Once a Rake (Drake's Rakes) (30 page)

This time it was Sarah who reacted, grabbing hold of Ian’s shoulder, as if holding on. Ian knew how she felt. His body was in torment, and the soldiers were settling in not twenty feet away. Soldiers who would be more than happy to take him as consolation prize. He didn’t even want to think what would happen to Sarah.

She was trembling, her breathing quick and shallow. His own wasn’t much deeper. He should be listening to every sound on the other side of the wall. He was too distracted by the warm satin of her skin.

A kiss, he thought. Surely they could kiss quietly. They wouldn’t be moving around. Just…kissing.

The minute he touched his lips to hers, he knew there would be no just about this kiss. Lightning shot through him. His breath seized in his chest, and he swore the world dimmed. Sarah stiffened, and Ian braced for a slap and discovery. It wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t have pulled away if one of the soldiers had put a gun to his head.

He could barely see her beneath the blanket, but he knew her eyes were open. Her fingers were dug into him like clamps. Time froze as he waited for her response.

He couldn’t believe it. Her lips softened against his. He could feel her sigh into his mouth, and it almost destroyed him. He thought she might be smiling. Very carefully, he lifted his hand to her face and rested his fingers against the soft curve of her cheek. He nibbled at her lower lip, sucked on it, relishing it like a sweet, plump plum. Straining to hold still, he coaxed her lips open, stroked them with his tongue, traced the sleek line of her teeth.

Gently he pressed his tongue against her teeth, begging entry. She hesitated, as if she considered acquiescence to be a commitment. Ian knew that if she accepted his tongue, she would accept the rest of him. And that the minute those soldiers left, he would make good this promise. His body screamed for release. His brain screamed just as loudly for patience. Discretion. Control.

Just when he thought he would fail, she surrendered. Opening her mouth, she greeted him with her tongue. He almost crowed with delight, with triumph, with the primal victory of a conqueror. And sweet God, was she delicious. Dark, warm, tasting of coffee and just a touch of cinnamon. Luscious tastes, the seductive texture of silk. He couldn’t get enough. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to get enough.

His heart was thundering, and his cock was straining against her bare belly. His skin seemed to have been lit, suddenly too sensitive for his clothes. He wanted to be naked against her; he needed to be skin to skin, her lush breasts pressed against his chest. Against his heart, that was beating even harder. Almost as hard as hers, which felt like a lark’s against his hand.

He wanted to kiss her eyes, her ears, her throat, to slide his tongue along the enticing ridge of her collarbone. He couldn’t. He knew too well if he lifted his mouth from hers, one of them would give the game away. The sighs and gasps that were received by the other would be set loose and catch the wrong attention.

Even Harvey conspired against them, dipping his great head to nibble at the blanket. Ian wanted to laugh. If that horse exposed them, he would personally turn it into dog meat. Ian could only afford the beast a moment’s notice, though, as Sarah managed to tilt her head in just a way to settle her mouth more intimately against his.

Ian couldn’t stop. Slowly, so she wouldn’t be surprised, he drew his hand down from her cheek, along her jaw, her throat, the hard plane of her sternum. She froze for a moment, her mouth going still against his. Her eyes grew impossibly wider, and her breath caught. But she did nothing to stop him, and her hands were right there. He considered it permission. And then he felt her body arch, just a bit, lifting her breasts closer to him, closer to his touch. And he knew he’d been right.

“I don’t think this is going to stop today, Sarge,” a voice said, from too nearby.

Ian was now the one who froze.

“Then we’ll sleep here,” the sergeant answered. “There’s plenty of hay.”

Ian closed his eyes, perfectly still, his mouth molded against Sarah’s, his hand a scant inch from her breast, his breath caught hard in his chest. How could he have let himself get out of hand? He’d actually forgotten the soldiers. This had to stop.

“But won’t somebody be comin’ soon to feed the horses?” somebody else asked. “You don’t want nobody knowin’ we been here.”

“You want to get back so badly?” the sergeant asked.

“If we’re found here, we’ll lose the surprise. The bastard’ll just move his stash.”

Come on,
Ian thought.
Make up your minds.

“Parsons also got a pretty barmaid down at the Half Moon who’s waitin’ on him,” came an amused voice. “But I wouldn’t mind me own bed, neither.”

Say yes,
Ian prayed behind closed eyelids, not sure his heart could take this.
For the love of God, man; say yes.

The pause seemed to stretch forever, pulling Ian to the limit. He could feel Sarah trembling against him and knew she was just as distressed.

“I think the rain’s lettin’ up a bit, Sarge,” said somebody.

“Fine!” the sergeant snapped. “Let’s be off, then, before you lot drive me mad.”

Ian almost gave himself away with a shout of joy. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he lifted his mouth from Sarah’s and his hand from her breast, resting it on the other side of her waist, where he could still feel her but would be farther from trouble.

The minute air reached his dampened mouth, sense rushed in. What the hell did he think he was doing? One wrong move, one moan, and it would be disaster. He looked down to see that Sarah’s eyes were wide, her expression, incongruously, amused. He had to look away. Just the sight of those sparkling eyes drove the sense right out of him, and he wanted to ravish her. But with the interruption came some sense. He had no right to do this. Not to Sarah. Not here in a barn as if she’d been a trull on a street.

He shut his eyes, as if that could remove the temptation. As if it could douse the fires that swept him. He was shaking like an ague victim. His balls felt as if they’d been kicked, and his head swirled with her scent. Her warm, womanly scent that made him think of lazy morning lovemaking and cinnamon buns to celebrate.

The door barely made a sound, but Ian knew the moment it clicked closed. He waited exactly three more minutes. Then he jumped up as if he’d been spring-loaded, carrying the blanket with him. For the briefest moment he got a full, unobstructed view of Sarah’s body: her peach-soft skin, her swollen breasts, the thatch of gold curls at the apex of her thighs. His mouth went dry. His hands shook. He dropped the cover onto her before he could change his mind.

“Move, Harvey,” he snapped, pushing at the horse.

The horse, startled by all the sudden movement, tried to snap back at him. Ian smacked him and pushed past.

Sarah jumped to her feet, the blanket held casually before her. “Just what are you trying to do?” she demanded, her usually tidy hair tumbling about her sleek, bare shoulders.

Ian’s mouth went dry. “Get dressed, Sarah,” he said, turning away. “We should be on the road before we’re caught by your cousin’s men, or worse, your cousin.”

He could hear the strain in his voice. It was hell being noble, he thought blackly as he bent to unearth Sarah’s clothing.

“Are you mad?” she asked, reaching for his shoulder. “You can’t kiss a girl like that and just walk off!”

He shrugged, unable to look at her. “Ride, actually.”

“And how do you think that’s going to go, Ian? You’re hard as Martin’s heart right now.”

Ian winced. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t compare any part of me to that scoundrel. You realize those soldiers were looking for smuggled goods on his land.”

“Of course I do. And right now, I don’t care. What I do care about is that you spent the last ten minutes ravaging me, and now you act as if it never happened.”

He spun around on her, sharp with frustration. “Just what do you want me to do?”

And damn if she didn’t drop that blanket into the hay. “I want you to make love to me.”

Chapter 16

Ian froze like a sinner in a sanctuary. His lungs seized up completely and his brain melted. What the hell was she doing to him, standing there naked and sleek and sweetly rounded in all the right places? Her hair, usually ruthlessly scraped back, had broken free and tumbled down well past her shoulders in damp waves of caramel and sunlight. Her breasts stood up proud and firm, with luscious pink nipples that just begged for a man’s mouth. Her legs were strong and slender, all the way up to that lovely triangle of light brown hair at their juncture. And she had freckles. Ian couldn’t help but smile. She had freckles on her shoulders.

He shuddered with the lust that raged through his body. “I’m trying to be noble here and walk away,” he protested, hands clenched to keep them from getting into mischief. Into that lovely triangle of mischief.

Damn her again. She smiled back at him, but it was a smile like none he’d ever seen on her. It was the smile of Eve, of Delilah and Lucrezia Borgia, enticing him to his doom. “Ian,” she said, her voice oddly breathy, “I have never in my life been absolutely selfish. To be foolish and giddy and mad. I have never done anything just because I wanted to, and do you know what? I think I’ve been wrong.”

She was destroying him. “Sarah . . .”

“I want you. You want me. We both know this can mean nothing, because you cannot marry me and I will not be your mistress. But just for now, just for here, cannot we share a bit of warmth? Can’t we take this moment for ourselves? Just once in my life I want to know what it feels like to make love.”

Her words were like a spark to black powder. Ian pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her. It wasn’t a kiss of exploration like before. It was desperation and demand, raw hunger and stark need. He didn’t coax her mouth open, he forced it, cupping her head to his so he could hold her still against him, so he could plunder her sweet mouth and surround her soft, warm body with his. And she answered on her toes, hands around his neck, breasts flattened against his chest, her mouth open, her tongue as ruthless and bold as his. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he did hers, so neither could escape.

It was a duel, a dance, played out with only their mouths. It was complex and humbling, smoke and sunlight and raw need. This need had been building, layer by layer, honed like Damascene steel into something so sharp and strong it could destroy them both, and they two knew it.

It was Harvey who brought them back. Obviously impatient with the humans in his stall, he butted Ian hard in the back, sending both of them bounding from the wall.

Sarah laughed, sounding surprisingly young.

“The loft,” Ian growled, pulling away just enough to speak. “I’d carry you, but on that ladder we’d both end up ass over teakettle.”

Sweet God in heaven, she climbed in front of him, still as naked as the day she was born, the bag of food caught in her hand. Her dainty feet were pale and arched on the steps, and he’d been right. She did have the sweetest bum in Devonshire, beautifully rounded and taut from her hard work, making him itch to reach up and give her a boost, just to cup it, to measure it with his impatient fingers. And every time she lifted a knee, he was taunted with just a fleeting glimpse of those decadent wet netherlips. He groaned out loud and earned a throaty chuckle.

“I’m not sure I can be gentle, lass,” he warned, and heard terrible need in his voice.

She turned a smile over her shoulder. “I’m not sure I want you to be, laddie.”

He barely made it up to the loft, where they found a lovely space full of hay, just made for sport. Ian laid out the blanket and reached for his buttons. Before he could get the first one opened, though, Sarah batted his hands away.

“I have been wanting to do this for the longest time. I want to touch your chest.”

Her fingers were torture against his raw skin. “But you have touched my chest, lass. When I was sick, dinna ya remember?”

She smiled again and Ian almost lost the strength in his knees. “Ah, but I didn’t get to enjoy it.”

Impatiently she tugged his wet muslin shirt from his pants and pulled it up as far as she could. Ian felt the cool air wash his belly and heard her sharp intake of air. He was yanking the shirt the rest of the way off when he felt fingers at his waistband.

“Now, wait…”

She chuckled again. “I think I have waited long enough.”

And he had to stand there while she reached down and slowly unbuttoned each button on his placket, his penis straining against her fingers. The material parted, and she reached inside to collect him with her hands.

“Mmm,” she hummed in her throat, driving him mad. “The answer to a girl’s dream.”

No less a man’s dream, he thought, his knees almost buckling with the bold grip she had on him. Gently extricating himself, he barely got the rest of his clothes off before he collapsed with her onto the blanket, his arms tight around her, his body humming like a bowstring. He was gasping for air, his heart hammering against his ribs. He wanted to slow down, to savor every second of her body, her smile, her voice. But he couldn’t. He was desperate.

She seemed to feel the same. Her small hands were all over him, her touch sure and clever, inciting riots along his nerves, inciting a consuming hunger. It would have been enough to send him over the edge, especially when she took his aching, distended cock into her hand and tormented it. But it was her body that sent him over the edge.