While You Were Spying (Regency Spies Book 0) (33 page)

“Shh,” he whispered, putting his hands on her shoulders. “No more questions for now.”

His touch was warm and soothing as he began to knead her tired muscles. She hadn’t realized how tense and exhausted she was, and his touch felt so good.

When his thumbs pressed into her shoulder blades, she almost moaned. His practiced hands on her aching muscles felt wonderful. She closed her eyes and rolled her head forward, stretching out the soreness.

Ethan’s hands slid across her back and along her arms, pushing her gloves down as he did. It was a comforting gesture, and she told herself, as she pulled off the sticky gloves, dropping them on the floor, that she would stop him in a moment. But his hands slid back up to her shoulders, and still she didn’t speak. He would think she had no shame.

Then she felt his fingers on her shoulders, their touch light and careful of the delicate muscles there. He massaged away even the small aches she hadn’t known existed, sending warmth as hot as the crackling fire before her through her body. And before she knew it, his hands were in her hair again, pulling out the last of the pins that stubbornly clung to it and running his fingers through the heavy mass that fell almost to her waist.

Thumbs at her temples, his nimble fingers soothed away her strain and replaced it with tingles of warmth. Francesca sighed, rolled her head.

His hands wrapped around her long curls and swept them over her shoulder. Out of his way. His lips were on the curve of her neck, behind her ear, and she couldn’t stop a shiver as a thousand tiny vibrations coursed through her body. She resonated with warmth from his mouth, his touch.

He traced the line of her jaw with kisses light as the sweep of a butterfly’s wing, and she gripped the sides of her gown to stop herself from leaning into him.

It was a lost cause. When his lips moved to her earlobe, she pushed back against him, needing the support. Almost as if they had a mind of their own, her arms came up and wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him closer. He was so tall she was on tiptoes, straining against him.

She heard his intake of breath, and the slow way he let it out again, and knew he was having trouble controlling his response to her. The idea amazed her. The fact that he would want her that much. That he would need to exercise any control.

She felt no fear. With Ethan she had always felt protected. Safe. His tongue lightly traced the curve of her ear.

“Turn around,
cara
,” he whispered. His words seared her sensitive skin. He didn’t stop his gentle assault, but she felt him tense in the brief gap as she considered.

He was asking her. He would never force her to come to him. Of course, he’d phrased the request as a demand, but a man like Ethan hardly knew how to ask for anything.

She turned in his arms. In the dim glow of the firelight behind her, his eyes were dark. The appreciation she saw lingering in them was familiar now. His hands slid from her shoulders to her waist, pulling her closer. Pulling her against him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse.

She ducked her head, feeling the blush on her cheeks. “No. I’m not. You’re just—” She left off, not sure what she meant to say.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “What am I?”

A slow smile spread across his features and Francesca winced with embarrassment.

“Aroused?” he said, amusement in his voice.

She felt her cheeks flame brighter.

“I won’t deny it, but it hasn’t affected my vision.” One hand came up to cup her cheek. “You’d be beautiful if I was cold, wet, and shivering in a thunderstorm. You’d be beautiful if you were covered with grass and speckled with mud. You were,” he said, referring to her appearance after crawling through the brush in the clearing.

Francesca sighed. “Ethan, please.”

His features changed suddenly, the lightness gone. The molten lava in his eyes sent heat rushing to her belly. “Please? Yes. Tell me how to please you.” The fingers of one hand caressed her back lightly, and then he leaned down to kiss her.

She put one hand between them, and he stopped mere inches from her. Again, she was amazed that her small hand, that her feeble gesture, had the power to forestall him.

“I think we’d better go inside.” She glanced at the hospital’s curtains, pulled tight against the dark night. “It’s late.”

Ethan’s gaze searched her face, but he didn’t pull away. “Is that what you really want?”

It wasn’t, and she knew he could see the truth.

His hand on her cheek dropped, and he released her waist, moving a few inches away. The only contact between them was her hand on his chest. He was making it clear the decision was hers.

She watched him, considering. She wanted to kiss him again, and she knew where that would lead. And once she went down that path, she couldn’t go back. For all the familiarity of him—his voice, his smell, his face—Ethan, the man, was still an enigma to her.

He watched her, seeming to trace the thoughts as they raced through her head. She was aware of his closeness, his scent, the heat of his body under her hand on his chest. Then she felt it—the rapid but steady pulse of his heart—beating under her fingertips. She made her decision.

Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his so lightly that she barely felt his mouth. He didn’t move, merely allowed her to kiss him. She didn’t know what she’d expected to happen. That he’d seize her in a wild embrace and kiss her senseless? That he’d sweep her off her feet and plunder her mouth as if it were a king’s treasure?

She certainly didn’t expect this restraint, the barest motion of his lips against hers. She kissed him again, lingering a little longer this time. The softness of his mouth under hers made her shiver, and she drew back.

She glanced at him for guidance. He was watching her with an intensity that made the blood rush to her head.

“Now give me a real kiss. I promise not to bite.” His voice was low and husky, teasing in its tone. But not his eyes. His eyes were all but devouring her.

She hesitated. “And if I—” She swallowed and made an awkward gesture. “If I give you a real kiss, what happens next?”

He leaned down and pushed her hair from her shoulder while his hand caressed the oval of skin bared by the bodice of her gown. His lips found her neck, and she felt them trace a torturous path from her collarbone to her earlobe. She stifled a gasp when he bit her lightly.

“What do you want to happen next?” he murmured against her sensitive flesh.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ve never—” Her voice faded away, and she felt herself blushing again. She couldn’t remember when she’d blushed so much in the space of five minutes.

Her words seemed to hit him like the first gust of wind from a coming storm. He pulled back, moved away from her and leaned against the hospital’s table, bronze hands splayed on the pale wood. She watched him lift a hand and massage the bridge of his nose. For a long moment he didn’t say anything. Why couldn’t she have let him continue instead of questioning everything?

Finally he turned to her, met her gaze. “I want you, Francesca. And—this is a first—”

She almost smiled at the bewildered look that crossed his face when he said the words.

“I will be honest with you. I could seduce you.” He said it matter-of-factly, not giving her time to argue.

She wouldn’t have anyway.

“But I’d regret it tomorrow,” he continued, “and you’d probably end up hating me. You might anyway.” He smiled ruefully. “But I want you to come to me. I want you to want me as much as I want you.”

She did. There was no question of that. But that wasn’t what she’d meant when she’d asked what came next, and he knew it. Still, he’d answered her question. He’d said he wanted her and left it at that. He didn’t make any promises, didn’t propose marriage—an amusing idea considering half the world already thought they were engaged. He had said that he didn’t want to lose her, but she knew he hadn’t meant it, couldn’t mean it. And now he hinted that, in fact, she might come to regret getting so close to him..

And, she thought as she went to him, she knew she might very well come to regret this. But she also knew she’d regret the missed opportunity even more. His legs were braced apart, and she stepped between them. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“I want you, probably more than you’ll ever want me,” she said.

“Don’t be so sure of that.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, dragging her forward so that she was pressed tightly against his chest. “Show me how much you want me,
cara
.”

“How? I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do?” he murmured into her hair. She thought a moment, as if the decision of how to proceed required serious thought, then leaned up on tiptoes and kissed him.

He was smiling—probably amused at her lengthy deliberations—and his lips were curved under hers at first. That would never do. She wanted to feel his heart racing, hear his quick intake of breath and the low growl in his throat when she pleased him.

Amazed at her own audacity, she traced the curve of his smile with the tip of her tongue. And smiled herself when she felt his grin fade and his hands tighten on her waist. She parted his lips and kissed him deeper, exploring him and tasting him, filling every one of her senses with the touch, flavor, and feel of him.

All of this he allowed, encouraging her with the subtle pressure of his fingers or an angling of his head to give her better access, but when her hands mirrored the actions of her lips and began to explore his body as well, she felt his control slipping.

Her fingers, at first tentative, glided over his shoulders and arms. She enjoyed rubbing her hands over the straining cords of his muscles, honed from daily riding and exercise, enjoyed how they flexed slightly when she touched them. Then she ran her hands over his chest, parting his coat so her arms could encircle him. Hesitantly, she allowed her hands to drift lower, to his slim waist and hips, and still he made no move to stop her.

Her cheek was pressed to his. She’d become so intent in her explorations of his body that she’d abandoned his lips for the moment, and she took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, and dove lower.

She skimmed her palms over his buttocks, and he jerked and drew in a sharp breath. Immediately, she pulled away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He put a finger to her lips. “I don’t want you to stop.”

She chanced at look into his eyes. They were heated with desire for her, almost golden now. He worked his fingers underneath his tight cravat, loosening the snowy white cloth.

“You don’t have any idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”

“No.” Her hand flew to her throat, eyes widening with concern. “What am I doing to you?”

“You’re killing me,” he whispered, leaning close to her, his cravat dangling from the front of his waistcoat.

“But I thought you liked it?”

He grinned. “If I’m to die, there’s no way I’d rather go.”

She scrunched up her brows in confusion.

His smile turned wicked. “Maybe it would be better if I show you what I mean? No objections?” he asked, reaching for her.

She hesitated, not sure what to make of the roguish glint in his eyes. “No.”

Imitating her investigation of him with his own thorough examination of her, he showed her the sweet path to sinful execution. She shivered at his touch on her shoulders, felt warmth infuse her when he traced the curve of her spine, and gasped as his palms glided over her breasts, lingering for just a moment as she had on his chest. Her nipples hardened immediately, and she knew he felt it through the thin silk fabric of her gown. Then, as she had done, he moved to her waist and finally cupped her bottom with both hands.

She panted with need, wanting something more and not knowing what. He showed her, pulling her body against his so that she could feel him, hot and hard, against her abdomen. Though it was surely wanton, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from pressing against that hardness.

He groaned, pulling her even closer. Then, quite suddenly he released her and stripped off his coat. She stood, feeling dazed, as she watched him struggle with the tight-fitting garment, then throw it on the floor by the fire.

Without thinking, she bent to retrieve it. “What are you doing? Pocket will have your head.”

He laughed and took the coat from her, fully intending, or so it seemed, to throw it right back down. “I don’t want to think about Pocket right now, and I won’t take you on the bare floor.”

At his words, she froze. His intentions, put so plainly, jolted her out of her haze of desire. Of course, she’d known what she was agreeing to, but she hadn’t allowed the idea to form clearly in her mind.

He would take her. She’d be a fallen woman. No longer a virgin. Not that she cared much for her virginity—after Roxbury she had no desire to marry—but could she live knowing, even if no one else did, that she was ruined?

She glanced at Ethan and knew he again followed the path of her thoughts. He had an uncanny ability to do that, though she’d never been difficult to read. She saw he’d moved away from her, giving her room, an opportunity to flee if she wanted.

But now that she looked at him, all of her doubts and fears fell away. She loved him, wanted him, and she was willing to accept—even embrace—the consequences that came with those feelings. Scandalous as it was, she
wanted
to be ruined by him.

“I’ll put down blankets.” She went to the cupboard where she kept them. The simple, familiar task of gathering the blankets calmed her. She felt safe here, in this place that was her own. And she felt safe with Ethan. Tonight he, too, would be hers alone.

Blankets piled in her arms, she turned back to the fireplace. When she passed Ethan, his hand on her arm stopped her. “Francesca—”

She dropped the blankets and put a finger to his lips. “I want this,” she whispered and reached on tiptoes to kiss him.

His eyes darkened and, without hesitation, his arms came around her, his mouth returning the kiss with all the passion she’d yearned for earlier. His mouth, his tongue, explored her with a thoroughness that left her breathless. His hands were equally as thorough, skimming here, lingering there.