Bronwyn Scott - Regency Surrender - Ruthless Rakes

Gianna turned in his grasp, a coy smile on her lips as she raised her eyes to his, her voice pitched husky and low. ‘Was I a worthy subject for your ruminations?’ Her hands rested on the lapels of his coat, against the strength of his chest.

His hands reached behind her neck, drawing the pins from her hair. She could feel the coiffure loosen, a few curls fall. His fingers combed through them, his touch brushing against her neck, sending a shiver of delight down her spine. She suddenly wanted his touch on her everywhere. ‘You were more than worthy.’

Those words had her making rapid justifications in her mind now. If she chose this course, there would be no going back, but Giovanni needed her even if he didn’t know it yet and she feared she would not be able to reach him alone. The greater good would be worth it. She would not be the first woman to use that most feminine of powers for gain.

Even as she bargained with herself, she knew the real fear was that Nolan would not be the only one swept away if she committed to this path. The race of her pulse when he touched her, when he looked at her, was indication enough that she could very well become caught in her own web. That had been her mother’s downfall—not that she was a courtesan. Gianna had never faulted her mother for that, only for falling in love or what passed for it.

Nolan’s voice was low for her alone. He gave a half-smile, his fingers tracing a lingering trail at her neck. ‘You inspire a man to wickedness, Gianna. Shall I show you?’

Around them, the church had emptied quickly. There was only the two of them and the light of the votive candles in the prayer racks. Her back hit the smooth wall beside the little flames. She hadn’t realised they’d moved. ‘I thought of taking down your hair and watching it fall through my fingers.’

The pins disappeared out of her hair with alarming swiftness, the length of it pooling in the hood of her cloak. Nolan’s hands were at her temples, smoothing away her hair, his eyes dropping to her mouth. ‘After your hair was loose, my hands tangled in its length, I would put my mouth on you.’ His lips hovered above hers, her body on fire at his words, her head tilted up to his, all of her eager for his touch.

‘Where, Nolan? Where would you put your mouth?’ She breathed the question in the merest of whispers.

‘Here.’ His mouth covered hers, and she opened for him, ready for him as she’d not been quite ready last night. There was no hesitancy tonight. Tonight, she was his partner, coaxing and encouraging him to give free rein to his fantasies. His tongue teased her mouth, running over lips, teeth, even her own tongue in slow, exploratory strokes. She leaned into him, into the kiss, answering his exploration with one of her own, and it stoked the fire in her higher.

‘And here.’ Nolan’s mouth moved to her throat, pressing a kiss to the pulse point that beat at the base. His hand reached beneath the folds of her cloak to push back the shoulders of her gown, his mouth finding her skin above the lace trim of her chemise, his lips skimming the hint of bare breast that rose above the lace. She arched against the wall, arched into him, her body begging, inviting more as his hand slipped beneath the fabric. This was torture, to have his touch, but not enough of it. His mouth, his hands, it was not nearly enough. She wanted to be naked beneath him, wanted him to strip away the garments that kept his mouth from devouring all of her.

His mouth returned to hers, leaving her breast to the warm competence of his hand and the wicked caress of his thumb over the peak of her nipple. She kissed him with abandon this time, her hands in his hair, her body pressing recklessly against his. But she was not the only reckless one, his body was hard against hers, his own heart beating strong and fast in rhythm with the madness. Somewhere in the distance, bells chimed.

Midnight! The thought registered vaguely in Nolan’s heated brain, but it was enough to sound the alarm. He’d been in Catholic Italy long enough to know what midnight meant. Nolan broke from her, his voice hoarse with need unfulfilled. ‘Right yourself, we must go. The monks will be here for matins soon.’

Nolan stepped back, giving her a chance to arrange her bodice. What had he been thinking? He’d nearly ravished her in a church! If it hadn’t been for the risk of monks discovering them in flagrante delicto , he would have. He raked a hand through his hair. His father would have had a fine time with that—Oliver Gray’s son tupping women in churches would be a sin beyond imagining, worse than anything Nolan had done to date in his father’s eyes.

He’d begun this interlude with a plan in mind: Let her see that she played a dangerous game. If she wanted to flirt with him, there would be consequences and he would show her what they were. He’d not expected it to go as far as it had. He’d expected to feel the reticence of last night when her hands had slid up his thighs, not entirely certain. He’d expected to feel the hesitation of her mouth when he’d kissed her. Instead, she’d answered him with her tongue, with her body, her hands, and it had left his plan in shreds.

She’d not been frightened off by his bold sensuality. She’d embraced it and it had ratcheted up his desire to the point that he would have taken her against the wall if not for the bells. And it shamed him. Tonight, she had bested him. She’d taken his game and turned it against him. He should have been more astute.

Nolan ushered her out of the church, his steps brisk, his hand at her back propelling her towards the pier, his words coming in terse businesslike sentences. ‘The gondolier will take you to the hotel. He will see to it that you’re safe. Go directly up to the room, just in case the count has bothered to discover where you are. If there is any emergency, you can go next door and ask for Brennan Carr, my travelling companion.’

They reached the edge of the pier before Gianna staged her rebellion. She crossed her arms and faced him. ‘Where might you be going to in such a hurry? You practically dragged me out of the church.’

‘For which you should be glad. If we had stayed we might have been discovered in a most indecent position. I told you earlier, I had a card game. I still have a card game.’

‘When will you be back?’ She was furious. ‘You are always leaving me.’

Nolan took a step closer to her, keeping their conversation private, his voice a growl. ‘Do you want me to stay? After what happened in the church, there can be no doubt about where our evening is headed if I do.’ Dammit all, he didn’t want to have to spell it out for her. ‘You tempt me to sin and yet I don’t think those are sins you are ready to commit.’ The knuckles of his hand grazed her cheek in a slow stroke. He watched her eyes meet his at the contact and then drift away. He had his confirmation. ‘I do not think you understand how powerful sex can be. Men have gone to war over it.’

She would be a sensual partner in bed, when she was ready, but not yet. He did not want to take her like a battle prize, something he’d conquered.

‘Let me know when you make up your mind.’ He wanted her to come to him, and then—oh, then the things he could show her. There was nothing more seductive than choice. In the meantime, if sex was what he wanted, he knew where to find it. Louisa von Haas would be more than accommodating. He took her hand and kissed the gloved knuckles. ‘Now you see why it is best that we part ways for the evening. Get in the gondola and go.’

* * *

She’d not seen the dismissal coming! What a fool she’d been to be taken so unaware. She’d thought they were making progress in the church—well, perhaps not ‘they’, but certainly she was in her attempt to draw him close.