Seducing the Viscount by Alexandra Ivy Page A

ready reaction to his arrival. It seemed gruesomely unfair that she should burn with need when he was near, and yet he could remain indifferent.
    Seemingly oblivious to the sharp edge in her voice, Ian entered the room and shut the door firmly behind him. Then, leaning against the wooden panes, he regarded her with an oddly muddled gaze.
    â€œSweet, sweet Mercy.”
    With a frown, Mercy moved forward, able to catch the scent of whiskey on his breath as she halted directly before him.
    â€œYou are foxed.”
    â€œNo, I am not.” He swayed, his hand grasping the doorknob to keep from pitching forward onto his nose. “I am three sheets to the wind, my dear. Quite different from being foxed.”
    â€œI suppose I must take your word for it. You are the expert, after all,” she muttered, grasping his arm as he once again swayed. “Have a seat before you knock us both to the ground.”
    Without warning, he gave a sharp tug with his arm, knocking her off balance so she stumbled against him. Before she could recover, he had her pinned to his body, his arms wrapped about her waist in a ruthless grip.
    â€œI do not want a seat. I want you beneath me on that bed as I part your legs and . . .” His eyes screwed shut, as if he were in actual pain. “Christ, you are driving me mad. I should have stayed at the pub. There were any number of women who were eager enough to ease my ache.”
    The momentary delight at being held so tightly in his arms was swiftly doused at his less-than-flattering words. Lifting her hands, she placed them flat against his chest and arched back to glare into his aggravatingly handsome face.
    â€œNo doubt,” she hissed. “Why didn’t you stay if they were so eager?”
    â€œBecause they were not you.” His eyes snapped open, the whiskey gold gaze sliding over her flushed face before lowering to take in the thin night rail that did little to cover her slender curves. A sinful heat followed in the path of his gaze, searing over her skin and making her shudder with need. “It did not matter how beautiful or willing or skilled they might be, I remained as limp as an overcooked noodle.” His expression was hard with self-derision. “It has to be you. Only you.”
    With a violence that shocked her to the very core, Mercy curled her hands into fists and smacked them against his chest. It was not that she could actually hurt the man. She did not doubt that her blows caused more pain to her hands than to his rock-hard chest. Still, it was utterly uncharacteristic of her to lash out like a common fishwife.
    â€œYou do not want me,” she hissed. “You have made that clear enough for even a simpleton to comprehend.”
    â€œNot want you?” With a sharp laugh, he grasped her wrists, easily halting her foolish attack. Then, with a low groan, he bent his head to brush his lips over the pulse pounding at her temple. “There are moments when I fear that if I do not have you soon I will shatter into a thousand pieces.”
    She stilled, her body humming with excitement at his light caress. “Then why . . . ?”
    His lips moved to explore the curve of her cheek, his hot breath sending a rash of prickles over her sensitive skin.
    â€œI am not completely depraved, Miss Simpson, or at least I was not until stumbling over a delightful wood sprite who will not leave me in peace.”
    She wanted to be offended by his accusation. He made it seem as if he had no choice in forcing his way into her room and wrapping her in his arms as if he would never release her.
    Unfortunately she could barely think beyond the sensation of his knowing lips as they nibbled a path to the corner of her mouth.
    â€œYou were the one to seek me out on this occasion,” she rasped.
    His hands splayed against the low curve of her back, squeezing her between his parted legs until she could feel the hard length of his erection pressed against her