Hot Silk. Sharon Page

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      Grace could not believe she said the words with such a steady voice. Mr. Sharpe’s magnetic blue eyes held her with far more power than Lord Wesley’s intimating stance. She could not look away—his sapphire blue irises appeared rimmed with a thin circle of violet, unusual and arresting.

      They were alone and it would be so very easy to touch him. Everywhere. His chest. His shoulders. If she wished, she could reach down with both hands and greedily explore the hard length of his cock.

      Mystified, she looked up into his blue eyes again. They’d shared one night and it felt as though all barriers had dropped away. But then he knew more about her than anyone. He knew she was capable of going to a man’s bed with a broken heart, desperately searching for…for hope, she realized.

      Was that it? Hope that she had not lost everything with one stupid mistake? Hope that she could still be desired for who she was? Confused, she blinked, now aware that she had no idea what she had wanted from making love with Devlin Sharpe, except a few fleeting moments of connection.

      But they had a connection now. It was undeniable.

      “I want you, Grace.”

      His voice was molten sin, his lips smiling in conspiracy as though he could read her very thoughts.

      Perhaps he could. Perhaps she was that transparent. Lust showed. Desire showed. She’d spent years trying to be proper—to be from her mother’s world, not her father’s—and she’d thrown it all away in one night.

      The instant his knuckles skimmed her cheek with tantalizing pressure, she tipped her head back, shut her eyes, and moaned. Lazily, his fingers stroked back and forth, and suddenly all she could think of was her quim. How hot she suddenly was. How tight and tingly she felt. She swallowed hard and touched him in return.

      Cupping her palm, she cradled his strong chin, the sort of chin that promised strength a woman could rely upon. Firm, slightly squared, a slight cleft in the middle. Smoother than it had been. Devlin…Mr. Sharpe had shaved this morning.

      Where had he slept? In the house, where he was not accepted? He looked far too immaculate and clean and perfect to have slept rough. Where would he find a bed?

      A parching tightness claimed her throat. Men who had no bed often seduced their way into a woman’s, as a way to have a roof over their heads, a fire to warm them, and a willing companion to entertain.

      He was a highwayman—a man who thought himself above the king’s laws. Why should it surprise her that he might have spent the rest of the night with another woman? He knew she had been with Wesley before him and he did not care.

      Oh God—had he only slept with her because he’d hoped to spend the night in her bed?

      Brushing her lips, his fingers unleashed fireworks in her chest. “Don’t think, Grace. I can see it in your eyes. You are thinking too much.” He pressed a small, quick kiss to the tip of her nose.

      “Where did you sleep last night?”

      “I’ve a room at the local inn.”

      “Alone?” The word spilled out before she could stop it and she jerked back from his caress, ashamed she had shown how vulnerable she was. But she could not stop thinking.

      “Alone.”

      “Why?” She could think of so many reasons. It was too late to find a woman. None took his fancy. All were in other men’s beds.

      His broad chest lifted on a deep breath, and he gripped the doorjamb tightly. Was he frustrated by her prying question, frustrated to waste the time on a lie? Did women bother to question him—or was that the point at which the pursuit lost its allure? That was apparently the way it worked for men, or so she had seen. At dances, she had seen the quick, desperate look that mounted in a man’s eyes when a woman began to show her possessiveness.

      He leaned over her, so tall that she had to tip her head right back to watch his eyes for a glimpse of his true emotions. “I didn’t want anyone else, so I lay awake all night and thought about you.”

      An enigmatic answer that told her nothing. His eyes were far too carefully shuttered to reveal a thing. He’d bluffed the Navy, for heaven’s sake, and surely more than a few magistrates. How vain she’d been to think she could see through his words. “What did you think about me?”

      “A lot of very naughty thoughts. Would you like to hear them?”

      “No!”

      “I think you would.” His dimple winked, and she saw his chest move as he visibly relaxed. “Why don’t you undress me while I tell you?”

      It was as though an entirely different man had taken possession of this beautiful, broad body. Even his voice had changed—it had been a gruff growl when he’d admitted to thinking about her. Now it was a deep, sensual purr, as though he’d relaxed into the role of unrepentant rake.

      She made no move to obey and strip him. He took a step forward, and his sheer size forced her to take one back. The door had only just clicked shut behind him when he sank to his knees in front of her.

      Frank, yet playful, his dancing blue eyes teased. “I thought about this—about lifting your skirts in a public place, a place I should never dare take such a liberty.”

      “This is not a public place. Not exactly.”

      “In June, her ladyship used to hold an al fresco luncheon, an annual tradition. Imagine we are there. Imagine that I found you there, and I turned your chair away from the table, much to the shock of all the gentle guests. Without a word I drop to my knees on the soft grass and I lift your skirts to your hips, just like this—”

      Winking, he grasped her hems and pushed up the weight of her sturdy wool skirts and the white petticoats beneath. Cool air brushed her thighs, a sharp and exciting contrast to the heat of her body.

      “The whole world is going to know how much I desire you, how damned tempting you are.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ