Velvet by Jane Feather

knee.
    The sexual current jolted him to his core.
    “Not of you,” he declared.
    “Good.” Smiling, she leaned back against the squabs again. “I’m famished. Must we wait till Horsham before we stop for breakfast?”
    Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “You,” he said with soft deliberation, “are a brigand, Gabrielle de Beaucaire.”
    He sat down opposite her as the coachman’s whip cracked and the chaise lurched forward again.
    Gabrielle chose to take the characterization as a compliment and smiled her crooked smile again.
    Nathaniel leaned forward, hooking a finger into the clasp of her cloak, pulling her toward him. “I do not intend breakfasting with a brigand.” His mouth met hers in a hard kiss. Then he unclasped the cloak and pushed it off her shoulders. His hands cupped the swell of her breasts under the white lawn shirt and her nipples sprang upright in instant gratifying response.
    “A shameless, wanton brigand,” he murmured. “Take those damn clothes off.”
    “But it’s cold,” she protested with a mischievous chuckle.
    “Serves you right.” He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “I refuse to be seen in public witha shameless hussy, so if you want breakfast, you must change your clothes.”
    “Oh, well, if it’s that serious,” she said amiably, unbuttoning her shirt, pulling it out of the waist of her britches.
    Nathaniel stretched and jerked the pistol loose at the same moment. “You won’t need this either.” He examined it with an expert’s eye. It was no toy for all its small size and delicate mounting. He cracked the barrel. It was primed.
    “Why do you carry a pistol?”
    “One never knows when one might need protection,” she said, unfastening her britches, lifting her hips to push them down. The full swell of her breasts shifted sensuously with the motion of the coach and her own actions. Then she was naked on the seat of a swaying carriage on the road to Horsham. The dark red hair tumbled over her shoulders and her long legs stretched across the narrow space between them.
    A monk couldn’t have resisted. Nathaniel reached for her, pulling her between his knees. Her skin was warm despite the winter morning and the unheated vehicle.
    “You’ve a mind to play again?” Her black eyebrows rose. “It could prove something of a challenge in these circumstances.”
    “I’ve never been afraid of challenges,” he replied, unfastening his britches with one hand. “And I know full well how you view them.”
    His roused body sprang free from constraint. Smiling, Gabrielle touched him and then, obeying the pressure of his hands on her hips, slowly lowered herself astride his lap, guiding his body within her own.
    “Ahh,” she whispered. “Why do you feel so good … so right?”
    “Why do you?” he whispered back, closing his eyes.
    The carriage jolted in a rut and his grip tightened, his fingers pressing into the flesh of her hips. Themovement of the carriage slowly insinuated itself into the rhythm of their joined bodies as Gabrielle moved herself over and around him and he lifted his hips to meet her.
    “I read somewhere that cossacks make love galloping on horseback,” Gabrielle murmured, lowering her head to brush his lips with her own in a fleeting caress. “Maybe we should try it later.”
    Nathaniel groaned. “How much stamina do you think I have, woman?”
    “Limitless,” she replied with a smile of utter confidence.
    “Your faith is touching.” Smiling, he gripped her more tightly as he felt the internal movements of her body, the little ripples that told him she was nearing her pinnacle.
    Gabrielle drew breath sharply, her head falling back, the pure white column of her throat arched. He thrust upward, his fingers biting into her flesh as she convulsed around him. She fell forward with a moan of joy, her forehead resting on the top of his head, and he held her as he fell slowly from his own peak and the carriage swayed and rocked beneath