“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” He surveyed her impatiently. “You’ll let me kiss you, but you address me as if we’ve just been introduced at bloody Almack’s?”
“Don’t tell me you mean to take me back to the Magdalene Bridge.” She sounded disgusted, as well she might. “What kind of blasted rake are you, Mr. Evans?”
Mr. Evans? Still? “You know my requirements.”
She made a low sound like a cat denied a treat and rose on her elbows. “Proceed, Christopher.”
Chapter Eighteen
Christopher’s expression transformed to wolfish anticipation. Thrilling trepidation quivered through Genevieve as he dragged her into his arms. Then coherent thought fled as his mouth crashed down.
There was none of the seeking gentleness she remembered. This was headlong demand. Shock held her motionless, then a dark wave of arousal overwhelmed her. On a broken moan, she raised her hands and buried them i
n his thick, soft hair.
The first time they’d kissed, she’d been untouched. Now she parted her lips for his invasion. His tongue stroked hers, stirring restless heat in her belly. She’d never wanted a man before Christopher. She’d had no idea the experience could be so delicious, yet so frustrating. A sensation of falling, then the cushions were slippery behind her back. His long body came down over hers, cloaking her with passion.
His passion… Hard fullness jutted into her stomach. She arched to test that intriguing weight and felt as much as heard him groan against her lips.
Tentatively, then with growing confidence, she ran her hand across his chest while her mouth danced with his, advancing, retreating, teasing, surrendering. It was a rhythm as complex as any music. Sweeter than the sweetest music. Lingeringly she ran her hands down the powerful column of his neck to his broad shoulders. She loved his shoulders. Their power. Their grace. The way they created their own horizon.
Encouraging his intoxicating rapacity, she turned her face up. She curled her fingers around his biceps then slid her hands across his back, feeling the subtle shift of muscle and bone under the thin shirt. Lower she ventured, tracing the line of his spine. Some distant warning made her pause before she reached firm masculine buttocks, however much she ached to discover all of him. He touched her too, no longer lashing her close as if expecting her to run. They both knew she had no intention of going anywhere, except too far along the primrose path.
Her whole body sang. She whimpered as she tore her lips from his and buried her face in his shoulder. He barely exceeded the bounds of propriety and already she felt overcome. His scent dizzied her. That cursed lemon verbena that should smell like betrayal, and instead promised joy. Beneath it the musky scent of a man’s hunger, astonishingly familiar after those moments by the pond.
His hands cupped her hips, stroking her through her skirts. Heat welled between her legs. She opened her eyes to dazzling shafts of light piercing the graceful willow fronds. This bend of the river was a private, shining world where concepts like sin and virtue held no sway. There was just pleasure, endless pleasure.
Christopher raised his head and his flaring nostrils drew in her scent. His ferocious expression should terrify her but it only fed her excitement. As his mouth possessed hers, she dreamily imagined she could stay here forever. Nothing in scholarship matched this exhilaration. To think she’d wasted all that time learning Latin and Greek when a doctorate in kissing could increase her happiness so immeasurably.
He balanced over her, eyes vivid against the green, shoulders hedging out the world. “There’s more.”
Her hands slipped around his neck. Now that she wasn’t fighting him, she could admit he had a wonderful face. “Show me.”
He kissed her breast, making her tremble. Her nipples were tight and throbbing. She didn’t know what she wanted, until he slid her bodice lower and nipped at the beaded tips. She gasped as the feeling, halfway between pain and pleasure, jolted to her belly. “Christopher!”
When he drew one peak between his lips, need spiraled. Distantly she knew that she should stop him. A few kisses fell into a gray area between flirtation and ruin. Brandishing her bare breasts crossed a line.
He kissed her until she writhed, muscles tightening toward an end she couldn’t imagine. Still kissing her, he rolled her other nipple in long, sensitive fingers. She’d never felt like this. When he raised his head, she shook as if a strong wind buffeted her. Whereas the only storm assailing her was desire. Her hands fumbled to cover her chest.
Panting, he stared down at her, his arms supporting his weight. “You’re so beautiful.”
For the first time in her life, she believed it. Nervously she licked her lips and his heavy gaze focused on the movement. He shuddered and pressed forward, making her inescapably aware that he wanted her with a man’s hunger.
“Kiss me again,” she murmured, wondering who this demanding wench was. It certainly wasn’t scholarly Genevieve Barrett who only got excited about obscure facts in obscure volumes.
He smiled and slid along her body to rest on the cushions beside her. “With pleasure.”
She wriggled in the confined space. “It’s a tight fit.”
Her comment amused him. His dipped eyelids indicated that he contemplated lechery. “It is indeed.”
He leaned against the prow and arranged her pliant body across his lap. One powerful arm encircled her back as he lifted her hand from her bosom and kissed it. “Let me see you.”
She struggled with her free hand to cover as much skin as she could. Sadly she was so ridiculously over-endowed, a mere palm and five fingers weren’t up to the task. She blushed. She hoped by the time she’d finished with this reprobate that he’d cure her of that lamentable habit. “You’ve seen me.”
“Can one get too much of a good thing?”
She sighed with impatience and fumbled her bodice over her breasts. “You can’t mean to debate philosophy.”