Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)

He watched her, openmouthed.

“There. You can have anything—everything—you want. But you have to ask for it first. And you have to want it for yourself. Not for science. Not for proof. For yourself.”

Slowly he stood. He did not touch her. Instead, his gaze swept from the dark triangle between her legs up the line of her navel, past her br**sts. Finally he met her eyes. “You. I want you.” He licked his lips.

“If you want me, then take me, you fool.”

Gareth was no fool. He pulled her into his arms, his crisp linen meeting her naked flesh, and then compressing as he pulled her against the hard muscle of his chest. His mouth bruised hers; his lips stole her breath. And by some magic, he doffed his own clothing while kissing her. It seemed mere seconds until his skin was warm and naked against hers.

“I want you to call me Gareth,” he growled, his hands cupping her backside. “Gareth, and nothing else.”

His erection brushed against her belly. That firm ridge leapt at the contact. He sat on the bed and pulled her so she covered his body with hers. The mattress sighed smoothly under their combined weight. The rough pads of his fingers were on her, sighing down her skin. He pulled her closer still.

“God,” he breathed in her ear. “I want you to ride me.”

Jenny stilled in confusion.

He looked up; her bafflement must have been written on her face.

His hands grasped her hips and he showed her his meaning. He angled her body with his hands and gently brought her to his hot, thick member. His hands took hers, and he pulled her down. She stretched around him as he guided her down the rounded head of his penis, down further, filling her with heat.

“Jenny. Say my name.”

“Gareth.” She squeezed him, deep inside her, as she spoke.

His hands moved again to her hips and he exhaled, his eyes fluttering shut.

And then he showed her his meaning again, guiding her up and down. His hands on her hips set the rhythm. They found a beat together. Warmth coalesced where their bodies joined, and then slick heat.

He surged into her, his hips slapping against her thighs. When she came apart in a flood of light, he groaned. Then he, too, shouted, thrusting into her.

When she finally slumped against his chest, Jenny ran her hand through his sweaty hair. Her body glowed like some kind of incandescent star. She pulled herself off him; his hand caught hers, and brought it to his mouth. He placed the gentlest of kisses against the blue veins of her wrist.

“You see, Gareth? No science necessary.”

“Science.” He turned to face her. “Observation is good for one thing. Really, Jenny. I thought you were ruined.”

“What ever do you mean by that? I was. I am.”

He snorted. “Then how is it you’ve never ridden a man before?”

She shook her head in confusion.

“And how, exactly,” he asked, “did you become Madame Esmerelda?”

GARETH FELT Jenny’s hand stiffen where it had been stroking his chest.

“Why do you want to know?” Her words crept out, wary and low.

Why? He wanted to uncover every unknown thing about her. Every secret of hers pulled at him like hidden string.

He shrugged. “I am naturally inquisitive.”

“The story doesn’t paint me in the best light.”

“Jenny, I met you when you’d garbed and painted yourself as a Gypsy. You couldn’t say anything that would worsen my opinion of you.”

She blew out her breath, and Gareth winced as he realized what he’d said.

“I mean—”

She put her hand over his lips. “I know what you meant.” There was a current of amusement in her voice. The light was fading fast. Her hips cast lengthy shadows down the bed.

“When I was eighteen,” she said, “the older brother of one of my schoolmates fell in love with me. Or so he claimed.”

“A lord?”

She shook her head against his shoulder. “You do me too much credit. A mill owner’s younger son. He said he could never marry me, but that his love would never die. Et cetera et cetera and so forth.” Her hand trailed the et ceteras down Gareth’s abdomen. “So I ran away with him.”

“You loved him?”

“No. But I wanted to be loved, you see. I should have known better. You said it once. Everyone lies. Even then, I knew that. Immortal love? Of course he was lying.”

“Then why run off?”

“My future had been much on my mind. I felt trapped. I knew I’d need to make my own living. I could have tried for a position as a governess, but my references were not precisely stellar.” A sniff, to indicate the statement drastically understated the truth. “And I had no family. So the best positions—even the middling ones—would have been closed to me. As for the worst ones…Well, if I had to sell my body, I didn’t want to care for children alongside everything.”

“You could have married. Most women do.”