“I know who you are. I see who you are. You can’t pretend with me.”
Owen wanted to silence her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was rough, fierce, a bit punishing, but also hot and wet. He crushed her to him, and when her arms went up to thread around his neck, Owen groaned. That was all he needed. He swept her up, took two steps over to the giant oak tree hidden behind the hedge, and pressed her against it. He braced an arm behind her to keep the rough bark from her back, but no doubt it scratched her in a few places regardless. Apparently, she didn’t care. She clung to him and Owen deepened the kiss, lips and tongue clashing with hers. She tasted like strawberries. Just as he knew she would. He couldn’t get enough of her. His hands reached down to her hips, and he picked her up at the waist. Her legs wrapped around his outer thighs.
“Does it hurt?” he whispered, nodding toward the tree.
“I don’t care,” she moaned against his mouth.
She locked her ankles behind his hips and pulled him hard against her. His erection pressed against her most intimate spot. Despite the sweet ache in his groin and the unbearable lust riding him, Owen tried to force himself to pull away. Anyone could come around the hedge and see them then. She would be ruined. But all he could think of was Alex’s mouth on his, his hips levered against her, his tongue plunging in her mouth over and over, and his cock pressing against the juncture in her thighs, taunting her, teasing her. Making him want her even more.
When the kiss was over, he let her drop to the soft grass. He set her down softly and pulled her back away from the tree. “Are you all right?”
Alex pressed her fingertips to her burning lips. “Wh-why?”
His breathing was labored. “I—”
“Why,” she repeated, searching his face. “Tell me why you did that. I want to hear you say it.”
He closed his eyes and pushed his face toward the sky. “Would you believe me if I told you that I did it to teach you how to properly kiss a man?”
“No,” she breathed.
He opened his eyes again and stared into her soul. “Then I’ll tell you the truth.”
“Which is?” Her hand was shaking.
“I did it because I want you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Alex rushed back into the house and up the servants’ staircase the same way she’d come minutes earlier. Only this time she was completely changed. She’d sneaked outside to get a bit of air to clear her head. She’d had no idea she’d encounter Owen alone in the gardens and even less of an idea that he’d kiss her, of all things.
And good heavens—what a kiss it had been. More than a kiss. An entire assault to her senses. One she hadn’t wanted to end. She pressed her fingertips to her burning lips. If only she could keep her mouth untouched forever with the feel of Owen’s lips meeting hers, seared in her memory.
She inspected the back of her torn dressing robe and night rail in the looking glass as best she could. They weren’t ripped badly, but they were still ruined. She’d have the devil of a time explaining it to Hannah. She tugged off both garments and pulled a fresh night rail from her wardrobe. She crumpled up the ripped ones and stuffed them into the back of the cabinet. She’d ask Hannah to cut them into bits for the poorhouse tomorrow. There was no possible way her mother would see them and not ask questions.
She climbed under the covers and took a deep breath, trying to still the pounding of her heart. Owen Monroe was a conundrum. He didn’t believe in himself. He should, but he didn’t. He’d asked her if she respected him. Of course she did, but she’d wanted him to admit why it mattered to him what she thought. She’d wanted him to admit that he cared about her, cared for her. And he had. “I want you,” he’d said. He’d admitted it. He’d tasted like wine. He’d obviously been drinking, but she’d overheard her father say often enough that a sober man’s thoughts were a drunken man’s words. Had he been drunk when he kissed her? She was too inexperienced to tell for certain. But Owen did care for her. She was sure of that. And that’s what she’d wanted to hear. Only it didn’t matter, because he’d made it clear that he still intended to marry Lavinia.
Alex considered the kiss again. Their first kiss in Cass’s ballroom when she hadn’t stepped away, that had been pleasant, memorable even. But this one, this was the kind of kiss you remembered when you were a very old lady with a very poor memory. This kiss had been full of passion and longing and—when he’d pushed himself between her thighs! Oh yes, she’d be on her deathbed remembering that kiss.