Wanton:. Noelle Mack

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СКАЧАТЬ studying her. “Then what does she do?”

      “I believe that she is an arbiter of fashion or something like that. She is not a dressmaker, though—far from it. A friend of mine pointed her out to me once, but I was rather drunk at the time.”

      “And that is why you don’t recall her name.”

      “Exactly. But I do remember that my friend called her something odd. A mistress of illusion, I believe. Yes, that was what she said.”

      “How interesting.” Marko’s curiosity about the self-contained beauty in the corner grew sharper. If only she would look up and let him catch her eye. He needed a pretext to talk to her.

      “Do excuse me,” Denis was saying.

      “Of course.”

      “Good luck, old man.” Denis raised his glass.

      Marko scowled at him. He could have done without the “old man.” He was not that much older than Denis. But then, he thought with a sigh, Denis was still a cub, for all his sexual adventurousness.

      He crossed the room to the woman in the corner. She raised her dark head and gave him a melting look from eyes the color of amber. Marko was mesmerized. There was a knowing quality in her gaze that he found instantly erotic. She was very different from the usual females who infested London balls and assemblies, foolish young things who twittered and blushed, while keeping an eye on the relatives bent on marrying them off. No, she was quite alone, as far as he could tell, not seeming to care about propriety or even the appearance of it.

      Yet before he asked her name, he found her so beautiful that he thought he might be dreaming. She was about to speak to him and he watched her extraordinarily sensual lips form two very ordinary words.

      “Good evening,” she said.

      She might as well have been asking him to kiss her. He would have too.

      Marko bowed. “Good evening. I have not had the pleasure of being introduced to you. I am Marko Taruskin.”

      “My name is Severin.”

      She rose when he asked her to dance, not looking about for the admirer Marko had imagined. He had a feeling at once strange and delightful that he had fallen into a trap.

      The music began and the orchestra played a minuet, orderly and precise. All he touched was her hand, but at that moment of connection, a sensation flowed between them that was powerfully sexual.

      Going through the figures of the dance, Marko saw only her. Her complexion was as exotic as her gown, a creamy contrast to those dazzling amber eyes. As if to complement them, her amber pendant was nestled between her breasts.

      Oh, Wolf above. How he tried not to look at it.

      From the chandelier above, the pendant picked up light and cast a golden shadow upon her bosom, a little shadow that looked like a drop of honey. He thought then of how she would look with nothing on but that jewel, her nipples dark and rosy, her beautiful breasts heavy in his hand. He would bend down and apply his tongue to the drop of imaginary honey. Then her nipples. Then her neck.

      He would not be satisfied until he could sweep her off her beautiful bare feet and carry her naked to his bed.

      Marko realized that Severin was studying him each time her steps turned her to face him.

      He managed a polite smile. He lifted his arm for her to pass under and turn again, observing the way the velvet of her gown moved sensually over her hips and legs. It caught the light and emphasized her delectable curves. How long had it been since he’d had a woman?

      But Severin was not just a woman—she was closer to a divine incarnation of womanhood, someone a man might worship with his body and his soul. She had entranced him utterly in less than an hour. How she had done it, he could not say.

      In his mind, she was naked, dancing just for him in a private chamber to which they had retreated. Not here, in this crowded ballroom, with others looking on, going through the motions of social intercourse, when he longed hotly for quite another kind.

      The other women in the room seemed to be noting the details of her gorgeous attire, but the men knew how to see beneath. They looked at her again and again. Avidly.

      He would willingly battle them all just to have her. Just for one night.

      No, that would not be enough. He vowed not to let her go after this dance. He would find out more about her, where she lived, why she had come here alone—she had to have come alone. The admirer he’d imagined did not exist. No one had tapped him on the shoulder or called him out.

      For now, she was his to dance with. He wanted more.

      Her swirling gown brushed against his legs, ever so lightly but repeatedly, exciting intense desire. Marko gritted his teeth. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrors that lined the ballroom walls. His expression would pass for a half-smile. He dared not look lower.

      No one else seemed to care. The glittering company moved through the steps of the dance. Other women wearing gowns in hues as light as spring flowers shone in their way, but none was as dazzling as Severin. The men partnering them shot envious glances at Marko. The patterns of the minuet intersected and separated them all upon the floor.

      If everyone else had vanished at that moment, Marko would have been sublimely happy. He could ask her to come away with him without fear of being overheard, without exposing her to the censure of other women.

      Ah, if they could be alone and somewhere else. A room just for them, with a fine, four-postered bed. He would bury himself between her fine thighs, hold on for dear life to the rounded cheeks of her beautiful arse while he thrust deep within her body…again and again…

      “The music has stopped,” she said, executing a final pirouette and looking up at him.

      Marko didn’t let go of her hand. “So it has.” He willed his erect flesh to subside and kept her in front of him as he guided her from the dance floor. The exchange of pleasantries with other guests was an excruciating necessity.

      He contrived to dance with her again, several times, and allowed no other man to get closer. He plied her with champagne—had they had one bottle or two? He did not remember that detail. At last he maneuvered her into a quiet corner and begged her to come away with him.

      To his joy, she agreed, flirtatiously and tipsily. He’d told the driver, who discreetly ignored Severin, to just drive. They could decide upon their destination in time. Rolling away from the ball as the other guests departed, leaning back in the carriage that had waited for him, Severin’s face was flushed and her eyes were sparkling. He told himself not to take advantage of her at that second she murmured the words he wanted most to hear.

      “Kiss me, Marko.”

      He needed no further encouragement. He pulled her into his lap, enjoying how her backside pressed into his lap with each jounce over the cobblestones. The horse trotted briskly when the street was smoother, and the carriage swayed a little from side to side.

      He held her in his arms, running his hands eagerly over every part of her body he could reach, giving her enough room to rock with the motion of the carriage while he kissed her. Her lips were hot and the inside of her mouth, silky wet. Her tongue СКАЧАТЬ