Read Online Powder of Love (I) by Summer Devon - Free Book Online Page A

and wordlessly held out the ring of keys. Their fingers didn’t meet as she took them, but he swore he could feel the heat of her hand. That first day they’d touched, a simple, firm handshake had shaken him, all right. With this woman so near, he could hear the susurration of her breath, see the texture of her fine skin; his erection grew so thick and painful, the slightest motion might bring him off. He knew his linens were damp with the eager cock’s prespending.
    She swallowed. He watched the delicate motion of her throat. Could almost feel the pulse there too. She shook the keys until they jangled. “You’re telling me you did open the drawer?”
    He nodded.
    “Did…? No, no. Did you open the box?”
    “A bit. Wanted to do more.” His voice was hoarse. “But I managed to stop.”
    The stiff set of her shoulders relaxed slightly, but her breasts remained high and lovely. He should not be staring at her bosom, imagining how it would fill his hands and how the nipples would feel between his fingers, in his mouth, under his tongue…
    She put the keys on the desk rather than hand them to him. Good. If her hand came near him, he’d grab it, pull her down onto his lap, onto his aching cock. His mouth on those breasts at long—
    “Now you believe me. And if you didn’t open the horrible thing, well, then you’re not going to…ah…you’re not so badly influenced.” Her breasts rose and fell with her breath. He inhaled and—God, he could smell her. Sweet Miss Ambermere. Another discreet sniff, and he drew in the musk of her, the delicious scent of her skin, hair—and her. He’d put his face in her hair, just at her temple, in the crook of her neck, at her bosom, between her legs, and draw in full breaths of her. Sustaining lungs full of her essence.
    He clenched his hands tighter, dug his nails into his palms.
    “Bad enough,” he said. He couldn’t allow himself to move, not until he had more control.
    She went to her chair—thank God out of his reach—but, blast and damn, far too distant from him. He couldn’t smell her or see the subtle motions of her body as she breathed or hear the light rasp of her gown.
    But he could see her eyes were bright. With amusement?
    The lust twisted inside him and grew dangerous. He would show her what “bad enough” meant. No, he’d demonstrate how good it could be. That laughter in her eyes would turn into alarm, but then melt into sweet, helpless longing. He’d touch her with his hands and mouth until she begged him. Screamed for him.
    Shit.
    He was as bad as—no, he was worse than Clermont.
    She was speaking again, still in a light, smiling voice, as if they were having a real conversation. Chitchatting. “It is terrible. When I touched the box, all I wanted was to undo my stays and—”
    “God. Stop.” He moaned. “I am managing to contain myself, Miss Ambermere, but it is requiring effort on my part.”
    Her eyes widened, and her mouth—that delightful mouth—opened slightly. “Oh,” she said faintly. “Do you mean I’m the object of your—”
    “Yes.” He hissed the word explosively, as if it could offer the release he needed.
    “When I touched the box, I was in the room with Mr. Dorsey, you see, and never felt the slightest interest in him, but—Never mind,” she spoke hastily. “I wonder what we should do for you.”

    Rosalie knew she’d said the wrong thing again when pain or something glazed his eyes. “I can tell you are in discomfort. Should I leave?” she asked.
    “No. Yes. No!”
    She brushed back a curl that had escaped her elaborate pompadour and felt the hard concentration of his gaze that followed her every motion. A slavering wolf couldn’t have made its intentions clearer.
    She sank back deep into the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. When other men, like Mr. Clermont, examined her with that avaricious gleam in their eyes, she experienced a variety of sensations: repulsion, amusement, sometimes pride. A few times