Sins and Scandals Collection. Nicola Cornick
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“This is madness.” His voice sounded so rusty that he had to clear his throat. “Seduce the truth out of me? I have told you the truth.”
“Not all of it.” She drifted closer. The cloak swung out, the hem brushing his leg. He caught a glimpse of bare thigh beneath and his mind spun. Dear God, she really was naked beneath that cloak. Her scent, that elusive fragrance of bluebells, enveloped him. He imagined he could feel the warmth of her skin. His head swam with memories of the wild wicked passion they had shared.
“Awaken a virgin to pleasure—” he ground out.
“And she wants more.” Her gaze drifted to his, glittering blue with desire. “Quite.” She smiled at him.
“So this is all about sex,” Garrick said. “You could try waiting until after our wedding. You only need exercise self-control for one more day.”
We have reversed roles, he thought. It was usually the rake who seduced and the lady who protested.
She came close to him, putting her hands against his chest. Her breath tickled his ear. He thought she could easily let slip the velvet ribbons, and then the cloak would come tumbling off. He prayed it would not—and simultaneously hoped that it would.
“It’s not about sex,” she whispered. “It’s about honesty.” She drew back a step. Her gaze held his. “There was complete honesty between us when we made love before,” she said. “I do not believe that you could make love to me again and lie to me, too.”
“I assure you,” Garrick said, reaching for cynicism as his last defense, “most men would have no problem with that at all.”
“Most men, perhaps.” Her gaze was fearless. “But not you.”
Dear God, it was a mad idea, but as he watched the cloak slide farther down her shoulders, Garrick had the disconcerting suspicion that it might just work. She was right in that he had been building defenses against her from the very first, blocking her out because there was such a valiant integrity about her that he had known one day he must fall before it—and that he could never allow himself to do so.
“I have never lied to you,” he said painfully, truthfully, knowing it was no real answer because he had omitted to tell her so many things.
“We’ll see.” She had turned away, seemingly indifferent. The velvet edging at the neck of the cloak was below her shoulder blades now, the rich black a stark contrast to her white skin. Garrick’s body tightened unbearably. His throat was dry and his entire body shaking with the need to exercise such self-control over his raging lust.
“Merryn,” he said, a last-ditch attempt, the last plea of a soldier overwhelmed by opposing forces, “no—”
Too late …
She turned back to him and allowed the cloak to slide down her body so slowly that he almost groaned aloud. She was not naked but the gown she had chosen—if it could be dignified with such a name—was designed specifically to inflame rather than quench his desire. For a start it was transparent white, clinging to her breasts, so high and firm, showing the nipples dark through the gauze. It skimmed the gentle curve of her stomach, caressed her rounded thighs and drew Garrick’s gaze irresistibly to the shadowed valley between them.
No underwear. She wore no underwear at all.
His body hardened into painful arousal.
“Where did you get that gown?” he said, and he barely recognized his own voice.
“I borrowed it from Tess’s wardrobe.” There was defiance and a hint of anxiety in her voice. “I wanted something that would not be too difficult to remove.”
God almighty. Garrick thought he might just explode with lust.
The velvet cloak slipped and slithered sinuously down to pool at her feet.
This was the moment, Garrick thought, that a gentleman would pick up the cloak, wrap her in it, propel her out through the door and call a carriage to take her home.
He looked into her eyes and saw nervousness there as well as bright, burning desire. In that moment he knew that she was afraid. She thought he would reject her. She thought that he would laugh at this mad plan she had gambled everything upon and send her away. Despite the harlot’s gown and the attempt at wantonness she was too inexperienced to know if her strategy would work.
A huge tenderness filled Garrick to see the anxiety in her eyes. He gave a groan, caught her bare shoulders and pulled her to him, kissing her with a famished desperation that was as much a product of his despair as of his lust. She made a gentle humming sound of pure satisfaction and anything-but-pure desire and pressed close to him, her breasts soft and yielding against his chest. He kissed her with hunger, with craving, and felt his self-control shatter and his emotions reel. This was wrong, the very last thing that he should do when he had a stark choice to make between letting her go and tying her to him in a barren marriage. Yet instead of releasing her he held her locked against him; he drove his hands into her hair and covered her face with tiny, frantic kisses.
“I need you …” He spoke hoarsely, the words torn from him. She had no idea of the depth of his longing and his desperation. She was the only light in his darkness and he knew he did not deserve her. Yet miraculously she was not going to turn him away. She lifted a hand to his cheek; her lashes fluttered, she smiled at him. Garrick felt as though a fist had smashed straight into his heart, transmuting his raw hunger into something far more frightening and profound.
He held her for a moment longer, his face pressed against her hair, shudders convulsing him deep inside. Then she made a slight movement, bringing her lips back to his, and he abandoned thought and kissed her long and deep, her bare skin hot and smooth beneath his hands, her mouth eager and demanding under his. Garrick reached out, swept all the household accounts from the long mahogany table, the piles of paperwork it had taken him so long to compile, picked her up and sat her on the edge of the table. Her head fell back, the golden hair spilling about her like a drift of corn in the sun. Garrick’s lips nipped and kissed the soft line of her shoulder and down to the slopes of her breast. The hunger drove him hard. He fought the urge simply to spread her and take her. That was not good enough for Merryn, that he should sate his lust on her. He wanted her pleasure more than his own, wanted to bind her to him with every bond of physical desire he could use. Yet he knew he wanted more than that; he wanted to smash the barriers between them and claim her soul as well as her body.
He pulled back. “Do you want me to stop?” he demanded roughly.
“No.” Her word was a whisper. “Don’t stop.” He felt her make an effort. “But …”
“Yes?” He paused, his lips hovering over the ruffle that edged the neckline of the scandalous gown.
“The gown …” She sounded dazed, bewitched. “It was supposed to come off.”
Garrick took the neck of the gown, gave it one sharp tug and freed her breasts.
“Oh!” Her eyes opened wide in shock and pleasure, and Garrick’s body quickened in response.
“Oh,” she said again, this time on a whisper, as he took her nipple in his mouth, licking, sucking until she squirmed. She arched to the touch of his lips, bent back like a bow, and Garrick allowed his hands and mouth to plunder her, caressing, demanding, roaming now over the soft skin of her breasts and brushing the quivering tautness of her belly. Her skin felt hot and so sensitive. She vibrated beneath his touch. Garrick watched her face, dreamlike in its delight and discovery, and felt humbled by the openness with which she gave herself up to him, utterly exposed, utterly vulnerable. Desire tugged at him again but he leashed it, repressing his own needs ruthlessly as he continued to pleasure her until she was visibly trembling and crying out helplessly to him.
The gown, obliging as ever, fell open as he pulled it up. He parted her thighs, his fingers finding her core, stroking, sliding deep. The caress wrenched a gasp from her and Garrick covered her lips with his again, a reassurance as well as a demand. He