I’m In No Mood For Love

He raised a hand to the top button of her sweater and pulled. The sweater parted, and he continued to kiss her senseless as he lowered his hand to the next button. The last thing he wanted was for her to stop him. There would be time to stop, later. Right now he wanted just a bit more. Five more buttons and his hand slipped between the edges of her sweater and he cupped her breast. Through the lace of her bra, her hard nipple poked the center of his palm.

She pulled back and lowered her startled gaze to his hand. “You unbuttoned my sweater.”

He brushed her nipple with his thumb, and she closed her eyes and her breathing caught in her chest. “I want you,” he whispered.

She looked up at him, desire and control conflicting in her blue eyes. “We can’t.”

“I know.” Through the tiny wholes in the lace, he felt tantalizing hints of her warm flesh. “We’ll stop.”

She shook her head but didn’t remove his hand. “We should probably stop now. The door doesn’t lock. Someone could walk in.”

True. Normally that might have given him pause. Not today. With both hands, he pushed the edges of her sweater farther apart and lowered his gaze. “Ever since that night at the Double Tree,” he said, “I’ve thought of this. Of undressing you and touching you.” He looked at her cleavage and her hard nipples pressing against the red lace of her bra. “Of having another look at little Clare.”

“I’m not little anymore,” she whispered.

“Yes. I know,” he said, and slid three fingers beneath the shoulder strap. “I like this. You should always wear red.” Beneath the satin and lace, he slipped his fingers to the red bow nestled between her deep cleavage. He bent forward and kissed the side of her neck while his hands opened the little closure hidden beneath the bow. The bra released and he pushed it, along with her sweater, down her arms.

“But you look better naked these days.” Her full white breasts were perfectly round and topped with small dark pink nipples, puckered and ready and offered up like dessert. He lowered his head and kissed the hollow of her throat, her cleavage, and the side of her breast. He looked up into her face as he opened his mouth and touched his tongue to the tip of her pebbled nipple. He rolled it beneath his tongue, and she brought her hands to the sides of his face and arched her back. Her nostrils flared, and she watched him through blue eyes turned liquid and shining with passion.

Sebastian moved his hands to her back and held her while he opened his slick mouth and sucked her inside. His tongue played with the hard and soft textures of her flesh as the sharp edge of lust tugged and twisted and tortured him.

“Stop!” she whispered, and pushed him away.

He looked up at her, dazed and drugged with the taste of her skin lingering in his mouth. Stop, he’d just gotten started.

Outside the closed door, someone turned on the sink faucet. “I think it’s Leo,” she whispered.

His grasp on her back tightened as he heard the muffled voice of his father through the door. The last thing he wanted was to stop, but he didn’t want his father to walk in on him and Clare either. “Come to the carriage house with me,” he said next to her ear.

She shook her head and pulled out of his embrace. The sound of the water stopped and he recognized his father’s footsteps, fading in the direction of the dining room.

He ran his fingers through his hair as sexual frustration smashed into him. “You have a big house. I’m sure there are plenty of rooms to finish this.”

Again she shook her head as she reached for the cups of her bra and closed the red lace over her breasts. Her dark ponytail brushed her shoulders. “I should have known you’d take things too far.”

His frustration beat at his brain and pounded his groin and he wanted to damn well finish what they’d started. In the carriage house. Her house. The back of a car. He didn’t give a shit. “Less than a minute ago you weren’t complaining.”

She glanced up, then back down, as she hooked the bow between her breasts. “Who had time? You move too fast.”

Now she was making him angry. Just as she had the morning at the Double Tree. “You were into everything I was doing to you, and if Leo hadn’t walked into the kitchen, you’d still be moaning and holding onto my ears. In another few minutes I would have had you completely naked.”

“I wasn’t moaning.” She pulled the edges of her sweater together. “And don’t fool yourself. I wouldn’t have let you take off any more of my clothing.”

“And don’t lie to yourself. You would have let me do anything I wanted.” He fought the urge to grab her and kiss her until she begged him for more. “The next time you let me undress you, I’m going all the way.”

“There won’t be a next time.” Her hands shook as she buttoned her sweater. “This got out of control before I could stop it.”

“Right. You’re not a girl with only a vague idea where this was leading. The next time, I’m going to finish the job that your old fiance couldn’t quite get done.”

She sucked in a breath and looked up at him. Her eyes narrowed and she was once again the old Clare. Perfectly groomed and in control. “That was cruel.”

He felt cruel.

“You don’t know anything about my life with Lonny.”

No, but he could guess. The sound of footsteps returned to the kitchen once more, and he leaned forward and said just above a whisper, “I’m giving you fair warning right now. If I ever have my face buried in your breasts again, I’m going to give you what you need so damn bad.”

“You have no idea what I need. Stay away from me,” she said, and stormed out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

He would have loved to storm out too, but he had a painful problem residing in his pants and pressing against his zipper.

Through the door he heard his father’s voice. “Have you seen Sebastian?” Leo asked.

Sebastian waited for her to rat him out. Just as she had years ago when she’d been angry with him. He looked around for something to shield his obvious erection.

“No,” Clare answered. “No, I haven’t seen him. Have you checked the carriage house?”

“Yes. He’s not there.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”

Fourteen

Fiona Winters was quite positive she was not the sort of woman to attract the notice of a man such as Vashion Elliot, Duke of Rathstone. She was his daughter’s governess. A nobody. An orphan with a few farthings to her name. She liked to think she was a good governess to Annabella, but she was hardly pretty. Or at least not in the fashion of opera singers or ballerinas, as was the Duke’s well-known preference.

“I beg your pardon, your grace?”

He took a step back and tilted his head to one side. His gaze moved across her face. “I think the fresh air of the Italian countryside has added a nice glow to your cheeks.” He raised a hand and captured a stray wisp of her hair dancing on the breeze before her eye. His fingers brushed her face as he tucked it behind her ear. “You look much improved in the past three months.”

She held her breath and managed a strangled, “Thank you.” She was sure a steady diet had more to do with her health than fresh air. Just as she was sure the Duke of Rathstone meant nothing by his comment on her appearance. “If you’ll excuse me, your grace,” she said. “I must get Annabella ready for the Earl and Countess Diberto’s visit.”

Clare reached for a research book on peerage and cracked it open. She was about to