She was the second person to tell him that today, which served to remind him of the first and what he’d learned before Lincolnshire had said that. The reminder cut him to the core.
He took a full swallow of wine.
Her blue, blue eyes locked on his, she opened the sketchbook. ‘‘You can disrobe now. I’m ready.’’
He wasn’t ready—he didn’t think he’d ever be ready— but there was nothing for it. He’d offered to pose for her, and he wanted her painting to be a success. He took another swallow of wine and put his glass down carefully, then stood and tugged off his shoes and stockings, his cravat, his coat, his waistcoat. Feeling her gaze on him, he swiftly removed his braces, then unbuttoned his shirt and stripped it off over his head.
Like last night, his hands moved to the buttons on his trousers. But this time she didn’t stop him.
He stopped himself instead.
Taking a gulp of air, he reached for his glass and swallowed more wine.
‘‘Sean?’’ she whispered, then bit her lip. She looked as tense as he felt. And as aroused. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and yearning.
The sight devastated him.
Her sketchbook lay open on her lap, ignored. He felt sweat break out on his brow, a sheen slick his bare chest. Her gaze was fastened on the front of the trousers he’d yet to open, on the obvious bulge straining against them. He knew it was only a matter of time before that sketchbook was on the floor and they were in each other’s arms. A short time.
Maybe he should just tell her the facts, tell her they had no future together, cut this off before it got out of hand.
No, he couldn’t tell her, not until she’d finished the portrait. The knowledge wouldn’t just cut this off; it would devastate her. He was devastated already, so he knew exactly how she would feel. Completely, utterly devastated.
And she wouldn’t be able to paint.
Corinna couldn’t sketch. She could only stare. She felt a heat beginning to build in her, and she wanted nothing more than to leap across the space between them. And Sean wanted her, too, didn’t he? More than he wanted to breathe, he’d said last night, and hadn’t hearing
that
melted her to the consistency of fresh paint?
Just like she felt melted now.
The glass of wine had gone to her head, and she licked her lips, feeling a bit woozy. The sketchbook slid to the floor as she leaned over to pull off her slippers.
‘‘What are you doing?’’ Sean murmured.
She didn’t quite know what she was doing, so she didn’t answer. Instead she reached beneath her skirts and untied one garter and then the other, dropping the lace-trimmed ribbons atop her discarded shoes.
She could scarcely believe she was acting so wanton. It had to be the Dutch courage, because she’d never been the beguiling sister. That was Juliana’s role. But suddenly she remembered Juliana demonstrating something she called
the look
, a practiced flirtation so contrived Corinna had never been able to imagine herself doing it. Now she glanced down and then swept her gaze up, looking at Sean full on as she curved her lips very slowly in a deliberately seductive smile.
His pupils dilated, and she saw his respiration quicken.
Seduction was so much easier than she’d ever thought it would be.
Maybe it was the wine, but she thought it was also Sean. He was so seductive himself that any woman would feel seductive around him. Every word he said in that lyrical Irish voice seeped right into her, dissolving her bones. She hadn’t even touched him yet, nor had he touched her, but her blood was already sluicing through her in a seductive rhythm.
Soft afternoon light slanted through the north-facing windows, illuminating his sculpted face, glinting off the slight dark stubble that had grown since he’d shaved this morning. Her fingers itched to stroke that roughness, that glorious maleness, just as her body yearned to press against him, to mold her curves to his muscled form.
She drew the hem of her dress up to rest on her knees and began rolling down a stocking, watching Sean’s face. What she saw there made the heat build more. He was
watching her with the most impassioned look
, like in
Children of the Abbey
, a look more intoxicating than any wine. She pulled the stocking off of her foot and dropped it to the floor and started on the other.
Transfixed, Sean stared at the pile of satin and lace and silk that was building up. He knew he should stop her, but he couldn’t seem to make himself move. She drew the second stocking off her foot, baring her toes. Small toes they were, pale and tender-looking. Imagining sucking on them, he thought he might die. He looked up to her bare, curvy calves and died a little more. He raised his gaze to her naked knees, and saw the hem of her dress rucked up there, and imagined her wearing a gauzy bit of a shift under it. Or a chemise, as the high-born called it. A gauzy, enticing chemise.
He tried to take another swallow of wine, but his glass was empty.
What was he doing? He couldn’t tell her he couldn’t marry her, so he had to keep his wits about him. He had to fight this. He shouldn’t be imagining what was under her dress; he shouldn’t be imagining anything. Feeling light-headed, he carefully set down the glass. He wouldn’t allow her to refill it.
‘‘Sean,’’ she said in a tone so husky it made his breath catch. She rose and walked close, so close he felt heat shimmering between them. Lifting a hand to his cheek, she turned his head to face her.
All over again, her blue eyes devastated him.
‘‘Are you all right, Sean?’’
He wasn’t all right, no. He was growing so hard he was in pain. He was dying.
‘‘Sean,’’ she breathed, moving her fingers on his face so gently he wondered that he could feel it. But he did feel it, so strongly the feeling seemed to permeate his body. She shifted and leaned closer. ‘‘Oh, God, Sean, I want you to kiss me.’’
Oh, God,
Sean thought. He could see down her dress.
Sacred heart of Jesus.
There
was
a gauzy chemise under it, just as he’d imagined. Beneath that, her breasts looked high and round and firm, making him want to touch them. Hell, he didn’t just want to touch them—he wanted to rip off her dress and fasten his mouth on them. She leaned closer, and he could see their rosy tips strain against the chemise like he was straining against his trousers. Her scent swamped him, and she raised her other hand to cradle his face, and then . . .
He kissed her. It was a defensive move, because he couldn’t stare down her dress a moment longer without exploding. But he was lost the moment his lips touched hers.
Lost in the kiss, lost in her, lost in his own longing. She consumed him.
He was devastated.
Somehow they made it down to the sofa, and she was pushing him back and crawling over him. She was running her hands over his chest and around to his back. Her fingers left fire in their wake, a hot trail of burning sweetness that seemed to devastate him yet more.
‘‘Touch me, Sean,’’ she murmured. ‘‘Touch me like I’m touching you.’’
She devastated him. He was going to die if he didn’t touch her. So, God help him, he touched her.
His hands went everywhere, everywhere they shouldn’t, everywhere he wanted. Under her bodice to tease a nipple, to cup a breast when she moaned and asked for more. He was going to die if he didn’t taste her, so his mouth followed. He nibbled on her neck, her shoulders, unbuttoned her dress in back and dragged it down and suckled her, feasted on her.
Corinna wanted more. She’d never imagined she could feel like this. What she’d felt last night when she’d thought she wanted him was nothing compared to this. Nothing. The little ache that she’d felt then was nothing compared to how she ached now. Sean’s mouth on her breast felt hot and made her ache everywhere, but especially between her legs, where the ache was exquisite, almost painful, just unbearable. She wanted more.
‘‘Sean,’’ she whispered, ‘‘I want you to take me.’’
‘‘I want to take you,’’ he echoed in a tone so ragged it tore at her heart. ‘‘I want all of you.’’ He reversed their positions, climbing over her. He slipped a hand under her skirt and skimmed it up her calves to her thighs. Still he suckled her breasts, one and then the other, a sensation so astounding she was grateful she’d found the courage to act wanton. His fingers felt wonderfully warm on her legs, stroking, inspiring her to do the same. She ran her own hands over his skin, feeling his muscles underneath, and sinewy tendons, crisp hair where he had it and the smooth, soft places where he didn’t.
His breath became as rough as hers, making her heart thunder just to hear it. He moved his hand higher, brushing her curls, cupping her where no one had touched her before. He nibbled up her neck and took her mouth with his again, thrusting his tongue inside while his fingers slowly parted her below and began to stroke. He caught her gasp in his mouth and continued moving his hand, slowly, patiently, stroking her while excitement built until she couldn’t keep still, until she couldn’t stop a little sound of frustration that came from her throat.
And then he slipped a finger inside her.
‘‘Oh, God, Sean,’’ she breathed. ‘‘Oh, yes.’’
‘‘Sweet, so sweet,’’ he murmured into her mouth. He buried his face in her neck, moving his finger in and out of her. ‘‘So hot, so wet, so tight,’’ he whispered against her skin. He did something with his thumb, touched a spot so sensitive her hips bucked off the sofa, and when he lingered there, circling, circling, she felt she might tumble off a ledge.
And then she did. She tumbled and tumbled, over and over, gasping and crying out his name. Sensation rocked her, sprinting along all her nerves, spreading everywhere. ‘‘Sweet, so sweet,’’ he choked out.
She felt dizzy; she felt lethargic. She felt drained, but she wanted more.
She wanted
him
.
‘‘I want more,’’ she whispered. ‘‘I want you.’’
He lifted his head then, kissed her, and lifted his head again. ‘‘Open your eyes,
críona
.’’ She did, and he met her gaze, his own hazy with desire. He kissed her again and again, little nipping kisses and slow, deep ones. ‘‘This is wrong,’’ he whispered, ‘‘but it feels so right.’’
‘‘It
is
right. Oh, Sean, I still want you.’’
He held her gaze for so long, so steadily, she felt they might be locked together forever. Then he nodded and began tugging up on her dress, gathering it around her waist.
This is it,
she thought.
Finally he’s going to join his body with mine and make me his.
Her heart soared with the rightness of it, her pulse pounded, and every inch of her strained to feel him. She reached to help unbutton his trousers, but he moved down instead. Nibbled his way across her jaw and down her throat and past her breasts, nipping and licking her abdomen and her belly and lower, kissing her thighs, little feathery kisses that coaxed her to open them, baring her to his gaze.
And then he was there between her legs, his breath washing over her, hot and heavy. He kissed her there, touched her lightly with his tongue.
What was he doing? She’d never imagined such a thing. But the pleasure was even more unimaginable. She’d thought she was finished, drained past sensation; she’d wanted only to feel him inside her. But suddenly every fiber of her being was sparking alive again, driving her up once more, crowding every lucid thought from her head. She couldn’t think; she could only feel: the incredible heat of his mouth; his tongue, licking slick and unbelievably exciting; the tension building; her body straining toward a peak of passion she feared might tear her apart.
And it did. She splintered into a million shards of sensation, waves rushing, shimmering, and making her soar.
Sean felt her tremble, felt her shudder, heard her gasp and cry out his name, and thought it the sweetest moment he’d ever known. He held his mouth to her, savoringthe taste of her, a honeyed flavor he would never taste again.
He loved her, and he’d wanted to give her this. He knew there could be only this once, and he’d wanted to give her what he could before it was too late.
He crawled up her body and laid his head against her soft breasts, listening to her heart thunder like his. He wanted her, wanted her more than he’d ever thought possible. She whispered, ‘‘Take me, Sean; I still want you,’’ in a tone so desperate, so filled with yearning it made him want to weep with despair. He wanted to take her; he wanted to bury himself inside her and stay there forever.
But he couldn’t. Somewhere in the madness, somewhere in the midst of giving her what he could, he’d discovered he still had a shred of clarity.
The wispiest shred, the barest fog, but just enough.
He wasn’t going to take her. Not forever, not for a moment, not at all. He couldn’t do that; he couldn’t ruin her. Lust and drink had brought him closer to that than he’d intended, so close a hot rush of shame and regret overwhelmed him, but it wouldn’t take him any farther.
‘‘Take me now,’’ Corinna whispered desperately, pressing herself up against him.