Read Online Silk Is For Seduction by Loretta Chase - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Loretta Chase
Tags: Fiction, Historical Romance
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isn’t wanted and hasn’t been invited—and getting away with it—will make the party more fun for me than it will be for anyone else.”
She walked on, her breath coming and going too fast, her temper too close to the surface. Her self-control was formidable, even for her kind, yet she’d let him provoke her. She only wanted to dress his wife-to-be, but somehow she’d been drawn into the wrong game altogether. And now she wondered if she’d bollixed it up, if he’d got her into a muddle with his beautiful face and falsely innocent smiles and his fingers brushing her skin.
His voice came from behind her.
“Coward,” he said.
The word seemed to echo in the empty passage.
Coward. She, who at scarce one and twenty had gone to London with a handful of coins in her purse and overwhelming responsibilities on her shoulders: a sick child and two younger sisters—and staked everything on a dream and her courage to pursue it.
She stopped and turned and marched back to him.
“Coward,” he said softly.
She dropped her reticule, grasped his neckcloth, and pulled. He bent his head. She reached up, cupped his face, dragged his mouth to hers, and kissed him.
Chapter Four
Mrs. Clark is as usual constantly receiving Models from some of the first Milliners in Paris, which enables her to produce the earliest Fashions for each Month, and trust that her general mode of doing business will give decided approbation to those Ladies who will honour her with a preference.
La Belle Assemblée,
or Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine,
Advertisements for June 1807
I t was no surrender, but a slap in the face of a kiss.
Her mouth struck and opened boldly against his, and the collision rocked him on his heels. It was as though they’d been lovers a long time ago and hated each other now, and the two passions had melded into one: They could fight or love, and it was all the same.
She held his jaw with a powerful grip. If she’d dug her nails into his face, that would have seemed fitting: It was that kind of kiss.
Instead she damaged him with her soft mouth, the press of her lips, the play of her tongue, like a duel. She damaged him, above all with the taste of her. She tasted like brandy, rich and deep and dark. She tasted like forbidden fruit.
She tasted, in short, like trouble.
For a moment he reacted instinctively, returning the assault in the same spirit, even while his body tensed and melted at the same time, his knees giving way and his insides tightening. But she was wondrously warm and shapely, and while his mind dissolved, his physical awareness grew more ferociously acute: the taste of her mouth, the scent of her skin, the weight of her breasts on his coat, and the sound of her dress brushing his trousers.
His heart beat too fast and hard, heat flooding through his veins and racing downward. He wrapped his arms about her and splayed his hands over her back, over silk and the neckline’s lace edging and the velvety skin above.
He slid his hands lower, down the line of her back and along the curve from her waist to her bottom. Layers of clothing thwarted him there, but he pulled her hard against his groin, and she made a noise deep in her throat that sounded like pleasure.
Her hands came away from his face and slid between them, down over his neckcloth and down over his waistcoat and down further.
His breath caught and his body tensed in anticipation.
She thrust him away, and she put muscle into it. Even so, the push wouldn’t have been enough to move him, ordinarily; but its strength and suddenness startled him, and he loosened his hold. She jerked out of his arms and he stumbled backward, into the wall.
She gave a short laugh, then bent and collected her reticule. She brushed a stray curl back from her face, and with an easy, careless grace, rearranged her shawl.
“This is going to be so much fun,” she said. “I can hardly wait. Yes, now that I think about it, I should like nothing better, your
She walked on, her breath coming and going too fast, her temper too close to the surface. Her self-control was formidable, even for her kind, yet she’d let him provoke her. She only wanted to dress his wife-to-be, but somehow she’d been drawn into the wrong game altogether. And now she wondered if she’d bollixed it up, if he’d got her into a muddle with his beautiful face and falsely innocent smiles and his fingers brushing her skin.
His voice came from behind her.
“Coward,” he said.
The word seemed to echo in the empty passage.
Coward. She, who at scarce one and twenty had gone to London with a handful of coins in her purse and overwhelming responsibilities on her shoulders: a sick child and two younger sisters—and staked everything on a dream and her courage to pursue it.
She stopped and turned and marched back to him.
“Coward,” he said softly.
She dropped her reticule, grasped his neckcloth, and pulled. He bent his head. She reached up, cupped his face, dragged his mouth to hers, and kissed him.
Chapter Four
Mrs. Clark is as usual constantly receiving Models from some of the first Milliners in Paris, which enables her to produce the earliest Fashions for each Month, and trust that her general mode of doing business will give decided approbation to those Ladies who will honour her with a preference.
La Belle Assemblée,
or Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine,
Advertisements for June 1807
I t was no surrender, but a slap in the face of a kiss.
Her mouth struck and opened boldly against his, and the collision rocked him on his heels. It was as though they’d been lovers a long time ago and hated each other now, and the two passions had melded into one: They could fight or love, and it was all the same.
She held his jaw with a powerful grip. If she’d dug her nails into his face, that would have seemed fitting: It was that kind of kiss.
Instead she damaged him with her soft mouth, the press of her lips, the play of her tongue, like a duel. She damaged him, above all with the taste of her. She tasted like brandy, rich and deep and dark. She tasted like forbidden fruit.
She tasted, in short, like trouble.
For a moment he reacted instinctively, returning the assault in the same spirit, even while his body tensed and melted at the same time, his knees giving way and his insides tightening. But she was wondrously warm and shapely, and while his mind dissolved, his physical awareness grew more ferociously acute: the taste of her mouth, the scent of her skin, the weight of her breasts on his coat, and the sound of her dress brushing his trousers.
His heart beat too fast and hard, heat flooding through his veins and racing downward. He wrapped his arms about her and splayed his hands over her back, over silk and the neckline’s lace edging and the velvety skin above.
He slid his hands lower, down the line of her back and along the curve from her waist to her bottom. Layers of clothing thwarted him there, but he pulled her hard against his groin, and she made a noise deep in her throat that sounded like pleasure.
Her hands came away from his face and slid between them, down over his neckcloth and down over his waistcoat and down further.
His breath caught and his body tensed in anticipation.
She thrust him away, and she put muscle into it. Even so, the push wouldn’t have been enough to move him, ordinarily; but its strength and suddenness startled him, and he loosened his hold. She jerked out of his arms and he stumbled backward, into the wall.
She gave a short laugh, then bent and collected her reticule. She brushed a stray curl back from her face, and with an easy, careless grace, rearranged her shawl.
“This is going to be so much fun,” she said. “I can hardly wait. Yes, now that I think about it, I should like nothing better, your
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