Nicola Cornick - Notorious

“I don’t like you,” he agreed. “What is that to the purpose?”

“You would make love to a woman you don’t like simply to demonstrate to her what she has been missing?”

“I could do that, certainly,” Dev said. “But that is not how it would be with you, Susanna. I would make love to you because I want you and you would respond to me for the same reason.”

He saw the ripple of disquiet shiver along Susanna’s skin. She wanted to refute his words but something held her silent. Dev took her hand, peeling the silk glove from her fingers, tugging so that it came away and left her skin bare. Her hand lay in his now, gentle, warm and soft, all the things that Susanna was not. Dev brushed his lips against her fingers. He wanted to make her tremble. He wanted to prove to her that she was not indifferent to him, prove it so that she could never deny it again. He turned her hand over and pressed his lips to the pulse at her wrist. It was racing, yet her face was expressionless and her hand in his was quite still.

“You seem agitated,” he murmured against her palm.

“Not at all.” Her voice was cool. “I am merely curious to see how far you would take this charade.”

Dev licked her palm with one sly stroke of the tongue. Her skin was smooth; she tasted delicious, salt and sweet together, a taste that kicked his awareness of her up another notch.

“I’d take it much further than this,” he said. He released her and felt the frisson of relief that shook her. “I was only kissing your hand,” he said gently. “Did you like it?”

“No, I did not.” Her tone was firm but Dev had felt the tremor that coursed through her.

“Yet you are shaking,” he said.

He leaned across to touch the fall of ebony ringlets at her throat. Instantly her hair curled confidingly about his fingers, entrapping him in a sensual mesh. It felt more slippery than silk; the faintest scent of honey rose from the dark strands, teasing his nostrils, wrapping about his senses.

Beneath the tumble of curls, his knuckles grazed her throat, gentle against softer skin. Her breath caught, a tiny sound but enough to betray her. He traced the vulnerable hollow of her collarbone, then his fingers dropped lower to the rich lace that edged the neckline of her gown. He followed it down. The filigree lace was whiter than the creamy skin beneath, both framing and concealing the swell of her breasts, designed to incite carnal need whilst appearing irreproachably innocent.

A sudden fierce urge seized him to tear that lace aside and slide his hand beneath the silk of her gown, to cup her breast and feel the nipple harden against his palm. The game that had started as challenge and provocation had suddenly changed. Now he, for all his experience, was the one feeling as primed and lust-ridden as a youth and she looked as cool as spring water, only the flutter of her pulse and the shimmer of heat in her eyes betraying her desire.

He slid his index finger down to the valley between her breasts and felt her shiver under his touch. They were very close now. He could hear her quickened breathing and see the color that ran up under her skin, heating it from the inside out, stinging her pallor with arousal. Her lips were slightly parted and she bit down on her full lower lip and his body clenched. He knew nothing other than that he had to kiss her—he had to kiss her now—but he retained enough shreds of sanity to know that despite her apparent quiescence if he tried she would probably stab him with a hairpin.

He was not going to take that risk. Quick as a flash he wrapped the cord of her reticule about her wrists, binding them together. She gave a little gasp of shock but he held the thread tight, forcing her hands down and in her lap.

“I’m tying you up so you can’t hurt me,” he said. He scarcely recognized his voice, rough and hoarse with need.

She might bite him, of course, but he might enjoy that. That was a risk he was prepared to take.

He saw her eyes flash with fury but beneath the anger he also saw a reluctant fascination that made the hunger roar through him.

“You’re a brigand,” Susanna said. Her voice was not quite steady.

“A pirate,” Dev said. “You know it.” He tugged on the cord of the reticule. The movement jerked Susanna’s wrists and brought her closer to him. He bent his head and took her mouth with his.

Her lips were very lush and they trembled beneath his like a debutante receiving her first kiss. It felt unpracticed, uncertain, as though she had not kissed anyone for a very long time. Dev hesitated, completely thrown by her response. He had not for a moment supposed that she was an innocent. Her history contradicted it; she had denied it in her own words, and yet her lack of finesse spoke for itself. There was no pretence between them, either. It was as though the moment he had kissed her all the barriers between them had dissolved and there was no anger and no resentment left, nothing but longing and sweet, aching need. For a moment Dev felt swamped by dangerous emotion and then Susanna opened her lips beneath his and she tasted so shockingly familiar, so enticing, that his senses spun. He forgot everything, releasing the cord about her wrist so that he could draw her into his arms and kiss her with hunger and passion and an ever-deepening tenderness.

His tongue tangled with hers, coaxing it into a potently carnal dance. Desire leaped to greater desire within him like a fierce flame. Soon, he knew, he would be lost to everything other than the need to make love to Susanna here and now in a flea-infested hackney carriage in broad daylight on the streets of London. He struggled to remember that he could not yield to this seduction. He was supposed to be proving something to Susanna, not losing himself in her. Yet it seemed he could not resist. He did not want to need her but he could not help himself.

He brushed aside the ebony curls with fingers that shook, and pressed his lips to her throat. Her skin was cool beneath his touch and Dev felt like a starving man offered manna in the desert. His self-control hung by a thread. He slid the gown down a little and nipped at the curve of Susanna’s shoulder, biting softly, tasting her. The scent of honey was on her skin, faint and sweet. Dev had never eaten honey in his life but he wanted to eat it now. He wanted to lick her all over. He felt almost light-headed with the craving.

The bodice of Susanna’s gown rustled softly as it slipped another inch lower. Dev felt the filigree lace rough against his lips and Susanna’s breast soft beneath it, inciting him to rip the material away so that he could take her in his mouth. He groaned.

Susanna put one hand against his chest and pushed him away. Dev was so surprised that he let her go.

“Have you finished trying to make a point yet, Sir James?” She sounded slightly bored.

It took Dev a moment to cut through the clamor of his body and to focus. When he did, it was to see that Susanna was adjusting that provocative lace and was patting her hair back into place beneath the saucy bonnet, which had been knocked askew in their embrace. Her face was perfectly blank, pale, composed, the indifferent mask of a lady of fashion.

Shock and disbelief raked through Devlin that he should feel such an intensity of desire and, more disturbingly, such a treacherous sense of affinity with her when to Susanna it seemed it had been nothing but a dare.

“You were pretending?” he said.

Her green eyes were expressionless. If anything, she looked slightly puzzled. “Of course I was,” she said. “Weren’t you?”

“I …” There was an odd emptiness beneath Devlin’s heart. “That innocent response,” he said. His throat felt dry. “It was feigned?”

She smiled. It was a smile that made him feel a naive fool. “Men seem to like it,” she murmured.