Nicola Cornick Collection: The Last Rake In London / Notorious / Desired. Nicola Cornick
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worked to put that disaster behind her, accepting that it was Connie who was the pretty one and she was the one with the intelligence if not the looks. And then Jack Kestrel had walked into the Blue Parrot and his desire for her had been like rain falling on parched ground and she had decided that, no matter how rash and impulsive it was, she was going to find out at last what physical love was all about.
Except that she had assumed that Jack would take charge, and now he was hesitating and his delay was making her nervous. Grabbing her courage in both hands, she walked straight up to him.
‘You will have to unfasten my gown,’ she said. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot manage it without a maid.’
Jack smiled then, a smile that made her toes curl and her stomach hollow with longing. He turned her around and started to unbutton the Poiret dress, bending his lips to the curve of her neck, kissing the skin that he uncovered, the flick of his tongue over her making the goose pimples rise all over her body. The gown fell to the floor with an expensive slither and Sally stepped out of it. She kicked off her shoes, her toes in their silk stockings sinking into the thick carpet. Standing there, armoured in her corset, she suddenly felt the same conviction that had always plagued her. She looked ugly and unattractive, Jack would change his mind, make an excuse, leave her. The thought made her feel suddenly sick and cold and she crossed her arms for comfort.
Jack turned her back to face him and their eyes met, and Sally’s heart skittered with nervousness and excitement at the look on his face, for he was looking at her as though she was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. His hand was on one of her shoulders, warm on her bare skin, and now he slid it down to her wrist and held her gently.
‘Sally Bowes,’ he said, ‘you are the most beautiful girl.’
Shock and disbelief held her still, staring at him. He took a step towards her and pulled the end of her bandeau so that her hair tumbled down about her shoulders. The pins fell silently on to the soft carpet, but he ignored them, tangling a hand in her hair, bringing her lips to his to kiss her again. The world spun, tilted, and Sally would have fallen with the sheer sensual demand of his mouth on hers, but he scooped her up in his arms and tossed her into the middle of her big double bed.
‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I just don’t have the patience for this.’
She looked at him, uncomprehending. Surely he was not simply going to stop? There was a danger that, if he did, she might just kill him out of sheer frustration. She felt the mattress shift as he moved away, and she struggled to sit up. She heard the click as he took Matty’s sewing scissors from the table and saw the lamplight glint on the silver. Her throat dried as she realised his intention. These were proper, big dressmaker’s scissors, not some harmless toy.
‘But … They’re sharp!’
He put a hand on her bare shoulder, pushing her back down to lie on the yielding bedcovers.
‘Keep still, then.’ The words were laced with wickedness. ‘I’m sorry about the corset,’ he said again. ‘I’ll buy you a new one.’
He placed the scissors on the neckline of her chemise, between her breasts. She felt the cold kiss of the metal against her skin and shuddered with nervousness and hungry desire. Her nipples chafed against the cotton, waiting for the cut that would free her breasts from constraint. The heat pooled low in her belly. She wanted to squirm but the fear held her still.
The first snap of the scissor blades made her shiver uncontrollably. He cut downwards, straight, his hand steady. The material eased. Her breasts felt full, straining for his touch, but his concentration did not waver. When the tip of the blade touched her belly button he stopped for a moment and Sally shifted, fisting her hands into the bedcovers.
‘Don’t stop, damn you,’ she said, and heard him laugh.
The cutting continued. She watched his face, intent and dark in the faint lamplight, watched the flash of the scissors and the pale exposure of her skin as the material of her corset and chemise and bloomers parted. The blade slid over the curve of her belly and paused at her pubic bone and she caught her breath on a sound that was part-sob, part-moan and moved her hands to cover herself. Jack laid the scissors down and forced her wrists back to her side, then took the remaining cloth in both hands and ripped it straight down the middle, pushing it aside to expose her body to the light and to his gaze.
Air touched her bare skin, hardening her nipples to tight peaks, caressing the tight, secret place between her thighs that ached for fulfilment. Driven beyond frustration, Sally kicked off her stockings, then rolled over and grabbed Jack’s shirt, pulling him violently down to her. Something tore. She felt his skin, warm and hard and a little rough against the palms of her hands. His mouth was on hers, bold, possessive. His hand went to her breast, his lips and tongue following to nip and lick and taste her there. Sally writhed on the bed, arching under him. He tossed the shreds of her underwear aside, shrugged out of his own clothes and straddled her hips, pinning her down.
She was so utterly lost and adrift in a world of unfamiliar sensation that when the moment came she had forgotten that there was something she had not told him. He was not being careful because he did not know he had to. He took her with one, hard thrust and she felt the resistance from her body, felt him push past it so that he was buried deep inside her and then, when his mind caught up with his body, she felt him go very still.
It hurt. It hurt quite a lot, enough to pull her out of the deliciously warm and sensuous world she had been wrapped up in. She winced and he shifted slightly and that was painful too. She felt anxious, disappointed, and unsure how her pleasure could have melted away so quickly. He raised one hand and pushed the tumbled hair back from her face and his fingers were gentle against her cheek.
‘Sally?’
Sally closed her eyes for a moment of pure mortification. All those wonderful, mindlessly exciting sensations had died completely now, leaving her feeling nothing other than embarrassment and extreme discomfort. How could she still be entwined in such an intimate embrace with this man—a man who was a virtual stranger—and feel nothing but awkwardness?
‘Must we talk about this now?’ she said beseechingly.
A smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we don’t need to talk now.’
‘Good.’ She tried to move away from him, intending to get up and find her clothes—any clothes—anything with which to cover herself, but he followed her movement, still keeping himself inside her. It made her nerves prickle with an echo of the excitement that had possessed her so recently. Despite herself, she shivered.
‘Jack—’ she said.
‘You didn’t want to talk.’ He shifted her more closely beneath him, sliding deeper into her. To her shock, her body responded, rocking against him. He made a sound of satisfaction in his throat and bent his head to her breasts, sucking her nipples, sliding within her with slow, deliberate strokes, his skin slick against hers until she started to feel heat pooling low inside her again and her body twitched and shook with a need that was a shocking, dazzling, exquisitely unbearable revelation to her. He was so high and hard within her, the demand of his body on hers was absolute, and she felt overwhelmed with the sensation and she screamed aloud and felt her mind reel and shatter into tiny pieces. She felt Jack shudder and collapse beside her and she lay still, breathing hard, in awe and astonishment.
Jack rolled over and turned up the lamp. His face was dark, the expression hard, and her heart missed a beat.
‘And now,’ he said politely, ‘we talk.’
Jack propped himself on one elbow and looked at Sally Bowes. On the floor beside the bed were the scraps of her underclothes that he had cut from her body. The scissors glittered on the side table. The sheets were tangled and Sally was tumbled amongst them, her hair about her shoulders, her skin flushed with latent arousal. The expression in her eyes was bemused and heavy with satiation. She looked like a fallen angel.
She also looked very, very desirable. Jack felt his body stir and ruthlessly clamped down on the urge to make love to her again. So much