon was doing, growing close to St. John, earning his trust, discovering his secrets. She had no notion how long she would be in Dover. No more than a sennight or Welton would grow suspicious. But with a man like St. John, a week apart might be too long. He might very well find his fancy caught by some other female, and she would have to wait for that to run its course. Even then, she knew from her own experience that once interest was lost, it was rarely regained. Somehow, she had to take him from raging desire to true bewitchment, and she had only hours in which to do it.

Assuring herself that it was only necessity that forced her hand, Maria opened the hal door, looked both ways, and moved stealthily down the gallery until she reached the suite of rooms she had previously ascertained were being used by St. John. She paused there on the threshold, dressed scandalously in only her gossamer-sheer night rail, her hand lifted to knock but arrested in the air. That damned sense of walking into a lion’s lair was back.

Suddenly the door swung open and she found herself confronted by a completely, wonderful y, sinful y nude pirate of infamy. Golden skin and hair were seductively backlit by candlelight, bringing the hard lengths of beautiful y delineated muscle into splendid relief. He fil ed the doorway with his size and strength; he fil ed her senses with awe and pulsing desire.

He scowled. “I will fuck you in the hal , if you wish, but you will be more comfortable in my bed.”

Maria blinked, her gaze dropping and finding even more to covet. She struggled to find something witty to say, but her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She wanted him, all of him, everything she could see and the backside as Well.

Christopher raked her from head to toe in a similarly thorough perusal. His gaze heated, became dark, and a low rumble that sounded deliciously like a purr rose up from his powerful chest.

Before she could find her wits, he caught her hand stil held in midair and yanked her in.

Chapter 5

“A re you daft?” Christopher slammed the door closed, then glared down at the brazen temptress before him and bit out, “You cannot wander about dressed in that manner!”

The filmy feminine concoction presently touching the curves he desired was alarmingly transparent, revealing every bit of Maria’s abundant charms —long, lithe legs, ful hips, trim waist, and ripe, lush breasts. The shadowed juncture between her thighs and the dark circles of her areolas were plain as day.

His jaw clenched until his teeth ground audibly. In the candlelight, her olive skin shone like silk and he would wager it was of similar softness. To think of her traversing the gal ery where any of the many bedroom-hopping guests could have stumbled across her…

She gave an elegant shrug. “You should not open doors naked.”

“I am in my rooms.”

“I am in your rooms also,” she replied evenly.

“You were not a moment ago!”

“Are you going to hold my past against me? If so, I have far worse offenses.”

“Bloody hel , that was only a minute past!”

“Yes, and only a minute past you were standing naked in the hal .”

She arched a brow, her deportment every inch the Wintry Widow. He might have believed the façade if not for her eyes and bared body, both of which exuded sensual heat. Besides, she was here, ready for sex.

“I personal y think your offense is greater,” she continued. “I, at least, have a garment on.”

Christopher growled. Catching her shoulders, he tugged her close and heard a rip. The sound only goaded his anger. Whatever she was wearing, it offered less protection from a man’s hands than it did from his eyes. “This is not a garment! This is a temptation, and what you are tempting with belongs to me.”

Her mouth fel open. “Beast! Tearing my clothes and handling me in this manner.”

She stepped back, shrugged off his hands, and slapped him. Across the face.

The action so startled him, Christopher could scarcely process it. No one dared to assault him. Even those who had a wish for death chose to find it in a more peaceful manner than by provoking him—

He faltered, unsure of how he felt about her actions. The near-painful throbbing of his cock answered that question, and before his mouth could ruin it for him again, he lunged after her retreating form with such force they both tumbled to the ground. It was only by the grace of God that he managed to jerk himself to the side before crushing her.

“What are you—”

“Oompf!” The impact of hitting the floor with only the rug to soften the blow jarred every bone in his body.

“By God!” Maria cried shril y, turning her head to gaze at him with wide eyes. “You, sir, are certifiable!”

Her prone body wiggled delightful y beneath the arm and leg he pinned her with. She was as soft and lush as he had imagined she would be. She also smel ed delightful, that sweet smel of things both fruity and floral that teased with its promise of innocence, a promise her appearance could never deliver upon.

Part of him knew that he should say something, apologize for her torn gown or some such platitude that would soothe her, but damned if he could do more than grunt and try to push up her hem with his knee.

When her elbow connected with one of his ribs, a low, warning rumble rose up from his chest. It was a sound that struck terror in most. In Maria, it inspired rage.

“Do not growl at me!” she snapped, struggling with such strength he doubted his ability to restrain her without hurting her.

It was then he gave up his attempt to be gentle, knowing it was hopeless, understanding that he had regressed to some primitive frame of thought that cared only about how desperately aroused she made him.

Catching both of her wrists in one of his hands, Christopher slid over her, then forced her legs apart by settling between them.

Maria paused for a moment, col ecting his intent. Then she fought him as he had urged her to do earlier—like a feral cat. She struggled, attempting to crawl across the English rug to the sitting room door but not budging an inch. “Oh no! You will not have me!”

He snorted, then tore her night rail in his impatience to bare the beautiful y rounded curve of her derrière. This time he managed a sound that resembled something vaguely apologetic.

She was not impressed. “I would sooner share the bed of Lord Farsham than I would yours.”

That comment earned her a slap to the ass, which made her yelp. Farsham had two score years, at least, and was said to be impotent, neither fact mitigating Christopher’s rising agitation at the thought of any other man seeing her thusly.

In retaliation, Maria sank sharp teeth into his forearm with vicious fervor. He roared in pain and felt a trickle of moisture slide down the crown of his cock. He thrust his hand between her legs and found her cunt slick, hot, and ready. Studying her features, he noted her state of arousal reflected in her passion-dazed eyes and the flush of her skin.

Thank God. He was nigh undone, his seed leaking in its eagerness to flood her with his lust.

Maria stil ed for a moment, her gasp the only sound in the room, his own breath trapped in his lungs at the feel of her beneath his touch. He stroked through the lips of her sex with trembling fingers and closed his eyes. Without forethought, his head dipped, his lips pressing against the curve of her shoulder.

His hand moved, leaving her, aiming his aching erection at her creamy opening.

“Maria.” Final y. A word. Squeezed out of his clenched throat by the fisted grip of her cunt around the flared head of his cock.

She whimpered and arched her hips upward as much as his weight would all ow her, altering the angle with which he pressed into her. He slipped a fraction deeper.

Christopher’s breath hissed out between his teeth. Christ, she was fevered inside, hot as hel , and so exquisitely tight…

“How long?” he bit out.

She threw her hips at him impatiently.

He nipped her earlobe with his teeth. “How long?”

“A year,” she said, her voice low and breathless. “But continue with this pace and it may be two. Did you forget how to have sex when you forgot your manners?”

“Maddening. Contrary. Vexing wench.” He punctuated each word with a thrust of his hips, working his way into her, forcing her thighs wider with his own.

“That. Is. My lady. To you,” she retorted with gusting breaths.