be.
Pulling her close, he removed her glove then raised their joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the soft flesh above her thumb. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent of them together—hers the clean, pure scent of soap and his, the warmth of eastern spice. Together, it was an erotic, heady scent that went straight to his head.
“I…I…” She swallowed and looked away. “I’m not sure—”
“Let me come to you, Jane,” he said, unable to stop himself from pressing his lips against her hand once more. Opening his eyes, he looked down into her upturned face and saw the flash of what looked like green eyes watching him carefullyfrom beneath the veil. “No questions, Jane. I will take only what you are willing to give me.”
He watched the line of her throat move up and down as she swallowed hard. He trailed his fingers along that smooth skin and felt how fast her heart was beating for him.
“Come to me, Jane,” he murmured, pulling her closer. “My carriage is waiting. It’s waiting for you. I’m waiting for you.”
Her breath caught, and the sound wreaked havoc within him. Nodding, she took a tentative step closer and allowed him to guide her around a large puddle, then to his waiting carriage. Bowing her head, she concealed herself from the coachman who sat as still as a statue on the box, his gaze never straying from whatever object he was staring at straight ahead of him. Inside, the shades had been drawn, and once Matthew closed the carriage door behind him, the lamp blew out, making the interior black as pitch.
With a rap of his walking stick, the carriage lurched into motion. It was so dark, so unnaturally quiet, that he swore he could hear Jane’s heart beating from deep within her chest. He could smell her—soap and feminine arousal—and his cock stirred, hungry to be inside her.
“You said you almost did not come today. Why?” he asked, feeling a burning in his chest as he awaited her answer.
“There is much risk for me. My job at the hospital. My name.” She swallowed hard, he heard it in the quiet, along with her fidgeting fingers.
“That is the reason for the veil.”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret it now, Jane, coming to me?”
“I do not know,” she said in a hushed breath.
“Come,” he whispered, reaching for her, knowing exactly where she sat, and wrapped his hands around her waist, bringing her forward so that she was sitting beside him. He reached up, his fingers resting against the veil, and her breathing stilled. “Do not be afraid,” he said as he lifted the veil from her face and reached for the satin ties of her bonnet strings. “I will take such good care of you, Jane. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Taking her bonnet in his hands, he reached across the carriage and placed it atop the opposite bench. Then he twisted his body so that he was pressed up against hers, and he turned his gaze to hers, unable to see anything—only hear and smell and feel—and lowered his mouth to her forehead, kissing her softly, reverently. His lips brushed her skin and hair and he could not help but glide his fingertips along the sweet curves of her face, tracing her, memorizing her, imagining her. Christ, he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything, and that included his art gallery. What madness had she inspired in him? He had never felt this way before, this need to connect so deeply with another.
He wanted to share things with Jane: his body, his heart, the secrets he kept locked inside his withering soul. She took a ragged breath, and he felt her body tremble against his arms, shattering his control.
His mouth found her pulse above the lace she had tied around her throat. Its frantic, fluttering beat caressed his lips, and he sat there, feeling her heart beating against him.
“Jane,” he said softly as he removed the strip of lace and tucked it into his pocket, “come to me. Give yourself to me—only me. Let us share this…this passion that has
Pulling her close, he removed her glove then raised their joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the soft flesh above her thumb. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent of them together—hers the clean, pure scent of soap and his, the warmth of eastern spice. Together, it was an erotic, heady scent that went straight to his head.
“I…I…” She swallowed and looked away. “I’m not sure—”
“Let me come to you, Jane,” he said, unable to stop himself from pressing his lips against her hand once more. Opening his eyes, he looked down into her upturned face and saw the flash of what looked like green eyes watching him carefullyfrom beneath the veil. “No questions, Jane. I will take only what you are willing to give me.”
He watched the line of her throat move up and down as she swallowed hard. He trailed his fingers along that smooth skin and felt how fast her heart was beating for him.
“Come to me, Jane,” he murmured, pulling her closer. “My carriage is waiting. It’s waiting for you. I’m waiting for you.”
Her breath caught, and the sound wreaked havoc within him. Nodding, she took a tentative step closer and allowed him to guide her around a large puddle, then to his waiting carriage. Bowing her head, she concealed herself from the coachman who sat as still as a statue on the box, his gaze never straying from whatever object he was staring at straight ahead of him. Inside, the shades had been drawn, and once Matthew closed the carriage door behind him, the lamp blew out, making the interior black as pitch.
With a rap of his walking stick, the carriage lurched into motion. It was so dark, so unnaturally quiet, that he swore he could hear Jane’s heart beating from deep within her chest. He could smell her—soap and feminine arousal—and his cock stirred, hungry to be inside her.
“You said you almost did not come today. Why?” he asked, feeling a burning in his chest as he awaited her answer.
“There is much risk for me. My job at the hospital. My name.” She swallowed hard, he heard it in the quiet, along with her fidgeting fingers.
“That is the reason for the veil.”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret it now, Jane, coming to me?”
“I do not know,” she said in a hushed breath.
“Come,” he whispered, reaching for her, knowing exactly where she sat, and wrapped his hands around her waist, bringing her forward so that she was sitting beside him. He reached up, his fingers resting against the veil, and her breathing stilled. “Do not be afraid,” he said as he lifted the veil from her face and reached for the satin ties of her bonnet strings. “I will take such good care of you, Jane. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Taking her bonnet in his hands, he reached across the carriage and placed it atop the opposite bench. Then he twisted his body so that he was pressed up against hers, and he turned his gaze to hers, unable to see anything—only hear and smell and feel—and lowered his mouth to her forehead, kissing her softly, reverently. His lips brushed her skin and hair and he could not help but glide his fingertips along the sweet curves of her face, tracing her, memorizing her, imagining her. Christ, he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything, and that included his art gallery. What madness had she inspired in him? He had never felt this way before, this need to connect so deeply with another.
He wanted to share things with Jane: his body, his heart, the secrets he kept locked inside his withering soul. She took a ragged breath, and he felt her body tremble against his arms, shattering his control.
His mouth found her pulse above the lace she had tied around her throat. Its frantic, fluttering beat caressed his lips, and he sat there, feeling her heart beating against him.
“Jane,” he said softly as he removed the strip of lace and tucked it into his pocket, “come to me. Give yourself to me—only me. Let us share this…this passion that has
Similar Books
