Some Like It Sinful (Hellion's Den)




She regarded him with a somber expression. “Such as kisses?”

“Such as kisses.” He stepped until her soft curves were pressed to his own. Still holding her face in his hands, he lowered his head until he was a breath from her lips. “Give me leave, kitten. I will not steal what should be offered freely.”

Her hesitation could not have lasted more than a heartbeat, but to Hawksley it seemed as if it were an eternity.

“Yes,” she at last whispered.

“Yes.”

With a groan he softly touched her lips, fiercely reminding himself she was an innocent. Certainly there was passion enough beneath her proper manner, but she had no experience with the darker desires. He must take care not to startle her with his hunger.

Unfortunately his silent lecture did nothing to prepare him for the satin sweetness of her mouth. Barely sweeping over her lips, he gasped as a flood of gut-wrenching pleasure surged through his body.

Holy hell. He had expected to enjoy her. A lot. The truth had simmered between them from their first glance.

But this . . . this was magic.

Sliding his fingers into her hair he tilted her head back, allowing himself to slowly savor the taste and feel of her. Over and over he kissed her, outlining her lips with the tip of his tongue and nuzzling the corner of her mouth.

In the darkness she gave a low moan, her body arching instinctively closer to the growing hardness of his own. His breath caught as her arms lifted to encircle his neck, and all too easily he allowed himself to forget the danger to be had in her ready capitulation.

Instead his caresses deepened.

Urging her lips apart, he teased her tongue with his and swept his hands gently down the curve of her neck. By gads, this must be heaven, he fuzzily acknowledged, feeling the softness of her warm skin beneath his fingers.

Heaven complete with his own angel.

The robe proved to be a meaningless barrier as he impatiently tugged it open to allow his hands greater freedom to explore her curves. He growled as he encountered the soft thrust of her breasts. They were as sweet and delicate as the rest of her. And utterly perfect.

He cupped them gently, allowing his thumbs to brush over the puckered nipples.

She murmured restlessly against his lips but made no move to pull away. Indeed, her arms tightened about his neck in obvious approval.

Bloody hell, he was on fire. His erection strained painfully against the tight breeches and his hands trembled as if he were an overeager youth rather than a man of sophistication.

More, he needed more. More, more, more.

The word drummed like a litany through his blood as he tore his lips from her mouth and branded an urgent path of kisses down her neck, his arms encircling her waist to raise her off the floor.

With swift strides he was across the room and lowering her onto the narrow sofa. For a breathless moment he simply regarded her with astonishment. In the moonlight her curls shimmered like priceless silver, her features the purest ivory. And most enticing of all were the emerald eyes that shimmered with an invitation as old as time.

Careful to keep from crushing her, he lowered himself on top of her body, giving a groan of satisfaction as his swollen muscles pressed into the curve of her hip.

“Perfect . . . You are so perfect . . .” he muttered, his mouth moving down the line of her collarbone and at last to the softness he craved.

“Hawksley . . .” she breathed in shock as his lips at last closed about the straining tip of her breast.

It was the sound of her voice that made him pause and allowed his niggling conscience to be heard over his pounding heart.

He had only meant to kiss her, it reminded him. Just a taste. Not to take the innocence that did not belong to him.

With a savage curse he battled to gain control of his biting lust. Not an easy task when he knew with a few swift movements he could have himself free of his breeches and thrust deep into her heat.

And it most certainly did not help matters to have her hands clinging to his shoulders as if she possessed not the slightest sense of self-preservation.

What woman with the least amount of wits would trust him to be the one to halt matters before they tumbled beyond control?

A woman utterly unfamiliar with her own passions, a voice reminded him in the back of his mind.

Damn and blast, it was no wonder chivalry had died out.

It was a ghastly business.

Sucking in deep, rasping breaths, Hawksley pressed himself onto his elbows, his body threatening open mutiny.

“Holy hell . . . This is where you are supposed to slap my face and tell me that I go too far, kitten,” he muttered in the thick silence.

Below him she blinked in confusion, as if she had been rudely interrupted from a particularly pleasant dream.

“But I do not wish to slap you. I very much enjoy your kisses.” She stilled, a sudden concern darkening her eyes. “Do I not please you?”

Not please him? A groan was wrenched from his throat. He was so hard he was damn well near to exploding and she asked if she did not please him?

“My God, if you knew precisely how much you please me, you would be locked in your rooms and hidden beneath your bed.”





Pleasantly floating within the warm sensations that shimmered through her body, Clara regarded the man poised above her with a hint of impatience.

Everything had been going along splendidly. At least as far as she had been concerned.

His kisses had been just as glorious as she had suspected they would be. Tender and yet demanding a response she was quite eager to offer.

And as for those hands . . .

Well, she had feared she might actually catch fire as they had so skillfully smoothed over her body.

She had wanted nothing more than for him to continue with his intoxicating seduction. It seemed somehow a crime to halt so abruptly.

“I do not understand, Hawksley,” she whispered. “If I please you, then what is the matter?”

His jaw locked as he took stock of her disappointed expression.

“Do you desire to be my mistress, Miss Dawson?”

She faltered at his blunt question.

“I . . .”

“A few moments more and I will be inside you and any claim to innocence you might possess will be lost forever,” he pressed with grim determination, obviously determined to make her realize that the cost of such pleasure was higher than any respectable lady should be willing to pay.

Unfortunately for him, Clara was not like any other lady. Instead her eyes widened in astonishment.

“You wish to make love to me?”

“Make love to you?” He gave a disbelieving blink, as if he wondered if she was jesting. “I wish to carry you upstairs and drown in your heat. I wish to take you over and over and listen to you scream in pleasure. In truth, if I had my way I would tie you to my bed so that you could never leave. Does that not shock you?”

She met his blazing gaze squarely, still not able to accept such a man could ever find her desirable. For so long she had convinced herself that she must be somehow repulsive to men. It was little wonder her notorious logic was decidedly absent.

“It should, of course,” she conceded ruefully.

“But . . . ?”

“But I discover I must be shameless as well as eccentric. I find your kisses far too thrilling for an innocent maiden.”

His eyes squeezed shut as if he were in actual pain. “Bloody hell, kitten, you shall surely be the death of me.” Sucking in a rasping breath, he fluidly pushed off her willing body and held out an imperious hand. “Come, it is time you were safely tucked in your bed.”

Allowing herself to be lifted to her feet, Clara absently tugged the belt about her robe tighter, her brow furrowed at his abrupt dismissal.

Alexandra Ivy's books