The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

Honor forgot about everything else—she saw, she felt, she thought, of only George. Sparks of desire flared through her as she pressed against his body, riding on a crashing wave of affection and love for him, a need to make him happy, to please him. It seemed as if the sensuality washed over them both, forming a curtain between the world and her and this man.

George eagerly explored her body with his hands and his mouth, sliding over warm skin, pressing and kneading her to a peak of pleasure. He sank his fingers into her hair, pulled a tress free and brushed it against his face. He put his mouth on the hollow of her throat and sighed against the wild beat of her pulse. Honor’s heart galloped, heedless of its direction or speed.

George clawed at his trousers, lifting up, sliding them down his powerful hips and thighs, his cock standing erect and eager. He lifted her again, then guided her to slide down onto it.

White-hot sensation slammed at her ribs and her groin. Honor closed her eyes and bowed over his head as George began to move in her, pressing up and sliding down, making her pant with anticipation of her release.

He cupped her face, pressed his forehead to hers. “You cannot imagine the power you hold over me, woman.”

She pushed a lock of hair from his brow, kissed his temple. “I love you,” she said.

“No,” he said, sliding deeper into her, filling her up, shifting her about to slide even deeper.

“I love you,” she said stubbornly. He growled against her skin, dipped a hand between them, stroking her to madness. Honor matched the rhythm of his body in hers, eagerly meeting each thrust of his flesh into her. She encircled his neck with her arms, teased his lips and tongue with hers. Her craving for him was building, filling her up, reaching for more and pushing her over the edge of reason and decorum. She rode him, wanting to feel it all, to experience the fall from as high a point as she could reach.

His fingers swirled around the core of her pleasure, sliding deep inside her, moving faster. He grabbed her chin with his hand. “Open your eyes.” She did as he asked, looking into his eyes the very moment he pushed hard into her, and she fell from the mountain, tumbling down, head over heels.

She went limp, but he surrounded her with both arms, pushing harder into her, making her feel all of it, every last moment of it, riding her to an explosive climax that shattered with a guttural cry against her breast. A moment later, he sagged into the chair, still holding her, seeking his breath, his cheek against hers. His heart was beating so hard that she could feel it in her heart.

“You have destroyed me for any other,” he said. “There is only you, Honor.”

Those words meant more to her than the physical pleasure he’d just shown her. Honor sat up, cupped his face in her hands and tenderly kissed his lips, lingering there.

He kissed her cheek, her forehead, and shifted, his body falling out of her. Honor rearranged herself so that she was sitting on his lap, her head on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke; they gazed into the fire, watching the flames dance with every gust of wind down the flue.

But the blood continued to pump through Honor’s veins, flowing hot. George must have felt it, too; he put his palm to her cheek, kissed her temple.

“How did I come to love you so?” she asked with wonder.

“You mustn’t love me,” he said.

She sat up and twisted about to look at him in disbelief. “Do you think to tell me it is impossible again? If so, you must tell me that you don’t love me as I love you.”

He shifted his head, as if to look away, but she caught his face in her hand. “Say it,” she demanded. “Say you don’t love me, and I will leave and I will never bother you again. But if you do love me, then for God’s sake, stop telling me it’s impossible!”

George’s eyes rounded. And then the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. “Bloody hell,” he said, and gathered her to him again. “You’re far too brazen for your own good. You will have your way, for God knows I love you. I love you more than I think is possible for my heart to bear.”

Honor gasped with delight. She feathered his face with kisses. She could see his love in the way he looked at her, could feel it in the way he stroked her arm.

“But you mustn’t come here. If anyone saw you—”

“I don’t care if they do,” she said.

“I care.”

“Why? If it bothers you so, you should be offering for my hand—”

“Bite your tongue!” he said gruffly. He moved her off his lap and stood, stooping down to pick up the snifter he’d dropped. “The new Earl of Beckington would never allow a marriage, and besides, you have a perfectly good match in the vicar.” He walked onto the sideboard.

Gaping at his back, Honor gained her feet. “The vicar!” she exclaimed crossly. “Why is it that everyone believes Cleburne is best for me? How can anyone possibly know what is best for me? It is an infuriating assumption, especially coming from you.”