And the Bride Wore Plaid by Karen Hawkins
“What—” She had to lick her lips to continue. “What do we do now?”
“We are going to build your trust.”
“How?”
“Very, very slowly.” He held out his arm, the scarf fluttering at the movement. “Lean forward and place your feet flat on the floor.”
She did as he asked, though it brought her knees against his chest.
“Afraid?” His voice was dark, deep, seductive.
Kat sent him a glance, one she hoped was quelling and disdainful. “Should I be?”
“With me? Never.”
One word. But spoken with such meaning that it gave her pause.
He took the scarf and ripped it down the middle, into two long pieces.
“Wh—” She blinked in astonishment as he took one of the pieces of the scarf, placed the end in the palm of her hand, and then began wrapping it about her wrist. While she watched, amazed, he took the other end of the scarf and wrapped it around the arm of the chair until her wrist was bound to the chair. “Devon, I cannot—”
He placed the loose end of the scarf in her hand. “All you have to do is let go and unwind it and you will be free. You are in control, Kat. Not me.”
He was right. As long as she held the end of the scarf in her hand, she had the ability to release herself. She watched bemused as he did the same to her other wrist.
Kat couldn’t quite believe what was happening to her. She was dressed in the decadent silk night rail in her own bedchamber, bound to a chair in front of a handsome man.
“Now,” Devon said, standing. “Here is where we begin. Do you mind if I take off my coat?”
It was very warm in the room, she thought. Actually, it was a lot warm, though little of that had to do with the fire. “Of course you may take off your coat.”
He did so, revealing a narrow waistcoat of deep blue. He tossed the jacket over the back of the chair he’d abandoned earlier. “Now. May I remove my waistcoat and shirt?”
Dear God, he was undressing right in front of her. A delicate shiver traced down her back, shimmering across her skin and making her breasts swell in response. Somehow, she found herself answering in a hushed, husky voice, “Yes.”
Within moments, his waistcoat and shirt had joined his coat on the back of the chair. He stood before her, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his arms powerful, his chest covered with crisp, curly hair. Her fingers itched at the sight, for she wanted nothing more than to touch him.
She twisted against the bonds that held her hands.
“All you have to do is release them and they are gone.” He knelt before her, his face level with hers. “You are in control, Kat. You decide what you want. And if you ever want me to stop, no matter when, no matter what I am doing, I will do so.” He bent forward then, his lips to her ear. “You can trust me.”
She turned her face until her cheek was pressed to his. Her entire body thrummed with awareness, with need. She wanted him to touch her, to kiss her.
He pulled back slowly, his skin brushing hers as he found her mouth. He kissed her deeply, passionately, his lips hot and firm. She moaned against his mouth, leaning forward, letting all her passion flood through the embrace.
He left her mouth to kiss her cheek, her neck, the neckline of her gown, his lips teasing, caressing. She pressed forward, offering herself to him, wanting more.
Devon’s head dipped lower until his mouth was on the crest of her breast. Her nipples hardened, abrading the silk gown and tightening. She threw back her head, reveling in the sensation.
The scarf bonds tightened as she unthinkingly attempted to bring up her hands to cup his head, hold him to her. But she did not release the ends. There was something freeing about letting him have his way, about having the ability to stop it, yet not.
He slid down and pressed his mouth to her breast through her gown. She gasped, then stopped as he tongued her nipple, her gown growing damp from his efforts. The sensation of that mouth through the thin material of her gown, of the hot, damp clothing over her nipple, made her shudder already.
It felt so good, so wondrous that she could scarcely stand it. And the fact that his bared shoulders were so tantalizingly close made her torture all the more exquisite.
He slid farther down, his hands tracing the shape of her waist, her hips, her legs. On to her feet. There he stopped, meeting her gaze for a long moment. “If you want me to quit, all you have to do is say one word.”
She nodded, but made no effort to say anything.
He smiled, his hands now resting one on each ankle. “This is for you, my love.” He lifted up the bottom of the night rail, sliding the silk along her bare skin, pushing the material until it rested on her knees. Then he bent and kissed the inside of each ankle, sending tremors of feeling pulsing through her.
Kat had to fight a moan. The stifled noise seemed to inflame him, for he slid his kisses from her ankles to her knees. Cupping an ankle, he gently pushed up her night rail even more, parting her legs as he did so. Cool air wafted over her calves and the insides of her thighs.
She felt like a complete wanton, sitting exposed before him. But somehow, she couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stay away, couldn’t pretend that this attraction wasn’t burning through her.
He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, the movement sudden and unexpected. So strong was her reaction that Kat thought she’d shoot right out of the chair. “Devon,” she gasped.
He stopped immediately, his gaze meeting hers. “Yes?”
She knew she had but to say one word and he’d stop. She could also release the scarf ends and be free to put her gown back in place, and resume her life of unending dignity. She looked down at herself, at the wet circle he’d made around her nipple, at the way the silk gown was bunched almost to her hips. At the sight of her own legs bared and splayed, Devon kneeling between them.
God help her, she didn’t want to stop. Not now, not ever. She lifted her eyes to his and said not one word, but two. “More, please.”
Chapter 16
I’ve had me share of the fair sex. ’Tis a pity the fair sex thinks they’ve already had their fair share of me.
Cold Bob, the fishmonger, to young Peter Franshawe, tutor to the Duke of Draventon’s son after a chance meeting in a pub
Devon leaned back, the candlelight caressing his face, tracing the line of his jaw. He looked so incredibly handsome that Kat’s breath stuttered. This must have been what the angel Gabriel looked like, a vision of masculine beauty that locked the eye and sent a piercing ache straight to the heart.
Kat cleared her throat, wondering if her thighs looked fat from the angle Devon could see them. She suddenly wished for a cover. “I am a little cold.”
His brows lifted. “Afraid?”
The soft words hung in the air between them. Kat’s jaw tightened. “Of you? No. Of course not.”
“Good. There are a lot of things I’d like you to feel when you look at me. Fear isn’t one of them.”
That was certainly unfortunate because a sort of fear was shivering through her that very instant. Fear that her feelings were already so deeply engaged that she could not back away. Not that her body was retreating from him. Oh no. God forbid that Devon touch her any more intimately than he already had or she’d explode into a conflagration of white-hot flames.
The fact was that Devon St. John inspired fear and more; he was also directly responsible for every last twinge of lust, desire, and unmitigated longing that had wracked her nights ever since she’d met him. And it was time she stopped fighting it and accepted the simple fact that she wanted him.
Slowly, she released the ends of the scarf and tugged her arm free, first one, and then the other. He rocked back on his heels, disappointment flickering across his face.
She unwound the scarf scraps from her wrists and collected them in a ball. Devon stood, looking down at her with an inscrutable expression. “Kat, I—”
She pointed to one side.
His gaze followed her
She handed him the scarf scraps. “You can tie me up there, if you’d like. I think it might be more comfortable for us both.”
Devon blinked bemusedly at the scarf ties, a gradual dawning crossing his face. “Kat, are you certain—”
“More, please,” she said again, only this time she stood and walked to the bed, not waiting to see if he would follow.
She stopped by the bed and reached up to undo the single tie that held on the pale green night rail, hesitating just a second when it dawned on her that for the first time in she didn’t know how many years, a man was going to see her naked. And not just any man, but Devon St. John, one of London’s most sought after, most feted bachelors.
He was used to having the most delicate and dainty women of the ton undress before him every day, if what Murien hinted was true.
Kat’s lips quivered suddenly. She wished she hadn’t grown so fond of pastries these last few years. But who could have foreseen that a beautiful, incredibly handsome man would even now be waiting for her to undress, his eyes dark with passion.
Life was a mystery. And so, too, was Devon St. John. She only hoped that he would not cease to be attracted to her once he saw her for what she was—too tall, too large, too awkward, too loud, and too…undainty.
The horrid thoughts froze her fingers over the ties.
Just as she was preparing to force her fingers into behaving, a pair of warm hands closed over hers. Devon’s voice sounded in her ear. “You’re going to maul this lovely gown. That, my sweet, is my job.”
The humor lacing his voice made her relax somewhat. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to undressing on demand.”
He quickly undid the tie, but made no move to step away, his body warm against her back, his hands slowly sliding up and over her shoulders. “There. Now you are untied.”
So she was. She took a deep breath and pulled her gown loose about her neck, but didn’t remove it any further. In fact, she clutched it to her, feeling as bare and vulnerable as if she were suddenly seventeen once more, and thrust into the unwelcome arms of Edinburgh society. She couldn’t bring herself to turn to face Devon, so she said with a nervous laugh, “I’m certain you made many of the women of the ton very happy.”
There was a short silence, and then he leaned forward to wrap his arms about her. “Kat, don’t be afraid. Not of me. You are one of the most natural, passionate women I know. I don’t want you to feel less because of me.”
“Less?”
“I won’t pretend I don’t wish to see you without that blasted gown. I do. So much. But not at the price of your pride.”
Her pride. Was that what was holding her back? She considered this and then decided he was right. It astonished her that he seemed to understand her so well.
Her first impulse was to turn toward him, wrap her arms about his neck, press her body to his, and kiss him as deeply and passionately as he had kissed her only a day ago.
And after she thought about it, she realized it was also her second, third, and fourth impulse, as well. She wanted to kiss him. Kiss him and more. Much more. She wanted to kiss him, taste him, feel his mouth on her lips, her skin. She wanted to touch him, and feel him against her, inside her—
Stop it, she warned herself abruptly. Already her body was responding to Devon’s intoxicating closeness. She didn’t need her vivid imagination adding more stress to her already fractured brain.
Devon watched the play of emotions on her face, fascinated despite the raging ache in his loins. He had never known a woman whose face showed her feelings so clearly, and he didn’t think he would ever tire of seeing her myriad expressions.
Her gown dropped to the floor.
Devon’s breath stopped as he slowly took her in, from feet to glorious crown of hair. She was magnificent, even more lush and beautiful than he’d imagined. Long-limbed and rounded, every lush inch of her made his mouth water, his heart pound, his manhood rise in eagerness.
She crossed her arms over her breasts, drawing his attention back to her face. “I am not going to be the only one without clothing.”
Her chin was jutting stubbornly, challenge in every line of her rich body. Devon undid his breeches and stepped out of them with an alacrity that had everything to do with the sight of the beautiful woman before him.
Kat eyed him up and down, her tongue coming out to wet her lips before she turned and climbed into the high bed. Devon watched her bemusedly, his body a raging river of want and need. Bloody hell, what was he supposed to do now? He had promised himself to be noble, to take his time and be gentle.
But he was caught by the sight of her plump white shoulders, by the smoothness of her pearly skin, by the silken threads of her hair curling at the juncture of her thighs. God, but she was magnificent. He wondered how he could have ever thought thin, tiny women would please him. They were pale wraiths in comparison to the sensuous woman before him.
He couldn’t wait a moment more. He joined Kat on the bed, climbing in beside her. Immediately the smell of lavender and jasmine sent a wave of anticipation through him.
Devon lifted up on one arm and admired the prize he’d captured. Never, in all his experiences, had he seen such lovely breasts. Full and ripe, they would fill a man’s hand and more. Each soft, abundant mound was topped with a guinea-sized areola, dusky pink and nipped with excitement. Beneath that, her stomach rounded down to—
He closed his eyes. She was going to kill him. Already his heart was racing, his stomach quivering, his manhood painfully erect.
He’d always loved women, loved sex. He reveled in a woman’s unique scent, in the feel of her beneath him, around him. But this…this experience was different. More vibrant with taste, feel, color. There was something about Kat that inflamed him, aroused him, drove him mad with desire.
“I don’t think we’re going to use the scarf this time,” he said hoarsely. “Kat, I want you completely with me. Without anything between us.”
“As you wish,” she said, her voice soft and breathy. “Just touch me, Devon, and hold me. I want you so badly.” She ran her hands over his bare arms, across his shoulders, and then down his chest, her touch like lightning.
His tenuous control shattered and broke into a million tiny pieces. All that was left was the raging desire to make love to Kat. To hear her soft cries and make her moan with pleasure.
He took her in his arms and kissed her, his mouth covering hers, his tongue seeking. She clutched at him, opening her mouth beneath his, pressing closer. Devon cupped her to him, his hands spanning her luxurious curves.
The kiss deepened, fanning the flames ever higher. Her arms snaked around his waist, and to his pleased surprise, she pulled him even more tightly to her, pressing her hips to his.
Devon had pleasured many women and had left them all smiling happily. He knew the value of a woman who unapologetically enjoyed the physical act with all of her soul. And Kat was definitely one of those few. He gave himself over to pleasing her completely.
Kat was drowning in a sea of passion, of tangled blankets and a complete commitment to her own madness. A madness that had been threatening her own peace ever since she first laid eyes on Devon St. John.
God, but he was magnificent! All lean, rippled muscle and a firm arse that filled her with the bemused desire to nip it.
He was sublimely unapologetic in his nakedness, his attention focused on her breasts. Kat was used to men looking at her breasts; they had been doing so since she was fourteen. But somehow this was different; Devon held his hand flat over her nipples, rubbing his palm over them. They immediately hardened and peaked, but Devon continued his ministrations, as if seeking something more.
Soon she was panting, her body aching, her thighs moist with longing. “Devon,” she said. “Please.”
“Not yet,” he whispered. “Not yet.”
He grasped her rounded rump firmly, kneading and pressing. She moaned, squ
“Like?” She gasped when his fingers brushed her center.
“Do you like this?”
“Oh yes!” she gasped.
He knelt between her legs, savoring the warmth of her skin, the scent of her secretmost place. He bent forward and kissed her there, gently but urgently. She planted her heels and arched upward at the shock of the touch.
He waited only a moment before he did it again. And again. Soon she was panting, her knees splayed as he pleasured her. After a moment, he lifted his head. “Tell me, Kat. I want to hear you say it.” He bent and traced a line across her most sensitive spot.
“Oh God, I love it. Don’t stop.” She squirmed madly, rubbing against his mouth. He sucked her gently, then with increasing fervor. She trembled against him, her hands in his hair, clutching, pulling, trying to get closer, and at the same time trying to escape. “Devon! Don’t stop. Never stop.”
Her gasped request set him to even more frenzied ministrations. He slowly slid his thumb into her, marveling at her tightness.
God but she was hot and wet. He wanted to plunge into her, to run his hands over her flesh and taste her until she cried out in wonder and happiness.
That was what he wanted, more than anything. Just as he had the thought, she lifted and stiffened, then said his name as the pleasure overtook her. Devon bent to capture her once more, tasting her and increasing the pressure of his tongue.
The musky-sweet scent of her and the ripe, womanly taste were more than he could take. As her shivers subsided, Devon lifted himself above her and positioned himself between her thighs. He was so ready for her that he ached, his mind a fevered flash of desire.
He was just ready to press forward when she clutched at his arms. “Devon.”
There was something about her voice, some hint of desperation or fear that made him pause, rigid and fierce as he was. He had to clench his jaw, but for her sake, he kept his control.