Three Weeks With Lady X(33)

"It's not just that," she said, trying to explain in a way he would  understand. "My life-any lady's life-is made up of morning calls, and  musicales, and balls. I would be thrown out of society. No one would  receive me or send invitations. That's what it means to be ruined."

They reached the bottom of the hill. "The life you describe sounds  damned tedious. I can't picture you just going to balls and making  calls, India."

She smiled wryly. "I have trouble imagining it myself."

"Hell, I should ruin you just so you don't get caught in such a boring  life. It would be my good deed for the year." He pulled her around and  his mouth was on hers-not coaxing, as when they'd first kissed, but hot  and demanding. This time his mouth was a burning command, a direct order  that she relinquish all control.                       
       
           



       

India opened her mouth to him without hesitation, aware that her body  had been longing for his taste and his touch, aware that she instantly  started shaking, just a little. Aware that her arms wrapped around his  neck as if she were drowning and only he could save her.

When he pulled her even tighter, she cried out, the sound muffled by his  mouth. His leg pushed forward, between hers, and she ground against  him, electrified.

There was a rough groan and a curse, and Thorn snatched her up, took one  long stride, and released her. India shrieked and fell, landing not on  the hard ground but on a stretch of canvas suspended in midair.

"It's a hammock," he said, laughing down at her. "Haven't you ever been in a hammock?"

She looked up at the ropes that held the canvas above the ground. "No! We can't do this. I need to-"

Thorn lay down beside her in a practiced gesture that revealed he'd spent night after night in hammocks.

"Is this what mudlarks sleep in?" she whispered, hardly able to shape  the words because of the searing heat of his body settling against hers.

He shook his head, dusted her mouth with his. "We slept on the ground between graves, in the churchyard. Nice and quiet there."

"When were you in a hammock?"

"Aboard ship," he said. "I made one voyage with the East India Company."

She meant to ask something else, but his hand had cupped her head, just  enough to turn it to his mouth. And after she fell into the potency and  storm of his kiss, that hand moved. . . .

It trailed along her throat, a caress that seemed almost innocent. India  squirmed closer to him, her arms pulling him on top of her, parts of  her hungry in a way she'd never imagined.

But she couldn't think about it, because their kiss was wet and hot, and  so fierce that her head tilted back and the hammock enveloped them and  pushed their bodies together, as close as the satyr and his lover.

Thorn's hand drifted below her neck, and a sound broke from India's  throat as his touch rounded the curve of her breast. She tore her mouth  from his, an involuntary cry floating into the air.

He muttered a curse and his mouth covered hers, just as his thumb rubbed  across her nipple, sending a streak of golden fire through her. India's  cry was swallowed by his kiss. Not that she consciously realized it,  because she could only think about his hard, warm body pushing against  hers as she arched shamelessly toward him.

When Thorn gave her breast another rough caress, India's heart stopped  beating for a moment. When it started again, it was racing. She bent one  of her knees and pushed it between his thighs, and this time the groan  was his.

"I want . . ." she whispered, breaking off. But the raw words came from her throat, willy-nilly. "You and I."

He was tugging gently at her bodice, which gave way instantly. He  lowered his head again and kissed her collarbone. India felt a shiver  rock her entire being as she waited for his lips to drift lower.

"You and me," she corrected herself, letting her fingers slide through  his hair, thick and soft and far too long for a gentleman. She loved  that he wasn't a gentleman. No gentleman would topple her into an  open-air ship-bed, kissing her so intimately where anyone might see  them.

Her fingers trailed down his neck, drifting out to caress his shoulders.  Thorn let out a husky groan at her touch. The only other sounds were  the sleepy grumble of the river and the songs of nesting birds.

No one would know. No one would hear. She tried to pull his head down to  kiss him again, but he pushed up on one arm, steady in the hammock even  as it rocked.

"There is no you and me," he stated.

"There's you and me in this hammock," she returned. And she moved her  leg to touch that hot, vital part of him. At her touch, she saw darkness  in his eyes, like the madness in her blood. "Please, Thorn. Please."

He leaned closer and said against her lips, "What are you asking for, India?"

The hammock was swaying, and with it, his body against hers. The muscles  in his shoulder rolled under her fingertips, the fine linen of his  shirt sliding over his skin.

His lips opened against hers, and again his hand rounded her breast and  put delicious pressure on her nipple. India clung to him, her belly  strangely hot, her legs trembling.

She liked the feeling.

Very much.

When Thorn raised his head again, she saw a flare of wildness in his eyes.

"I want all of it," she said, and gasped, because his fingers were  skimming her side, the intimacy of that touch undeniable. "You and me."  She blinked. "I mean, you and I."

Thorn had pulled aside her bodice again, his mouth descending to her  breast. She arched her back and moaned. "I need. . . . Oh Thorn, I need .  . ."                       
       
           



       

He moved to the other breast, and she lost control of whatever it was  she had meant to say. One of his hands was sweeping up one of her legs,  leaving raw hunger in its wake. The fever swept over her again: she  wanted his taste, his smell, his consuming, ravishing kiss.

A foggy thought occurred to her: if she was going to play the trollop,  she might as well do that. She let her leg fall open, inviting his  caress.

Thorn's teeth grazed her nipple and at the same moment his fingers  curved inward. She was writhing against him, words flowing out of her  mouth, an endless stream of pleas that would have embarrassed her except  . . .

They didn't.

It felt right. Like a natural thing, like the right thing. "I know  you're a gentleman under the skin, for all you say to the contrary." The  words caught in her throat. "But I'm asking you, Thorn. I'm-"

"What are you asking me for?"

He was looking down at her seriously, as if one hand wasn't resting on  the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her body was frozen, waiting for those  fingers to inch higher.

"A gentleman would stop now," she said, daring him.

His fingers drifted another inch, stopped again. The feeling raged through her, and she trembled from head to foot.

"A man who didn't care about society would continue, because the woman in his arms was-was agreeable," she whispered.

A dusky chuckle drifted into the air. " ‘Agreeable'?"

His fingers drifted again, and the air whooshed from her lungs.  "Please," she said, her voice a thread of sound. She hated whispering.  She just couldn't seem to find the breath to make a forceful demand.

"Be sure of what you ask for," Thorn said, his voice dark. "If you  continue to beg me, India, I will seduce you, and I won't be sorry. But I  won't marry you simply because my cock has been inside you."

India's heart quickened at his words, although she should have been  outraged that anyone would say such a vulgar thing to her. But she  wasn't outraged. She was exhilarated.

"I do not want to marry you," she said, being as clear as she could. She  had managed to tug his shirt free, and the warm, sleek skin of his back  was under her fingers. "I don't even like you very much."

"I like you," he muttered against her lips. "But I have as good as committed myself to marry another."

India was tired of talking about marriage, or indeed of talking at all.  She wiggled down, which made the hammock sway, just enough so that her  face was under his. "I want to do all the things in that book."

His mouth quirked, even though his eyes were hungry. "All of them?"

She thought about it for a second, and nodded. "Except the one with two women. I'm not interested in that."

"Damn," he muttered, but she saw laughter in his eyes.

"You taught me how to kiss, and that didn't make me want to marry you.  Now you can teach me this," she said, feeling as if she were about to  jump out of her skin. "If you won't, just tell me, because-"

The fierce look he gave her made the words catch in her throat. "Because what?"