Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(71)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

His dreamy thoughts were interrupted by the door to his study opening again. Lazarus looked up and for a moment wondered if his thoughts of Temperance had conjured her out of thin air.

He stood. “Temperance. What are you doing here?”

“I…” She glanced about his study as if dazed. “I… I thought to visit you.”

His brows drew together. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, perfectly.” But her bottom lip trembled.

Why was she lying to him? “Would you like to sit? I’ll ring for some wine—”

“No!” She started for him. “No, please don’t call anyone. I simply wanted to be with you.”

Her face was pale. The wide-brimmed hat she held in one hand fell to the floor as she came toward him.

“How did you get here?” he asked.

“I walked,” she said breathlessly.

“From St. Giles?” He shook his head. “Temperance, you must tell me what the matter is. I—”

“No.” She took his face between his palms. “I don’t. I don’t want to think about that for a while. I don’t want to think about anything.”

And she pulled his head down and kissed him. Her mouth was desperate on his, not soft and luring, but hot and hungry. His body reacted as if trained to service her and her alone. He found himself with his arms about her, his tongue already in her mouth. She made a sound of satisfaction beneath his lips as he crowded her against the desk. His hands were on her skirts, gathering them even as his mind reminded him that there was no lock on his study door.

“Damn it.” He tore his mouth from hers, sweeping her into his arms.

Swiftly he bore her out of the study, past his startled butler and up the stairs to his bedroom. Small was inside when he kicked the door open.

“Out,” Lazarus said in a voice he no longer recognized as his own.

The valet disappeared silently.

Lazarus laid Temperance on his bed, then began to climb in beside her.

“No,” she said breathlessly.

He froze, watching her.

“I want…” She licked her lips. “I want to do this your way.”

Despite her veiled words, he knew immediately what she meant. Animal desire slammed through him, hardening his cock to the point of pain, drawing his balls tight. Dear God, yes. In a second, he was half mad with the mere thought. He could take her in the way he liked best; she’d asked. But a small part of him withdrew, shaking its head in disapproval. Temperance was different. He couldn’t use her like this.

“Are you sure?” he demanded.

“Yes.”

He leaned over her, a hawk guarding prey before the strike. “Be sure. Once a certain point is crossed, I won’t be able to back away. And you won’t be able to make me.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Please. I want to know what you do. I want to feel it.”

He stared at her a moment longer, trying to read her mind, before shoving off the bed again. His hands were trembling.

“Very well.” He took a step back, afraid to touch her. Afraid to lose control. “Take off your clothes.”

She drew in a breath, her cheeks pinkening, but her hands moved to the laces of her bodice readily enough. He watched, his fingers flexing by his sides, as she stripped off bodice and stays, her skirt and shoes. When she extended a slim foot forward and slowly unrolled her stockings, he began to think she was teasing him. When she pulled the chemise gracefully over her head and threw it to the floor, he knew. She reached up and took the pins from her hair, fluffing it and combing her fingers through the locks. She sat on his bed, entirely nude, her breasts high and proud, one calf under the other leg, and she simply looked at him, waiting for his next command.

He swallowed. God. Could he do this? But she’d wanted it. She’d asked for it.

He turned before he could change his mind and quickly crossed to his chest of drawers. Inside the top drawer was a pile of neckcloths, neatly folded. He grabbed a handful and returned to the bed.

“Lie down,” he said, his voice husky.

She complied, placing her wrists over her head without prompting, near the spools of his headboard. He tied them there, trying to keep his eyes away from her breasts, drawn high by her lifted arms, away from her parted mouth.

“Spread your legs.”

She parted her thighs, spreading her legs wide, for his bed was not narrow, and he fastened each ankle to the posts at the end. He straightened, looking at her as he held the last neckcloth. She was like some feast for a god. Her body pink and white against the green and brown of his coverlet, her hair long and silky, spread upon his pillow.

Her eyes were not afraid, but they were wide.

He walked to the head of the bed, drawing the neckcloth through his fingers. “And now I blindfold you.”

TEMPERANCE WATCHED AS Caire bent over her with the neckcloth. His face was grave, his sensuous lips drawn tight with strain, and his sapphire eyes had darkened to near black. She knew she should feel fear, but all she felt was anticipation.

Exquisite anticipation.

He placed the soft folds of linen over her eyes, and all was black. She listened to the sound of her own breathing, louder somehow, as she felt him tie the neckcloth firmly. His hands left her and she cocked her head, listening for his movement. He had paced around the bed, she thought, near the foot, but he stopped. She nervously fingered the carving at the head of the bed. What was he doing? What did he wait for? Her thighs were parted widely, air cooling her most intimate flesh.

“You are so lovely.” His deep voice was near her left side and she started.

“Shhh,” he murmured, and she felt something—a fingertip?—on her left shoulder. The touch was so light she wasn’t even sure it was there.

“Your skin is like silken velvet,” he said, close to her ear. His fingertip skimmed down to her breast, slowly circling. “A pearly pink, so fine, so sweet.”

He withdrew his fingertip from her skin, and for a moment she was untouched.

Something wet touched her nipple.

She inhaled at the suddenness. It was his tongue, it must be, but it was the only part of him that touched her. He circled her nipple and then closed his mouth about it, suckling. Shivers of sparkling sensation ran from her nipple straight to her center. She squirmed without conscious thought, but the binds at her wrists and ankles kept her from moving much. She must simply wait and submit to his attentions. Submit to what he wished to do next.

Was this the allure, then? This helpless wanting, this anxious anticipation?