Read Online An Heir of Deception by Beverley Kendall - Free Book Online
Authors: Beverley Kendall
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wasn’t so much a question as a silky taunt.
Charlotte didn’t answer and didn’t dare look at him. She couldn’t bear to see the smug smile accompanying his words.
“Did you know you cried out my name in your sleep?” No longer did his tone hold that thread of jeer, it was now dark and husky.
She edged her head in his direction. He was staring down at her, his eyes half-mast, his bottom lip shiny as if he’d given it a surreptitious swipe with his tongue. While he held her gaze, he lowered himself to her side, the rub of his thigh now pressed along the length of hers. Fine Indian muslin proved pitilessly insufficient protection against the senses-reeling effect of the contact, even with his leg encased in black wool.
“What was I doing in your dream? Was I kissing you like this?” His head ascended and his mouth rubbed gently over hers. Charlotte was too bemused and breathlessly aroused to do anything but part her lips.
What started as a soft rub became something more all too quickly. Charlotte barely had time to savor the ecstasy of tasting him again, the slide of his lips against hers, before his hands cupped her face, angling her for a deeper, more thorough kiss.
His tongue wanted more than her acquiescence, it thrust and parried, demanding full engagement. She gave that and more, twining hers with his, seeking, sliding, demanding, meeting him stroke for delicious stroke. He made a sound in his throat. Raw desire with a hint of impatience.
Charlotte surrendered to feeling, submerged in pleasure so deep, so completely consuming she couldn’t think beyond the tangle of tongues and the hand that now moved from the curve of her cheek, gliding over the line of her neck, the hollow of her collarbone, to the swell of her breast.
Her nipple pebbled even further in anticipation of his touch. A whimper escaped her lips when it came, the flick of his finger over her nightdress. Moisture pooled between her thighs and heat washed her from head to toe, settling to torment the bundle of nerves where she needed him the most.
Suddenly his kiss grew fierce; he wasn’t playing with her anymore—if he ever had been. His tongue swept her like a windstorm, his kiss wild and out of control. Charlotte welcomed the pressure, the scrape of his bristled cheeks against her sensitive skin, the clash of his teeth against hers. Pushing the barrier of the light blue fabric aside, he first cupped then squeezed the roundness of her breast. On a labored breath, he tore his mouth from hers, his attention now wholly focused on the white mound of firm flesh filling his hand. With a glazed look in his eyes, his head began to descend.
Then with the violent shake of his head that acted like a dousing of ice-cold water, he was on his feet. So swiftly did his expression change, Charlotte could hardly believe she was looking at the same man of seconds before. Alex was cold again; no give to his expression or form.
She wanted to sink inside herself, but instead made haste to right her clothing and conceal her breast. Her hands trembled at the task. And worse yet, she was still shamefully aroused.
“Were I the same fool for you as I was five years ago, I could not have stopped myself from taking you.” He paused, his gaze drifting to her nipple, now covered but clearly outlined under the thin fabric. His mouth quirked. “And you would have allowed it, wouldn’t you? Has it been that long, since you’ve had a man between your thighs?”
His words bit like gravel into her skin, as he’d no doubt intended them to, but she remained silent, accepting his treatment of her as part and parcel of her due.
“Don’t think to seduce me. It will not work. But as you have my son, what is between us is far from over.” If his words were not ominous enough, his narrowed eyes and rigid jaw punctuated his feelings on the matter.
Seduce him? It had been he who had kissed her. But for her own wanton response, Charlotte could do little else but swallow
Charlotte didn’t answer and didn’t dare look at him. She couldn’t bear to see the smug smile accompanying his words.
“Did you know you cried out my name in your sleep?” No longer did his tone hold that thread of jeer, it was now dark and husky.
She edged her head in his direction. He was staring down at her, his eyes half-mast, his bottom lip shiny as if he’d given it a surreptitious swipe with his tongue. While he held her gaze, he lowered himself to her side, the rub of his thigh now pressed along the length of hers. Fine Indian muslin proved pitilessly insufficient protection against the senses-reeling effect of the contact, even with his leg encased in black wool.
“What was I doing in your dream? Was I kissing you like this?” His head ascended and his mouth rubbed gently over hers. Charlotte was too bemused and breathlessly aroused to do anything but part her lips.
What started as a soft rub became something more all too quickly. Charlotte barely had time to savor the ecstasy of tasting him again, the slide of his lips against hers, before his hands cupped her face, angling her for a deeper, more thorough kiss.
His tongue wanted more than her acquiescence, it thrust and parried, demanding full engagement. She gave that and more, twining hers with his, seeking, sliding, demanding, meeting him stroke for delicious stroke. He made a sound in his throat. Raw desire with a hint of impatience.
Charlotte surrendered to feeling, submerged in pleasure so deep, so completely consuming she couldn’t think beyond the tangle of tongues and the hand that now moved from the curve of her cheek, gliding over the line of her neck, the hollow of her collarbone, to the swell of her breast.
Her nipple pebbled even further in anticipation of his touch. A whimper escaped her lips when it came, the flick of his finger over her nightdress. Moisture pooled between her thighs and heat washed her from head to toe, settling to torment the bundle of nerves where she needed him the most.
Suddenly his kiss grew fierce; he wasn’t playing with her anymore—if he ever had been. His tongue swept her like a windstorm, his kiss wild and out of control. Charlotte welcomed the pressure, the scrape of his bristled cheeks against her sensitive skin, the clash of his teeth against hers. Pushing the barrier of the light blue fabric aside, he first cupped then squeezed the roundness of her breast. On a labored breath, he tore his mouth from hers, his attention now wholly focused on the white mound of firm flesh filling his hand. With a glazed look in his eyes, his head began to descend.
Then with the violent shake of his head that acted like a dousing of ice-cold water, he was on his feet. So swiftly did his expression change, Charlotte could hardly believe she was looking at the same man of seconds before. Alex was cold again; no give to his expression or form.
She wanted to sink inside herself, but instead made haste to right her clothing and conceal her breast. Her hands trembled at the task. And worse yet, she was still shamefully aroused.
“Were I the same fool for you as I was five years ago, I could not have stopped myself from taking you.” He paused, his gaze drifting to her nipple, now covered but clearly outlined under the thin fabric. His mouth quirked. “And you would have allowed it, wouldn’t you? Has it been that long, since you’ve had a man between your thighs?”
His words bit like gravel into her skin, as he’d no doubt intended them to, but she remained silent, accepting his treatment of her as part and parcel of her due.
“Don’t think to seduce me. It will not work. But as you have my son, what is between us is far from over.” If his words were not ominous enough, his narrowed eyes and rigid jaw punctuated his feelings on the matter.
Seduce him? It had been he who had kissed her. But for her own wanton response, Charlotte could do little else but swallow
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