Seducing the Viscount by Alexandra Ivy Page B

hip.
    â€œBecause it does not matter if I am in a pub a mile away or in London, I cannot get you out of my mind.” With a groan, he plundered her mouth with a savage kiss, his tongue thrusting between her parted lips as if he were desperate for the taste of her. At last he eased the hard pressure to mutter his words of frustration. “Your scent . . . the feel of that satin skin . . . the taste of your lips . . .”
    Mercy was forced to clutch at his shoulders as her knees went weak. She felt as if she had been tossed in the midst of a maelstrom that threatened to drown her in sensation.
    â€œIan,” she breathed. “Wait.”
    â€œWait?” He gave the lobe of her ear a sharp nip. “I have bloody well waited for hours. Hell, I am beginning to suspect that I have waited my entire life.”
    She struggled to think as his tongue traced the line of her throat. This was precisely what she had desired . . . what she still desired . . . but it was all happening so swiftly she could barely keep up with the emotions battering through her.
    â€œWhat do you want from me?”
    He deliberately rocked his arousal against her, his mouth skimming down to the line of her bodice.
    â€œYou are not that naïve.”
    A soft groan was wrenched from her throat as his lips found the upper curve of her breast, seeming to savor the feel of her skin. Already her nipples were hard and aching for his touch. She had never dreamed that a man’s lips on the sensitive buds could cause such exquisite pleasure.
    â€œI do not consider it naïve to presume a gentleman who cannot so much as glance in my direction is indifferent to me.”
    He muttered a curse as he raised his hands to tug the narrow bands of her night rail off her shoulders, his eyes glowing with a ravaging heat as the material drifted down to pool at her feet.
    â€œOnly a gentleman desperate to be buried deep inside you would ever go to such an effort to avoid you, sweet Mercy,” he rasped, his hands busily tugging her hair free of its braid. “If you knew how hard it has been to keep from ripping the clothes from your delectable body and having my way with you, you would be quaking in terror.”
    Mercy was quaking. But terror had nothing to do with her trembling.
    No, it was the hand that he tangled in her tumbled curls as he sharply angled her head back to meet his demanding kiss, and the pained rasp of his breath.
    Even in her innocence she realized that this was not the smooth seduction of a practiced rake. There was nothing polished in his desperate touch or the shudders that wracked his body.
    The knowledge was far more erotic than any amount of skill, and, tossing aside her lingering hurt at his earlier rejection, Mercy wrapped her arms around his neck.
    She was drowning in a delicious heat despite the chill that brushed over her bare skin. A heat and excitement that she could feel to the tips of her toes.
    Ian growled deep in his throat, his tongue thrusting with a slow rhythm that mimicked the same thrust of his hips. Mercy felt an ache bloom deep in the pit of her stomach.
    Instinctively she arched closer, the rasp of his clothing an unwelcome barrier to the hardness of his body. She needed . . . dear heavens, she needed something. Something only Ian Breckford could offer.
    â€œOh,” she gasped as his lips wrenched from her mouth to dip downward and close about a throbbing nipple. “Oh . . . God.”
    â€œNot God, sweet Mercy,” he muttered, abruptly whirling until she was pressed against the wall. “Not even close.”
    Mercy gazed down at the dark head, her breath lodged in her throat as he continued to suckle her with exquisite care. There was a restless urgency clenching her body that made her long to scream in frustration.
    His warm lips felt so wondrous against her breasts, his tongue making her whimper in delight. This was the reason women tossed aside all sense and gentlemen sacrificed