Read Online The Lure of a Rake by Christi Caldwell - Free Book Online
Authors: Christi Caldwell
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something he was suddenly eager to attend. And yet, not the festivities of the ball but rather this prolonged exchange with her here, now, away from prying eyes.
Genevieve wetted her lips and his gaze fell to her mouth. He swallowed a groan. No woman had a right to a mouth like that. It was a walking temptation that no man could resist. The kind of seductive offering that had led Adam down the path of ruin and men to wage wars. “Now, I really must go,” she said softly. “Before my absence is noted.”
He did not know the guest responsible for this woman’s presence this evening from Eve, but loved the bloody woman for her negligence. “Yes,” he whispered.
Except neither of them moved. They both remained locked in this charged moment that not even the earth being knocked off its axis could break. Cedric lifted his free hand and cupped the back of her neck. Soft as satin.
The muscles of her throat bobbed as he lowered his head with a deliberate slowness, allowing her to pull away and retreat. “I should not.” Her voice emerged on a hoarse croak that spoke to her inner battle.
For all the crimes he was guilty of as a rake, never had he bedded a virgin and never had he forced himself on an unwilling woman. He’d not begin now. The quick rise and fall of her chest and the little whispery spurts of air escaping her lips sent a thrill of masculine triumph through him. He touched his lips to hers and the intoxicating taste of strawberry and mint washed over him. “You taste of summer berries,” he breathed as he dragged his mouth down the length of her neck to the place where her pulse beat madly.
“Th-the duke had trays o-of strawberries,” she panted with an innocent sincerity that raised a soft smile. Her lashes fluttered as he molded his mouth to hers, exploring the contours of her lips.
“Your lips are made for kissing,” he said, between kisses.
“They a-are too big.” From any other woman those would have been words to elicit pretty compliments. Yet, with this young lady who spoke her mind freely, she was lacking in all artifice and there was something so potent in that honesty.
“They are perfection.” He slanted his lips over hers, first gently and then more incessantly. A little moan escaped her and Cedric slipped his tongue inside to stroke hers in a possessive manner that sent her arms twining about his neck. She pressed her chest against his and he cupped the generous curve of her buttocks dragging her against his throbbing shaft.
They knocked into the table and a porcelain urn tumbled over the edge. It exploded into a spray of splintered glass.
Genevieve cried out and stumbled out of his arms. She blinked and the haze of desire clouding her green irises lifted, leaving in its place a slow-growing horror. They stood unmoving, their chests rising in a matched rapid movement. As she pressed her fingertips against her swollen lips, he braced for her virginal protestations. “W-We’ve destroyed the duke’s piece.”
Through the pain of unfulfilled desire, he managed to speak. “I’m sure he won’t even notice.” And he wouldn’t indicate just how he knew that. The duke didn’t care about anything; his own children, included.
*
Oh, God. Standing here with her lips still burning from this stranger’s kiss, her body ached to know more of his touch. Genevieve acknowledged the truth she’d not known, the accusation leveled against her by the ton for five years now—she was a wanton. How else to explain this powerful energy thrumming inside her and desire for more of this man’s tender ministrations. Nay, of a stranger.
If an imagined act had found her banished, what fate awaited her for this hungering to turn herself over to the power of his embrace? She dug deep for the proper shame and horror. She was the wanton Society believed her to be, for nothing other than her scandal. All she knew, however, was feeling. A desire to be close to him once more, in ways she didn’t fully
Genevieve wetted her lips and his gaze fell to her mouth. He swallowed a groan. No woman had a right to a mouth like that. It was a walking temptation that no man could resist. The kind of seductive offering that had led Adam down the path of ruin and men to wage wars. “Now, I really must go,” she said softly. “Before my absence is noted.”
He did not know the guest responsible for this woman’s presence this evening from Eve, but loved the bloody woman for her negligence. “Yes,” he whispered.
Except neither of them moved. They both remained locked in this charged moment that not even the earth being knocked off its axis could break. Cedric lifted his free hand and cupped the back of her neck. Soft as satin.
The muscles of her throat bobbed as he lowered his head with a deliberate slowness, allowing her to pull away and retreat. “I should not.” Her voice emerged on a hoarse croak that spoke to her inner battle.
For all the crimes he was guilty of as a rake, never had he bedded a virgin and never had he forced himself on an unwilling woman. He’d not begin now. The quick rise and fall of her chest and the little whispery spurts of air escaping her lips sent a thrill of masculine triumph through him. He touched his lips to hers and the intoxicating taste of strawberry and mint washed over him. “You taste of summer berries,” he breathed as he dragged his mouth down the length of her neck to the place where her pulse beat madly.
“Th-the duke had trays o-of strawberries,” she panted with an innocent sincerity that raised a soft smile. Her lashes fluttered as he molded his mouth to hers, exploring the contours of her lips.
“Your lips are made for kissing,” he said, between kisses.
“They a-are too big.” From any other woman those would have been words to elicit pretty compliments. Yet, with this young lady who spoke her mind freely, she was lacking in all artifice and there was something so potent in that honesty.
“They are perfection.” He slanted his lips over hers, first gently and then more incessantly. A little moan escaped her and Cedric slipped his tongue inside to stroke hers in a possessive manner that sent her arms twining about his neck. She pressed her chest against his and he cupped the generous curve of her buttocks dragging her against his throbbing shaft.
They knocked into the table and a porcelain urn tumbled over the edge. It exploded into a spray of splintered glass.
Genevieve cried out and stumbled out of his arms. She blinked and the haze of desire clouding her green irises lifted, leaving in its place a slow-growing horror. They stood unmoving, their chests rising in a matched rapid movement. As she pressed her fingertips against her swollen lips, he braced for her virginal protestations. “W-We’ve destroyed the duke’s piece.”
Through the pain of unfulfilled desire, he managed to speak. “I’m sure he won’t even notice.” And he wouldn’t indicate just how he knew that. The duke didn’t care about anything; his own children, included.
*
Oh, God. Standing here with her lips still burning from this stranger’s kiss, her body ached to know more of his touch. Genevieve acknowledged the truth she’d not known, the accusation leveled against her by the ton for five years now—she was a wanton. How else to explain this powerful energy thrumming inside her and desire for more of this man’s tender ministrations. Nay, of a stranger.
If an imagined act had found her banished, what fate awaited her for this hungering to turn herself over to the power of his embrace? She dug deep for the proper shame and horror. She was the wanton Society believed her to be, for nothing other than her scandal. All she knew, however, was feeling. A desire to be close to him once more, in ways she didn’t fully
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