“Lady St James didn’t invite Evie,” she explained, pride and indignation lacing her voice. “If my sister isn’t good enough to attend her ball, then neither am I.”
He studied her face. That’s what this was about—a snub to Evelyn? The realization struck him of just how fiercely loyal she was to her sister, the same loyalty he and his brothers shared, and understanding settled over him. Her connections to her family were proving to be deeper than anyone gave her credit for. Including her own family.
Yet her younger sister’s reputation was as tarnished as her own, if rumors could be believed, since Evelyn was equally as adventurous and daring as her sister. He couldn’t blame the Sinclairs if they didn’t want either Winslow daughter at their ball. But knowing how gracious the countess was, he was certain she’d simply forgotten about Evelyn.
“It was an oversight,” he assured her. “Nothing more.”
A sniff declared that she didn’t believe him.
“Mother will secure an invitation for her. I’ll make certain of it.” He reached up to tuck a stray curl of black silk beneath the edge of her cap. Her siren song was irresistible, even all dirty and wet. “All right?”
She gave a curt nod, as if doing what he wanted cost her greatly. “Then I’ll send a note to Lady St James.”
He smiled faintly with relief. “Thank you.”
“But only because I don’t want to harm the duchess,” she clarified. Then, because the war between them mandated it—“I couldn’t care less what you want.”
Of course not. His mouth twisted with chagrin. “From you, Mariah, I would expect no less.”
Her red lips tugged upward in the start of a smile. No doubt the minx took his comment as a compliment. Perhaps it was. Although he was loath to admit it, he’d become fond of her stubbornness. And the challenge she presented because of it. No other woman had kept him on his toes the way she did.
Then she playfully swatted at his shoulder, as if signaling that this tender moment of understanding had ended and that they could resume the fighting they’d grown accustomed to.
But he didn’t move away. Nor did he want to when he saw her flash of realization that the rapport between them had just irreversibly changed. An undeniable electricity tingled between them. And instead of pushing him away, her hands trailed slowly down to his lapels.
“It’s nice when we don’t fight,” he murmured. Unable to keep from touching her again, he rubbed his thumb over the dirt smear on her cheek. “If we keep this up, things between us might even become halfway pleasant.”
“Optimist,” she muttered dryly. Then she glanced down at him, all the way to where he sat next to her in the puddle. “Looks like I’ve dragged you down with me and made you all dirty.”
His thumb continued to brush over her cheek, long after the mark was gone, caressing slowly over her smooth, warm skin, then back along her jaw and down her slender neck. She was a wonder, that she could be such a claws-bared hellcat one moment yet so soft and vulnerable the next. And he liked this soft side of her. Very much.
He murmured, “Perhaps I like being dirty.”
She caught her breath, and her fingers tightened on his lapels.
He hadn’t meant his reply as an innuendo, but when he saw the pretty flush to her cheeks, he was glad he’d said it. And even more so when her gaze darted to his mouth and her lips parted delicately in invitation.
His heart thumped with yearning. She wanted him to kiss her…and who was he to deny a woman what she desired?
Slipping his hand behind her nape to gently tug her to him, he lowered his head and brought his mouth to hers.
As he kissed her, he wanted to savor the moment, make it as tender and special as the hidden side of her that she’d just shared. But the spicy heat of her lips ached through him, and he couldn’t stop himself from ravenously devouring her kiss, his hands cupping her face to hold her mouth still beneath his. Reckless from the frustration and arousal in which she’d kept him from the moment they met, he only half cared as his lips molded against hers that another child might come running into the room and see them. He wanted this—he wanted her—too desperately to be cautious.
When her lips softened beneath his with a whimpering sigh, he stopped caring completely.
He smiled against her mouth and teased, “Boys?” Then he licked the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips, daring her to open so he could taste the sweetness hidden inside.
“Boys,” she purred, the single word an aching declaration of how delicious she found boys to be. As if she found him the most delicious boy of all. She slipped her hand behind his neck and parted her lips eagerly beneath his.
He groaned and plunged inside, taking decadent sweeps across her smooth inner lip and entangling his tongue with hers. She was so unbelievably spicy on the surface, so undeniably sweet beneath. The combination was simply addictive.
Breathless, he tore his mouth away from hers to nip at her throat as he tugged her fully onto his lap. His hands swept up the sides of her body, to explore all of her.
“Not all boys are bad,” he reminded her, daring to brush against the side swells of her breasts. “Some of us can be nice.” When she arched herself closer, inviting more than a glancing caress, desire flared through him, and he gladly obliged by capturing her breasts fully in his hands. “Very nice.”
“You’re…not nice,” she forced out between pants as he massaged her fullness in his palms. She clutched at the lapels of his jacket with one hand to keep him close while the other combed through the hair at his nape, silently encouraging him. “You’re wicked.”
“Very much so.” To prove it, he cupped her buttocks, then squeezed. A throaty gasp tore from her, the breathlessly erotic sound spiraling through him. “But I think you like being wicked, too.”
She stiffened, and he worried she might deny it, that she would order him to stop touching her. Instead her gaze locked heatedly on his lips, and she admitted, “Perhaps a little. With you.”
He groaned and seized her mouth for another blistering kiss. He was drowning in the inexplicable wonder of her, swimming in her taste and touch, and lost in that heady combination of spicy-sweetness that had come to represent everything about her. That arousing incongruity of a kind and caring heart lurking beneath a prickly fa?ade. More than anything, he wanted to delve beneath her surface and reveal the true Mariah, to peel back the layers until he found the pure woman beneath.
But for now, he’d settle for peeling back that wet blouse and shamelessly taking whatever small glimpse of her she’d allow.
He unfastened the top three buttons of her blouse and tugged it down past the swells of her breasts, then scooped his fingers inside her stays. Her right breast sprang free yet remained hidden beneath her chemise. Frustrated at being unable to bare her to him without stripping her to her waist, he pulled the chemise taut across her breast until the dusky-rose outline of her nipple strained against the thin cotton.
So unbelievably lovely…He traced his fingertip around the dark pink circle and delighted when she shivered. He watched as her nipple pebbled beneath his fingertip, and an ache twisted through his gut, tightening all the way to the tip of his cock like a coiling spring.
“A touch of wickedness in a woman is what a man likes best,” he murmured, lowering his head until his breath fanned over her breast. “And I like you wicked, Mariah. Very.” He placed a light kiss on her pointed nipple and smiled at the way it quivered. “Very.” He nipped at her through the chemise and drew a surprised gasp from her. “Much.”
Then his hot mouth closed over her and sucked boldly, at last taking the forbidden taste of her that he craved.