The Accidental Abduction (17 page)

“Y
es,” she breathed again, and the word itself felt lush and rich in her mouth.

“Good.”

He was backing her up, just like he had in the darkness outside the inn. Keeping hold of her wrists, he steered her where he wanted her to go, turning his body gently with each step so his chest and hips swayed sensuously against hers. This time, though, instead of moonlight, there was the warm flicker of the room's fire and instead of a hard wall behind her, there was the bed.

Harry didn't lay her down, at least not immediately. He wrapped her in his embrace again, and lavished her with warm, deep, inviting kisses. She did not struggle against his grip on her wrists. It felt too good to relax in his arms and let herself be kissed this way. His hands moved up her back, and busied themselves with tapes and hooks until she felt the fabric loosen and fall open.

“You've done this before,” she said in mock accusation as Harry's mouth moved from hers to kiss the line of her jaw, her throat, her freshly exposed shoulder.

“Mmm,” he agreed without any sign of shame or regret. “And the experience is proving most useful.” He pressed her dress farther open, sliding the sleeves off her arms, and letting the bodice fall to her waist. He ran his hands firmly, deliberately down her sides, all the way to her hips, pushing the excess fabric of her plain blue dress down and away, until it dropped into a heap around her ankles.

Now she stood before him in corset, shift, and stockings. He gazed at her, boldly, openly coveting all he saw of her form and flesh. Leannah felt a blush that had nothing at all to do with shame rise up from her breasts to color her throat and cheeks.

Harry slid his hands back up her sides and over her shoulders. He speared them into her hair. Patiently, he sought out her pins. Leannah's breath grew harsh and ragged. The sensation of his fingers against her scalp, combing through her hair was maddening. Her center tightened and she felt her thighs growing damp. She made herself look into his eyes, to see the lust and need he held in such tight control as he plucked her pins free so her tresses could tumble loosely down her breasts and back. Leannah pressed one hand against his hip. With the other she reached up and pulled out the last pin, letting it drop onto the floor to join her discarded dress.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath as the last of her curls cascaded down.

“Yes,” he breathed. “This is how I've wanted to see you from the first.”

The warmth he kindled at her core intensified. Leannah welcomed it. She liked standing in front of him, bared in this way. She wanted more. She wanted to be rid of shift and corset. She wanted him to be free of coat and shirt and crumpled cravat, all of it. She could see the shape of his arousal beneath his breeches, and she wanted to see it in truth. She needed this. She needed him.

Harry settled both hands on her shoulders and pressed down, urging Leannah to sit on the bed.

“You'll have to give me a moment, my dear.”

“What for?” The words came out as uncomfortably close to a pout, but the smile Harry turned on her was worth it.

“My dear Leannah, there is no clever or amusing way to do this, but I've got to get these blasted boots off.”

“Let me . . .” she began, but stopped, remembering her own hands at the last minute.

“Don't worry,” he said as he sat on the bed beside her. “We'll have years to undress each other.”

Will we?
She let her fingers graze his shoulder, and his arm.
Or will it just be this once?

It doesn't matter,
she answered herself.
If it is to be just this once, then let it last, let it burn as brightly as we can make it.

Leannah knew men who were as vain about their boots as any woman about her ball gown. Harry did not appear to be one of them. After several moments of hard, undignified tugging, and several muffled curses, he tossed the boots aside, closed his eyes, and stretched his legs out with a relieved sigh.

“You're not used to Hessians, are you?”

“Never wear the things if I can at all avoid it.” Harry opened one eye to peek at her. “Not disappointed, I hope?”

“No, and if you'd had your toes stepped on as much as I have, you'd understand why.”

He laughed. “I trust you won't mind if I also discard coat and cravat?”

Leannah shook her head, and Harry suited actions to his words. She felt herself staring. An unfamiliar sensation rose in her as he doffed his burgundy coat, and unwound the strip of linen that secured his collar. It was a species of hot hunger, and it made the desire they'd shared at the Three Swans seem a fleeting, paltry thing. That need had made her weak, this hunger made her fierce.

He was removing his collar now, and undoing his shirt laces, providing her with a tantalizing glimpse of his chest. The skin there was bronzed, just as it was on his face and hands. She had been right. Harry did strip down and expose himself to the elements, and the gaze of the world. Leannah had a sudden vision of him in a summer meadow, wearing nothing but a pair of thin breeches. A wave of dizziness swept through her. She was starving for his touch and for his naked body. Her hands itched to hold him, to show him that he was not the only one with a knowledge of intimacy.

Harry met her gaze, and he had the nerve to smile at her as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, and laid it on the chair with his other discarded garments.

Considering how unceremoniously they had just dropped her clothing on the floor, this really was the limit.

“Does Mr. Rayburn intend to finish his toilette sometime today?” she inquired.

“Oh-ho, is this pique I'm hearing?” Harry arched his dark brows. “Does Mrs. Rayburn perhaps wish to register a complaint?”

“Certainly not.” She folded her hands primly in her lap. “But if Mr. Rayburn is feeling in some way unready . . .”

“
Unready?
”

“Oh, dear.” Leannah blinked up at him. “Was that indiscreet?”

He advanced on her. Leannah did not let herself shrink back, or allow the placid mask of her expression to shift. He grabbed hold of her wrists and leaned her back, bearing her down against the mattress, kissing her all the while. There was nothing slow or languorous about this kiss. He crushed his mouth against hers, taking charge without hesitation or permission. He pressed his knees against hers until her legs opened and he could step between them. He kept kissing her as he raised her arms over her head. When she was positioned as he wanted her, he pressed his forearms against the counterpane on either side of her head. He rubbed himself against her, hard. She gasped as the ridge of his erection ground against her damp folds. It was a rough, rude gesture, and it was exactly what she wanted.

“Do I feel unready to you?” he growled.

Leannah made herself roll her eyes. Where did this impish willingness to play come from? Under Harry's sensuous attentions, she was turning into someone quite new—an impulsive woman, unafraid of the most daring sort of games. “I don't know,” she drawled slowly. “Perhaps if I could see some
evidence . . .”

“You little minx.” He spoke the words with a burst of surprised laughter. “Very well. Since you see fit to doubt your lawful husband, I shall have to teach you a lesson.”

He seized her, and in one swift motion, flipped her over so she was facedown on the counterpane. The suddenness of it made Leannah squeak, and he snickered. She struggled, but he had her wrists again and was pressing them down firmly against the shifting feather mattress.

“Oh, no. You stay just as I have placed you, or I shall have to tie you down.”

“You wouldn't.” She'd meant to sound outraged, but it was difficult with the covers muffling her voice.

“With much less provocation than you are currently offering.” He ran his hands down her back to her corset laces, and she sighed as she felt him work the knots. His legs pressed between hers again, and she sprawled open, indecent and inelegant. He leaned close over her, lifting and pulling until her corset opened and he could draw it out from around her belly. The absence of boning and lacing allowed her to breathe freely, to stretch and writhe, and while she might still be facedown, she knew Harry watched every motion.

“Wicked woman,” he whispered and grabbed up handfuls of her shift, bunching it up, to expose her thighs and derriere to his view. His hands closed possessively around her, pressing and working her so that the covers slid provocatively underneath her bared skin, adding a fresh sensation to his exciting, indecent caress. “You should be spanked for your impudence.” He ran his hand slowly around the curve of her buttock. “But that's for later.” There was a rustle of cloth behind her. “Turn over. Let me see you.”

She did turn over. Harry had discarded his shirt, and stood before her naked to the waist. He stripped magnificently. A light dusting of golden hair decorated the sculpted planes of his chest. But the sun bronze highlighted the starburst of white at his waist, and a long, thin line down his right arm. From this angle she could clearly see the shape of his erection. Impatience filled her. He was taking his time, enjoying his mischief, and making her wait. She didn't want to wait. She had waited for him long enough, for years, for her entire life. She lifted herself onto her elbows and opened her mouth to make her own demands. He must strip the remainder of his rumpled clothing away, and he must hurry.

But Harry was already busy with his breeches fly. She sucked in a hissing breath as he shoved the unneeded garments down and kicked them away to stand before her, entirely naked and entirely magnificent. His member stood tall and proud against his taut belly and Leannah felt her mouth watering at the sight of it. Heat and anticipation tightened her center unbearably, and her legs fell open of their own accord. She longed to touch him and stroke him and take him into her. She hated her shift. She wanted to be as bare and unashamed for him as he now was for her.

Harry advanced, slowly. Leannah laughed and scooted backward in mock alarm until she was pressed against the bolsters. Harry climbed onto the bed, on his hands and knees. There was nowhere to go, no escape, even if she'd wanted one. He lunged forward, caught her around the waist and rolled, bringing them together so he could grasp her breast through the soft cambric of her shift. Leannah moaned and arched her back, forcing her aching nipple against his palm.

“Yes, like that, Leannah. It feels good, doesn't it?” He rolled them again, pressing her back against the mattress so he could straddle her, capturing her thighs between his.

He had her arms, and raised them over her head, crossing the wrists just as he had the night before. “Now, you stay like that,” he said. “Or I will have to be very stern with you.” Before she could protest, he had her breasts in both his hands, and his calloused, clever fingers found her ruched nipples and began at once to pinch and play.

“Oh, yes.” Her hips writhed, but he did not loosen his thighs at all. The burning confinement forced her legs to rub together, and that raised her desire as surely as if she'd been using her hand. Combined with his plumping and petting of her breasts, the feeling was entirely decadent. “Yes.”

She couldn't stand to be still anymore. She must touch him. This heat, this need, would kill her if she did not. Mindful of his care of her hands, she chafed his arms with her wrists, reveling in the strong shape of them. He allowed it, and it was wonderful. Harry gathered up the wrinkled cloth of her shift, and drew it over her head. She was fairly certain she heard fabric rip, but she didn't care. She looped her wrists around his neck. He let her draw him down without protest, to kiss her and lay the whole of himself against her. This was what she wanted. His warm chest, his belly, hips, thighs, all pressed tight against her and it was wonderful. His hands caressed her back and sides, as hungry for her touch as she was for his. His member rubbed against her damp curls and the hot pleasure of it filled her, driving out breath and thought, and all other feeling.

He slid down her, kissing her shoulders and the swell of her breasts. He gathered both tightly and closely into his knowing hands. His tongue darted out to curl around her hot nipple, drawing another low moan from her throat. He tasted, he lapped, he sucked, and, gently, he nipped. The play was driving her into a divine madness. She could not touch him with her hands, but she could wrap her thighs around him and pull him against her. She could rub and writhe and urge him on. His body was hard and smooth against her softer flesh. She ran her heels down the back of his legs. She arched her hips, moving, adjusting until his shaft fitted into her slick folds. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to know how he would fill her, how he would feel when she tightened her core around him.

“Patience, Leannah.” Harry nuzzled her wickedly. “You will have what you want. I swear it.”

“Now, Harry.” She arched her hips again, circling them against him. Oh, it felt good, but it was not enough.