Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

“Charlie,” she whispered, her head fallen back, her gaze filled with the bowl of Highland sky and nothing else.

She wilted onto him, his hand buffering her spine against the hard edge of the stair behind them.

When she blinked again, she opened her eyes to a whole new world. And Charlie’s satisfied smile.

“Oh,” she said.

He gave a short laugh. “Really?”

She let out a long breath. “That was more than I ever imagined.”

He stared at her seriously then. “I’m glad.”

A bee went buzzing by, and they both watched it go.

“But what about you?” she asked, caressing Charlie’s shoulder. He sat next to her on the steps and pulled her onto his lap. “I want you to achieve such a blissful state, too. It hardly seems fair that only I do.”

They were nose to nose. His legs were hard, his belly was hard, and he gripped her hard, but in his arms she felt like a fragile china teacup, the most exquisite one in a person’s possession … or a petal-soft flower much adored.

“Believe me, I can,” he said with a grin. “On my own. Although it’s not nearly as much fun alone.”

“Let me,” she said, and pressed herself into him so she could feel the hard length of him through his breeches.

He pressed back, like a lion preening. “I want you to. More than anything. But today’s about you.”

“Why?”

He squeezed her close. “Because everyone needs to have a day about them, other than their birthday. Didn’t you know that?”

“No. When’s your special day?”

“I think it falls in April sometime.”

“I think you’re making this up.” He had the most beautiful eyes, brown with golden glints, especially when he was being playful.

“I’m not.” He touched her nose with a finger. “Your day is today. In fact, some people get more than one day. Some people get every day.”

“Every day?”

“Every day. And since you have me here, you’re one of those lucky people. Every day we can do … whatever you like.”

“No.” She was utterly shocked and delighted at his fancy. “I realize you’re still making this up, but wouldn’t it be nice if it could be true?”

“It can be.” He said it as if he felt sorry for her for not believing him.

She grew serious. “I think you’re amusing. And this … this has been incredible. But in real life, people can’t do whatever they want when they want.”

Charlie bit his lip. “You’re right, I suppose. But who gets to make the rules?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He gave her a slow, languorous kiss. “When it comes to you and me, we make the rules. Let’s establish that right now.”

Daisy nodded. “I like that.”

“You’ll like what I’m about to do, too,” he whispered in her ear.

“Charlie—”

“And don’t stop me,” he said. “Remember, today’s your day.”

She felt a great thrill of anticipation and nerves, but his kisses, even as they aroused her, calmed her in a way nothing ever had. Feeling spoiled, she barely noticed that somehow he’d managed to deftly maneuver himself around her so that she was sitting back on the steps. He knelt two steps below, his broad chest between her legs. In fact, she was forced to spread them to accommodate his hard, lean body.

Next thing she knew, he was raising her gown: first, above her ankles. Then her shins, knees, thighs, and gracious goodness, above her waist! And he was removing her drawers, shimmying them off her—one moment they were there, and then they were gone—and gently pushing her knees even farther outward.

She had no time to be shy about basking in the sun with her legs spread wide on the Stone Steps. How could she when she was forced to endure the exquisite pleasure of his warm mouth upon her inner thighs, while she admired the curve of his back, the top of his curly head, and the large muscles bunched at his shoulders?

And then she was fully immersed in the sweetest pleasure she could ever imagine. Charlie’s mouth nuzzled her womanly core, gently at first, but her moans drove him to licking and sucking and loving her with great abandon.

She’d never felt so wanton, so beautiful, so in touch with life as she did at the moment she cried his name over and over, his fingers and his mouth sheer poetry upon her as she alternated between grinding her rear end into the warm stone and arching upward, hoping to get closer and closer to him—

Her viscount.

Charlie woke the next morning from a fitful slumber, and it wasn’t only the poor sleeping accommodations and the extraordinary light that had kept him awake. Images of Daisy naked and inviting his caresses at the Stone Steps pervaded every aspect of his dreams. And as warmly sensual as those imaginings had been, he’d awakened with an uneasy feeling.

Of course, in the true light of day, he knew why. He didn’t like to admit it, but he was walking a risky road with Daisy. A dalliance in London was one thing, with a knowing widow or a kept mistress … but Daisy wasn’t made for dalliances.

And he wasn’t made for marriage.

Looking up at the crude beams above his head, he vowed to keep his distance from her, as difficult as it would be. First chance he got, he’d tell her there were to be no more kisses of such an intimate nature, as much as he craved holding her in his arms again and lavishing her with kisses from head to toe.

As much as he longed to make every day for her a special day.

“Lord Lumley!” The hiss came from the ground outside the byre, from the other side of the rotting shutters.

He peered through a crack in them.

Daisy stood below, bright-eyed and apparently well rested. Dreams of him obviously hadn’t kept her tossing and turning all night.

She wore the plainest gown he’d ever seen, and her hair was once more tightly bound. Even so, when he pushed the shutters open, he couldn’t help thinking how feminine she always was, especially in the throes of passion.

“You’re up awfully early,” he managed to say, trying to ignore his desire for her.

She put a hand to her eyes and squinted up at him. “I had to come see you. Before all the visitors arrive at the Keep and we don’t have a chance to speak.”

“Hold on a moment, and I’ll be right out.”

“No,” she said, and sounded rather embarrassed. “Please don’t bother.”

“But there’s something I need to talk to you about—” He was already standing and tucking his shirt into his breeches.

“Very well.” She sounded a trifle uneasy. “But first, I have to tell you I’ve had a chance to think over what happened yesterday, and as memorable as it was, we can’t do it again. I’ve too much at stake here with winning the castle back. I can’t afford to be distracted. And—and you’re a man of a certain ilk. We both know what that means.”

“ Ilk again? Are we always going to come back to that?”

She shrugged in pixieish fashion. “You told me yourself you’re an Impossible Bachelor, wise in the ways of the world. So let me speak frankly. You helped satisfy my curiosity about certain things, and it was very nice. Thank you, but now it’s over. We’ll continue our ruse of being engaged, but it certainly won’t displease my stepmother to see us apart.”

He ceased in his dressing. “You used me yesterday afternoon?” he called out to her.

“I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t help it. You looked very … appealing, having just come from shinty. And the way you held the bag of shinty sticks, I could see all your muscles to perfection.”

“Wait a minute. Are you describing me the same way I’d describe a horse I admire?”