Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(65)

She flinched at the word but stood her ground bravely.

He narrowed his eyes viciously. How dare she stand there like a martyr when he ached—literally ached—for her? He snapped his fingers as if remembering something. “But you can’t chide me for seduction when you’ve fallen victim to my lewd advances yourself, can you? Not so saintly now, are you?”

Her eyes widened, and he thought he saw a shimmer that might’ve been tears. He wouldn’t give ground now. Not when he might finally drive her out of his house, out of his life, and out from under his skin.

Griffin bent and murmured in her ear, “But perhaps that’s what you really came here to discuss—seduction. Perhaps all that stuff about gin making was merely an excuse you seized upon to come see me. Perhaps you want me to kiss more than your sweet breasts this time.”


HE’D TAUNTED HER, baited her, argued with her, and made her feel far more than she should. And now he loomed over her, clearly trying to scare her away.

But she wasn’t frightened.

Lord Reading’s warm breath washed over her bare neck, scented with brandy, and his wicked words sparked something deep within her. It might be—definitely should be—shame, but she very much feared it was something else entirely.

“Is that what you want?” he purred. “My hand on your belly? Stroking down until my fingers tangle in your maidenhair? I’d wager it’s as soft as a kitten’s fur, your hair down there.”

She drew in a shuddering breath, pressing one hand to her stomach. He shouldn’t say these things. She should make him stop. She should leave. Except… except she wanted with all her heart to stay. To meet him on equal ground—just this once.

To be a woman to his man.

He didn’t touch her, simply stood over her too close and whispering those shameful, shocking, seductive words. “But what’s below is even softer, isn’t it? Your sweet petals, all wet and silky, blooming open for me. I’d find your secret bud hidden in among them, and I’d circle it just so. Never hard enough to hurt you—oh, no, I’d not hurt you—but not so soft that you couldn’t feel it. For I want you to feel it, Hero. I want you to feel me.”

She moaned, and she couldn’t help it—didn’t want to help it anymore. She turned her head toward him. His face was inches from hers. His eyes were a pale, implacable green, arrogant and sinful. If that was all she saw in his gaze, she would’ve walked from the room.

It was the hint of vulnerability that made her stay.

Her gaze dropped to his lips. They were curled in a sneer, but the lower one was still wet from the brandy. The sight sent a rush of warmth low in her belly. “Griffin.”

He groaned and muttered something vile under his breath. Then she was caught in his arms, not gently at all, and his mouth was on hers, wild and needy.

“Hero,” he muttered as his lips feasted on hers. “Hero.”

He’d seemed to have let slip some essential control. His movements were jerky and ungraceful, starkly primitive in their intent. He knocked her hat to the floor. His mouth bit along her jaw and down her neck as he grappled with her wrap, tearing it from her arms. He swore and lifted his head, staring down as he got her bodice off and began rapidly unlacing her stays.

She should be horrified. Frightened and appalled, but instead his savagery seemed to feed some need within herself. Her hands were helping his; she was stripping the clothing from her limbs as fast as he. The room was hot, her breath was coming in gasps, and the scent of brandy and need filled her nostrils, making her feel faint.

Her skirts suddenly dropped, and then she stood in only her chemise, stockings, and shoes.

He blinked, his eyelids dropping to half-mast as his movements suddenly stilled. For an awful moment, she feared he might come to his senses and stop.

Instead he slowly moved his hand to the chemise’s edge at her shoulder. He fingered the fine material gently, his gaze locking with hers. Then, his green eyes holding hers, he twisted his fingers in the fabric and pulled sharply downward. A seam ripped, something gave way, and he tore the fragile fabric from her body.

She gasped, shocked, standing there nude before him. She’d never revealed herself to a man. She was aware of her nipples, pointed and red in the chill air of the room, and the knobbiness of her knees. Except—dear Lord!—he wasn’t looking at her knees. Her chest heaved and his eyes rose to her breasts. His mouth twisted in a smile. Before she’d even completed the thought, his hands flashed out to shackle her wrists.

“No.” He shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving her body. “Let me look. Let me feast.”