Texas Viscount (25 page)

      
Now she longed to touch him. When he leaned over her and lowered his head to kiss her, she placed one palm flat against his chest and, with her other arm wrapped around his back, pulled him closer. Her fingers curled into the springy hair as his lips brushed hers, teasing for her to open.

      
She did so and let the entrancing ballet of their tongues begin once more. He shifted positions over her, slanting his mouth and claiming hers, urging her to do the same for him. As the kisses deepened and grew hotter, his nimble fingers reached between them and unbuttoned her blouse. When one large, warm hand delved inside and cupped a breast, Sabrina's cry of pleasure was muffled in his mouth. She arched up when he teased the nipple into a hard bud with his fingertips, then repeated the seduction with the other breast.

      
Suddenly her chemise was too tight, her breasts aching and sending radiating pulses of heat down her body to her woman's place. His mouth left hers and she panted aloud, unaware of the little noises of pleasure she was making as he kissed and nipped his way down her throat, then used the tip of his tongue to draw a wet circle around one nipple, taking the tip between his teeth and softly biting it.

      
By now her hands were in his shaggy dark hair, pulling his head down to her as he moved from one breast to the other. “Help me,” he murmured as he began to pull the chemise up from the miraculously unfastened waistband of her skirt. She raised herself up as he swept it over her head and tossed it aside. For her solitary walk along the beach, she'd not bothered with a corset. Now her bare breasts gleamed in the moonlight as he looked down at them with worship in his eyes.

      
“You are so incredibly lovely,” he said, reaching out to cup the lush fullness of the pink-tipped mounds.

      
His hands lifted them and his mouth tasted them, drawing the nipples past his lips and suckling one, then the other as she arched and writhed, falling back onto the sand. Her head tossed from side to side, spreading her hair across his shirt in a tangled mass as she lay swamped by the onslaught of sheer animal need. Her eager hands rose of their own volition and her nails dug into his back, pulling him closer, closer.

      
When he slipped one hand over the curve of her hip and pulled up her skirt and petticoat, Sabrina was unaware. Then she felt the heated thrill of his fingers as they danced lightly up one delicate ankle, over the curve of her calf and caressed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. But the sheer batiste of her much-mended under drawers kept him from reaching his ultimate goal. He retraced his path, this time slipping a soft shoe from one foot and massaging the instep until her toes curled. He did the same with the other before returning his attention to the center of her need.

      
Slowly and gently but with incredible dexterity, Josh unfastened and slipped down her skirt and petticoat together, then slid his hand inside the waistband of her underwear and splayed his fingers across her flat little belly. Heat, already singing through her veins, ignited between her legs as his hand gradually moved lower, brushing the tight curls at the apex, then cupping her mound.

      
“I have to undress you, Sabbie,” he murmured between suckling caresses to her breasts and belly.

      
Panting, she assented, wriggling her hips as he slid down the rest of her clothes and shoved the petticoat beneath her buttocks to serve as a pillow. Then he rose up and looked down at her as she lay utterly naked before him. His eyes drank in the silvery moonlit beauty of curves and hollows, a perfectly formed female body, now heated with passion. “You are a wonder,” he whispered.

      
Sabrina had never before been unclothed before a man. Her one sad experience had been performed with her skirts hastily shoved up and her undergarments pulled partially down. Dex had not even bothered to undress himself. She'd closed her eyes and wished only for it to be over. But now she was boldly hungry to see everything. She looked up into Josh's eyes and saw that he was pleased with her. Not impatient to get it over with, but genuinely pleased...even more, deeply hungry to devour her with his eyes, just as she was to see all of his body.

      
Seeming to sense her silent wish, he knelt and began to unfasten the buttons of his fly. She could see the bulge in his jeans, indeed had felt the physical proof of his desire when he lay so close to her earlier. Her eyes dared to watch those strong, long-fingered hands as they worked the tight pants down his narrow hips and freed his sex. Now she could see the whole pattern of his body hair from its wide arc across the muscles of his chest narrowing in an arrow down his flat, hard abdomen and blooming around the long, hard staff standing out proudly as if inviting her touch.

      
Hypnotically, Sabrina reached up and dared to touch it, filled with wonder at the splendid beauty that the male anatomy could be. He flinched ever so slightly and she withdrew, but his hand encircled hers and brought it back, saying in a low, hoarse voice, “Please, don't be afraid.”

      
“I—I thought I...”

      
His chuckle was low and desperate as he said, “You could never hurt me, darlin', but I want you so much, even the slightest touch is sheer agony—and pleasure at the same time.”

      
She was beginning to understand that as she let him guide her inexperienced hands to stroke and cup him. A pure thrill of power coursed through her when he gasped and bucked his hips helplessly. But then he pulled away.

      
“If we don't slow down, I won't be able to control myself,” he said hoarsely, lying down on his side and pulling her to him on their makeshift bed of clothing. He drew her into another long series of drugging kisses, slow and languorous, then hot and hard. All the while his hands played over her body, making it hum with desire from head to toe. When he stroked her inner thighs her legs fell apart, opening in welcome. He murmured his approval and moved up to cup her mound again.

      
Sabrina whimpered when his fingers slid over the weeping flesh, swollen and pulsing with a hunger she could never have imagined. Now it was her hips that bucked in helpless entreaty as he stroked the small bud that seemed to be at the very core of her being.

      
It did not take long.

      
It took far too long.

      
She was not certain of anything except the sudden spiraling ecstasy that pounded through her veins, causing stars to explode behind her eyelids. She clung to him, quivering in the aftermath.

      
“That's what I meant,” he whispered as he positioned himself to enter her still spasming body.

      
Ever so slowly, he slid deeper and deeper, letting her flesh stretch to take all of him. She was so sweetly tight, so wet and hot and responsive, unlike any other woman in his considerable experience. She was beyond compare. Sweat beaded his brow as he held himself in check, waiting for her. When she gave a small, involuntary twist of her hips he began to move from his fully seated position, withdrawing, then plunging languorously in, ever so gradually increasing the tempo.

      
Sabrina felt the heat building once again, the need...and now she knew the shattering wonder of what lay at the end of this ecstatic ordeal. But when she tried to move faster, he grasped her eager hips and slowed them, shaking his head.

      
“Hold on—making it last will make it better,” he whispered as his tongue grazed the edge of her ear, then dipped inside.

      
On and on it went until they were both soaked with perspiration as the winds soughed outside the lee of sand that sheltered them. He murmured soft words of endearment and encouragement, feeling her body's signals that she was ready to slip over the abyss again. When she let out a small, keening cry and convulsed around him, he gave in and spilled himself deep inside her.

      
The second time was even more wondrous than the first, which had been pretty amazing, but coherent thought had long since fled. The contractions began to build, radiating from the core of her body where it was joined to his, spreading all the way to her fingers and toes. She felt his staff swell even more and his whole body stiffen and shudder as he pulsed life into her. When he collapsed on top of her, she held him in her arms and buried her fingers in his night-dark hair.

      
“If it got any better, I would die,” she murmured dreamily as she moved her cheek against his raspy beard. Her fingertips glided, tracing circles in the bristles.

      
“It will get better, and you won't die. Trust me,” Josh drawled, leaning up on one elbow so he could lave her salty skin with his tongue.

      
She purred like a kitten as he continued his ministrations, licking, caressing, suckling and teasing her until she could feel him once more hardening deep inside her. When he began to move again, she obeyed his command and locked her legs around his waist, arching to meet every swift, hungry thrust.

      
“Sometimes it's good when it's fast, too,” he panted.

      
Sabrina agreed, although she was powerless to say so. She prayed for the night never to end.

Chapter Twelve

      
As Hodgins frantically took notes, Hambleton and Lansdowne discussed the impending arrival of the minister from Japan. They were seated in the earl's office with the hall door locked. This meeting was of the highest secrecy, and no one could be allowed to interrupt or even to see that the Foreign Secretary was present.

      
“This is confounded nonsense,” the earl said impatiently, aggravated that his good mood from the weekend had been so rudely broken by these new developments.

      
“The Japanese are a stubborn lot, there's no denying,” Lansdowne said, drawing upon his cigar. He studied the ash as he continued, “We tried as delicately as possible to explain that there would be risks if Count Hayashi made a public progress to St. James' Palace, but the Marquess Katsura said they'd lose face if his minister was slipped into London in secret.”

      
“Pardon, Your Lordship, but Katsura is their Prime Minister?” Hodgins asked. At Lansdowne's nod, he continued note keeping.

      
“Better to lose face than lose his demned arse,” Lansdowne said irritably.

      
“The chances for the Russians to take another pop at Hayashi are damnably high.” Hambleton sighed. “But I suppose there's no help for it.”

      
“Have you anything on your nephew's Russian friends since he saw Whistledown slip the stolen treaty information to Zarenko?” At the earl's negative shake of his head, Lansdowne added, “Jamison's come up with nothing either, but I've assigned him to keep a close watch on both of them.”

      
“My nephew is observing Whistledown as well as continuing to hobnob with Kurznikov and his circle,” the earl said.

      
A sharp rap sounded on the door. At once Lansdowne stood up, prepared to slip away via the secret entrance. “Will you see to whomever it is, Hodgins? No one must know the Foreign Secretary is here.”

      
“Very good, my lord,” the servant said, quickly excusing himself.

      
Hambleton opened the panel, and the two men vanished behind it before Hodgins opened the door of the study. A small gaslight flickered on the steps leading down to the cellar. As the earl saw his guest out, they continued their conversation.

      
“At least we have an opportunity to send those damnable Russians on a false trail before the real arrival of the minister.”

      
“I take it you've planted the scheduled arrival of the supposed ship?” Lansdowne asked.

      
“Tomorrow. If they receive that information from Whistledown—and we've given him ample opportunity to peruse it over the past few days—then they should make another attempt on the agent posing as Hayashi.”

      
“If only we can capture one of the bastards and interrogate him. I have an agent whose father died at Balaclava who'd love to perform that service for king and country,” Lansdowne said dryly.

* * * *

      
“Are you absolutely certain of this, Mr. Loring?” Sa-brina asked in the most no-nonsense tone she could muster. She stood in her front parlor, having taken the precaution of leaving the door ajar. After hearing what her unexpected guest had to say and knowing how her landlady enjoyed eavesdropping, she wished she'd forgotten about propriety.

      
The nattily dressed little man with the shiny bald pate nodded eagerly. “Yes, ma'am, I am. Mr. Whistledown owes me for his new wardrobe and hasn't paid one pence. When I threatened to go to his employer, he begged me not to. Said he'd lose his position, and then those bully boys from Epsom would kill him. But then I remembered you.”

      
“Do you have any idea how much he owes in gambling debts?” she asked, wringing her hands as she paced.