Of course he’d been. That was the flippant reply. She had been his friend and confidante, and yet . . .
He crossed over in two quick strides and, cupping her by the nape, covered her mouth with his. Heat. Stinging, searing heat exploded throughout him at the contact as he kissed her as he’d longed to since their meeting in that decrepit hall she now owned. He kissed her with that need which had haunted him since.
Reggie went still in his arms, and then with a low moan, she dropped the pages. They fluttered to the floor in a whispery afterthought as she climbed her arms about his neck and returned his kiss.
After days of having noticed the plump roundness of her lips and the luxuriant feel of her crimson curls, he explored them, tasting her, learning the lush contours, molding his mouth with hers in a way that etched an eternal memory of that flesh.
He slanted his lips over hers again and again, and she met every fiery meeting with a boldness that fueled his ardor. “What is it about you, Regina Spark, that tears at my reason?” he rasped against her mouth between kisses.
She met that query with a low moan and drew him down closer, pressing herself against him, a siren pulling him deeper and deeper and deeper into her snare, and he had the answer as to why those mere mortals had been lured. Because a taste was not enough. A taste of her was a mere taunt. Temptation. Sin wrapped in splendor. And he wanted all of her, rules of honor be damned. For he didn’t give a jot that this woman was in his employ or about the years of friendship between them. His body knew nothing but the hunger to know her in the most primitive way.
With a groan, he plucked free the pins holding her chignon in place, and those locks cascaded around them like a fiery-red waterfall. He tangled his fingers into those silken strands, angling her head to better avail himself of her mouth.
Reggie parted her lips, and he swept inside, stroking the tip of his tongue against hers. Searing heat blazed through him at the contact.
Their chests rose and fell in a like rhythm, their breath noisy and desperate in the quiet of the room, a wicked symphony of lust and desire.
Broderick filled his hands with the generous swell of her buttocks, and not breaking contact with her mouth, he anchored her legs about his waist and guided her onto the tea table. The porcelain rattled noisily. Broderick moved between her parted thighs, and they fell open in welcome invitation as though he belonged there, as though she, too, had been set afire these past days and welcomed the burn of that conflagration.
Yes, there would come time enough later for proper shame.
But for now, all he saw, tasted, and yearned for was the feel of Regina Spark.
Reggie’s first kiss had been quick and sloppy, stolen from her then fifteen-year-old self by the village innkeeper’s arrogant son.
The second—and ones to come after—had all been delivered by a cad who’d promised her forever. They had been no less sloppy, only tinged of spirits and syrup from the sweets he’d had a taste for, and she’d despised every minute of it but yearned for the promises he’d made.
She’d waited for the end of each embrace . . . just as she’d waited for the fulfillment of those false promises.
Broderick’s hands at her neck both cradled and commanded, angling her to receive him, opening her to a whole new universe of sensation and feeling. Each stroke of his lips over hers, his tongue against hers, set her core to throbbing.
It had never been like this.
It had always been distasteful and dirty and empty . . . until this.
Until Broderick.
And she wanted the moment to go on. She wanted to explore passion as she’d never before tasted it.
Moaning, Reggie searched her hands down the contours of his broad, powerful shoulders, lower, exploring all as she went, as she’d ached to. She gripped his arms, the tense muscles bulging under her touch, and she reveled in his hunger for her.
Broderick broke the kiss, and she cried out at the loss of that heat, but he was already moving his lips to the corner of hers, caressing the curve of her jaw, over to the sensitive place her lobe met her nape.
“So soft,” he rasped against her, his breath a sough upon her hot skin that sent her pulse hammering . . . And then he found the spot where it beat with desire for him. Broderick lightly nipped and suckled, trapping a groan somewhere in her throat, and the sound of it emerged as a wanton plea.
He pressed himself against her, and even through the fabric of her brown skirts, the heat and length of him throbbed. “Broderick,” she panted, dropping her head back.
His mouth found hers again, and she surrendered to the hungering she’d carried for this man for ten years. She licked the hard seam of his lips, tasting him as he’d done her.
He gasped, and she, gripping his thick, loose golden curls, brought his mouth back to hers.
The wanton she’d been accused of being, and for which she’d been shamed in the past, she now reveled in what it was to feel passion.
Broderick dragged up her skirts, and a cool blast of night air slapped at her, a balm to the fire he’d kindled within her. He caught her leg and dragged it about his waist, deepening the press of him against her core. She moaned, but he swallowed that entreaty, sinking his hands in her hips, his fingers possessive in their hold.
“Reggie,” he gasped, laying her down, stretching her open.
Her head collided with the chamberstick, sending the piece tumbling. It broke in an explosion of noise, glass, and hot wax, shattering the moment and splattering her skirts.
Panting like he’d run a great race, Broderick remained frozen over her, his eyes glazed with the evidence of desire. Her chest rose and fell in time to his, and she silently pleaded with him to continue, to teach her everything she’d never known and everything she’d believed her body incapable of experiencing.
Someone pounded at the door. “Did ya foind ’er?” Stephen demanded, his voice muted by the heavy oak panel.
Her stomach pitched as reality came crashing in.
Broderick’s face whitened, and for the first time in all the years she’d known him, he remained motionless, incapable of a response. She nudged his shoulder. “Broderick.” Her hushed whisper penetrated the fog.
He jumped back, tripping over himself in his haste to be free of her.
Stephen jiggled the door handle. “Everything all right in there?”
Reggie pushed herself up and, with fingers that shook, shoved her skirts back into place.
“Fine. Everything is fine,” Broderick called out, his voice somewhat hoarse. He ran horror-filled eyes over her wrinkled dress. He spun Reggie about and proceeded to draw her hair back into place with an efficiency and skill that could come only from one who’d undertaken the task before.
“Ya sure?” Stephen called. “Let me see ya.”
Bloody hell.
Broderick quickly assessed his work, and then, stepping over bits and shards of glass, he crossed over and drew the door open.
Suspicion better suited to one twenty years his senior darkened Stephen’s features. He took in the mess strewn about, and then Reggie’s rumpled appearance. She quickly slid behind the table to hide the sorry state of her skirts. “What happened ’ere? You two fighting?”
Clasping her hands before her, Reggie looked to Broderick.
“We were in the middle of a discussion,” he said with his usual calm restored.
Stephen peered at his eldest sibling a long while. “Didn’t sound like a discussion. Sounded like a mighty racket.”
Reggie’s entire body burnt with the force of her blush, and she sent a prayer skyward for the Lord to open the floor up and spare them any more probing from a boy far too astute for his tender years.
“What we were discussing isn’t your business,” Broderick said with a finality that would have quelled any further questioning in anyone—
Except Stephen.