“Wasinvolved with. Aren’t you paying attention? I want you to understand I’ve no interest in Katherine. I’ve involved myself with no woman since returning to Somerton from London. Aren’t you curious why not?”
“It’s none of my affair,” she repeated stupidly.
He shifted, positioning himself beside her. His hand slid under her buttocks, brushing aside her skirts to pull her firmly against the hard length of him. “Is it not?” The words melted against her skin like molten chocolate.
“Not in the least.” Petra molded herself against him, seeking his warmth. She was suddenly ridiculously happy.
“Brendan.I have wanted to hear you say it.” He growled. “Please do so.”
“Brendan.” Petra was entranced by the rough emotion emanating from him. She sensed fear and restraint, tempered with longing—for her. The tips of her fingers traced the dusting of hair on his jaw until she found his lips.
He nipped the edge of her finger. “Dangerous, Perfect Petra,” he said in a low tone. “So dangerous.” Nuzzling the side of her neck, she felt a sharp pain as he nipped the skin beneath her ear.
“I disagree.” She turned until their lips were only a hairs-breath apart. Layers of clothing separated them yet Petra could feel his heat seep through the fabric of her gown. The hard length of him pulsed against her thigh. The deep ache which had begun in her heart the moment he touched her now pumped furiously through the rest of her body.
His mouth covered hers in a sensual kiss.
Petra fell back, sinking into the cushions. Deep and slow, his mouth moved over hers, speaking of longing and want. All will to move, to stop this madness, fled. It was impossible to think of anything else with Brendan’s fingers moving in a lazy manner beneath her skirts and his mouth slanted over hers. Petra’s hands slid from his face to clutch at the fabric of his coat, bringing him closer.
A deep growl vibrated in his chest.
Brendan surrounded her. Filled her. She could think of nothing but giving herself to him. She longed to be naked before him, a thought which should make her blush with embarrassment. Her body, small and delicate, brushed against the hard planes of his chest, igniting a slow insistent ache between her thighs. Petra arched her back, pushing her hips closer as the scent of the moors permeated her nostrils.
Brendan’s tongue traced the outline of her bottom lip, coaxing her mouth to open. She did so without hesitation, twining her own tongue around his. His mouth became rougher, more demanding and she answered in kind, writhing beneath him.
Brendan broke away, his breathing ragged. “Christ.What did I tell you about self-preservation?” His palm cupped her knee.
“That I’ve none. At least, not with you.” She was rather shocked to find her legs had fallen apart, open in invitation to him.
“Petra, where is your sense of propriety?” The tip of one blunt finger traced the lace decorating the neckline of her dress. The finger paused briefly, dipping below the lace to find the tight bud of her nipple.
Petra inhaled sharply.Oh, this felt divine.
“I adore this gown.” His finger brushed back and forth sending jolts of sensation down through her belly. “The color is blessedly not pastel, and the neckline displays your lovely bosom. Though I didn’t care to have other gentlemen looking.”
“You weren’t in the ballroom. And I’m sure no one was admiring mylackof bosom.”
“Iwasthere, watching you. I’ve spent the last hour imagining the color of your nipples.”
Wetness slid between her thighs at the bluntness of his words. Petra’s breathing had roughened as he tortured her poor nipple, and she bit her lip to stop from crying out. “My breasts are quite small. Not much to see.”
“I would have to disagree with you. They are perfect.” His finger circled the hardened peak of her nipple and pinched. “You are perfect.”
A low seductive moan left her lips, and her hips rocked forward. She’d not known she could make such a sound nor behave in such a manner. “I don’t wish to be perfect. I find it to be vastly overrated.”
He cupped the underside of her breast, pushing the flesh upward and the edge of her bodice down. When her breast popped free, Brendan’s mouth encircled her nipple, rotating the tiny peak between his teeth and sucking gently.
Petra stretched, one foot dangling off the edge of the couch, begging without words for him to touch her. The skirts of her gown and petticoats were rucked up around her waist. His tongue circled her nipple and more wetness seeped between her legs. His hand stayed on her knee and boldly, Petra covered his fingers with her own, urging him upward.
His mouth broke free of her breast, and he pushed his forehead to hers, even as his fingers found the slit of her drawers.
“Jesus, Petra, tell me to stop. Aren’t you afraid?” His hand toyed with the opening of her drawers, making her nerves pop with anticipation.
“No,” she whispered, gasping at the feel of his hand against her mound, the large fingers brushing through the soft down. “I am never afraid of you.”
“You bloody well should be.” He kissed her again, hard and wanting, before his mouth trailed down her chest. “I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.” She heard him say against her skin, so low she struggled to make out the words.
A large finger stroked against the damp flesh between her legs.
