The Flighty Fiancee (7 page)

He bustled off leaving Bartholomew with nothing more
to do than wait. And wait he did.

How long will she keep me here?
Anxious, he
began to pace again, before bending to stoke the fire, watching the
flames explode before him. He felt ready to explode himself.
Sitting in the carriage with her exotic looking maid, India had
exuded sensuality unlike any he’d seen before. He’d rode next to
her on the short jaunt rather than risk the closed confines of the
carriage, but how he wished he’d been able to. Hours and hours
driving with nothing to do but look at the woman who had him tied
in so many knots.

But then he conceded to himself, it was doubtful
they’d have survived the journey in one piece. Either he’d have
seduced her or she’d have gone for his throat. It was a roll of the
dice either way.

“What am I going to do with you, India?” he
whispered.

Not go easy
, his mind whispered back. Because
the time for treating his lady gently, with courtesy and respect,
was long gone. Last night had cracked open a part of him he didn’t
even realize existed. Possession, pure and unadulterated.
She’s
mine
.

The door opened at last and the lady in question
swept in. Dressed in a wicked creation Bartholomew was unfamiliar
with, she looked unbelievably beautiful and he felt himself harden
instantly.

“My Lord,” she said.

He gaped, opening and closing his mouth, before
running a hand across his head. How was the dress held in place?
“What is that you’re wearing?” he asked, aware that his voice came
out all choked.

She smiled wickedly. “A sari, my Lord, a traditional
Indian outfit.”

“Is that appropriate?”

She shrugged. “Not in a London ballroom no, but
here....”

Why did his tongue feel too big for his mouth? His
body suddenly on fire? Coughing he waved a hand over the table.
“Are you hungry, India? The servants have outdone themselves in
preparing a meal for your first evening here.”

She eyed the dishes on the table and shook her head.
“No.”

“Will you sit with me then for a little while until
you are hungry?”

“No.”

“Take a drink with me? I have some of the finest
brandy London has to offer.”

“No.”

Damn she tried his patience. “Then what, India?”

She shrugged again, and like the moment the night
before Bartholomew felt his suddenly perilous control snap in a way
he was completely unfamiliar with. The look in her eyes, all sort
of haughty and harsh, and that damn outfit…. Was it any wonder he
was on the edge?

“What?” he said again. “What, India?”

She shrugged one perfect shoulder and his control
deserted him.
Possession.
It filled him completely and he
knew there was only one thing Lady India needed. And who better
than he to give it to her? He stalked across the room, hands
clenched by his side. Lady India’s eyes widened with his approach,
and he smiled in satisfaction.

“Do you remember what I told you was going to
happen?” he asked, and she nodded mutely.

“Did you think I’d forgotten?”

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “I doubt you ever forget
anything, Bartholomew.”

“And still you come down in that tempting outfit,
fire eyes trying to singe me.”

“Singe, my Lord? If anything I’d make you burn
surely?”

“You already do, India. You already do.” Unable to
stop himself Bartholomew pulled her into his arms, wasting no time
covering her mouth with his. She pushed against him but he brushed
her hands aside. Cupping her delicate jaw line his lips prompted
hers apart, lightly brushing her tongue with his. She shuddered
against him and the arms that had been rigid mere moments ago
relaxed. Triumph roared through him and he trailed his fingers down
her neck, stroking her pale skin. Her lips were so soft, her body
suddenly so yielding.... Bartholomew’s prick strained between them,
desperate for release.

“I want you, India,” he whispered against her mouth.
“I’ve always wanted you.”

She shook her head, opened her mouth but then closed
it again.

Hands running through her hair, dislodging the
careful styling of her maid, Bartholomew tilted her face and
deepened their kiss. Desire clouded his mind, making it impossible
to think around it. Curls now loose, he wrapped his arms around her
tiny waist, pulling her as tightly against him as he could, before
nibbling his way down her neck.

She shivered and arched her hips, and Bartholomew
feared for one awful moment that he was going to disgrace himself
like some green boy. His balls were so tight he could feel them
ready to explode, one touch, one lick might be all he needed, and
that was unthinkable. He wanted her trembling in his arms, begging
him for more and more….

He pulled back from the kiss, lifted her stubborn
little jaw until their eyes met, and looked into her limpid emerald
pools. Desire was once again evident, and sweat began to trail down
his back.
I want her so much.

“I’m going to ravish you, India,” he stated.

She looked into his eyes, pausing for what seemed
like hours, and then slowly, so slowly he thought he might have
imagined it, she nodded.

Chapter Nine

Bartholomew walked over to the door, slowly,
deliberately and turned the key. The intent in his eyes was obvious
and India thrilled inside. Who knew it would be so easy to get what
she wanted? To finally have Bartholomew ease the ache? She felt
almost like she’d lost so many months. If she’d just been bold
enough before to ask….
But women,
ladies
, don’t ask such
things
, her mind whispered. They wait for their husbands to
claim them patiently
. And wasn’t that just stupid
, her mind
argued back. For whatever reason, and she had no idea what it might
be, that Bartholomew had denied her before, he wanted her now. And
for India that was enough. She was going to take what she wanted
from him. To take every single thing he could offer her. And then
after…a giggle bubbled inside…well then Bartholomew could know what
it was like to wait for the thing he wanted.

Make him burn.

Yes, she would.

He walked back to her just as deliberately, hooked
an arm around her waist and laid her down on the rug, directly in
front of the fire, gently fanning her fiery locks around her. The
feel of his fingers against her scalp caused a strange sensation to
feather across her shoulders and down her chest. India looked up
into his eyes, wondering if he’d felt it too, and gasped at what
she saw. No one had ever gazed at her in such a way. Desire,
tenderness and longing all wrapped up in amber.

Carefully he moved his head and took the tip of her
ear lobe in his mouth. India shrieked and made to push him away,
but then he was licking it, up and down the shell and the shriek
turned into a moan.

It felt so good! Like bursts of fire shooting to her
nipples. She arched her back and moved her hips, desperate for more
and Bartholomew laughed. “I’m going to give you everything,” he
whispered. “I’m going to lick every bit of your skin and then you
are going to lick every bit of mine.”

“Yes.” Reaching up, India wound her fingers in his
tawny hair and steered his lips back to her own. The moment they
met delicious little tingles worked their way down her spine, and
India bucked her hips towards him. Covering her body with his
Bartholomew deepened their lips, biting her lower lip slightly,
before plunging his tongue in to tease hers.

India’s whole body felt scorched. Heat building
everywhere. Never had she wanted him to touch her nipples as badly
as she did now. They were practically crying out for him to take
them and squeeze them. She ripped her mouth away from his, her
breaths coming in little pants and spoke, “I want….” But then she
paused, unsure how to continue.

“Tell me,” Bartholomew encouraged. “You can ask me
for anything here. When we do this there is nothing you can’t ask
for. Nothing that I won’t give.”

“I want you to touch me,” she said.

“Where,” he asked.

A blush hit. India could actually feel it but she
chided herself. Now was not the time to feel shy. She was getting
what she wanted and to get it all she had to ask for it.
So
ask.
“Here.” She gestured to her nipples and Bartholomew
growled. His hand trailed down her side, brushing the side of her
breast, before snaking around her waist. Through the thin material
of her sari she could see feel his thumb making languid circles
against her hip, and heat radiated out from the point where their
bodies touched.

“I’m going to lave those nipples until you scream,”
he said. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” she whispered, not even sure if it was, but
it sounded so good.

“But I don’t know how to remove this,” he laughed.
“Help me, India, and then you can have what you want.”

India pulled herself up and placed the trailing silk
in Bartholomew’s hand. “Unwrap me, my Lord.”

He shifted onto his knees and began to unwind the
material from India’s body. Slowly, tantalizingly, her pale skin
was revealed to him and India couldn’t help but blush all over
again. She’d seen something similar once in an Asian country they
had visited. A dancer had revealed herself to the audience, pausing
only on her veil and undergarments. Lord Grayson had cursed and
suggested what she had seen had been unfit for her young eyes, that
he’d never have taken her had he known, but it had intrigued India
ever since. The act had been amazingly erotic, even for someone who
barely understood what that meant, and India felt that now.

Desire, deep and pulsing as Bartholomew’s gaze
narrowed on each strip of bared skin. Her breath hitched and she
felt her nipples stiffen to the point of pain.

“Bartholomew I need….”

He unwound the material covering her chest, and
lifted her arms into the air to remove the garments below. Dusky
nipples pouted in front of him, harder than India herself had ever
seen them, and she thrust herself forward, begging him wordlessly
to touch them.

Bartholomew did not disappoint. He reached up,
carefully, almost reverently, and brushed a thumb across one
hardened bud. India clenched beneath him and moved against his
touch. Eyes on her, Bartholomew lowered his head until his mouth
captured the pink tip. His tongue teasing against her.

India cried out, never realizing anything could feel
so good. Heat pooled in between her legs and her knees shook.
Bartholomew continued to suckle on one puckered bud, whilst his
other hand continued to unwind the material from her body. Before
India even realized what was happening she lay naked in front of
him. A breast in his mouth, his free hands travelling over her
other breast. He worked her nipples until she could barely
comprehend the riot of sensations.

“You have the most perfect breasts I have ever
seen,” he whispered. “Your nipples are so hard, so sensitive.”

“More,” she whispered. “More.”

He pushed her breasts together with his hands.
Crushed against one another, the nipples were almost touching, and
then he licked, back and forth, back and forth. His tongue making
wide, sweeping motions from one to the other. India cried out, her
thighs felt sticky and her knees shook. “Yes,” she sighed. “Oh
yes.”

“You are so beautiful,” he said, licking again. “You
always have been, India.”

“You never said so,” she whispered, though that
hardly mattered now. “You’ve never told me that.”

He licked across her nipples again and whispered, so
that his breath tingled against her too hard buds. “I always felt
it.”

A curious ache began to pulse inside of her thighs,
the stickiness begging her to rub them together, to do something,
anything to ease the throbbing, and India knew what she needed—and
it was not false words of affection. She needed Bartholomew to
pleasure her...to ravish her, just like he’d promised.

Chapter Ten

“Touch me, Bartholomew,” India begged, and
Bartholomew thought he would lose his mind.

He trailed his fingers down from her neck, across
her moist stomach, before pausing at the triangle of her curls,
glinting in the firelight. Her scent filled his nostrils and he
breathed as deeply as he could, desperate to inhale her.

Gently, so as not to scare her, he rubbed one finger
against her curls. She writhed beneath his hands and he went lower,
brushing across her nubbin. It was hard and pulsing, just like her
amazing nipples. He wondered if it would be as sensitive and rubbed
it again. A strangled cry greeted him and he began to move his
thumb in perfect circular motions, hardening to the point of pain
as her sweet juices drenched him.

He dipped lower still, slowly placing one finger at
her warm, wet opening. She arched her hips, to encourage the
penetration, and Bartholomew gave her what she wanted.

“Oh Lord,” she cried and Bartholomew captured her
mouth again. He plunged his tongue in time with his finger and she
moaned against him. Faster he went, dipping in and out, his thumb
rubbing her nub.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Let it find you.”

She began to shake against his fingers, her walls
clenching around him and Bartholomew knew exactly what he had to do
to send her over the edge. Wrenching his mouth from hers he moved
down her body, pushed her legs further apart, and before she could
so much as sigh he fastened his mouth around her quim.

She shrieked and grabbed the back of his head,
pulling at his hair. Bartholomew smiled around the pain and lashed
his tongue against her.

“Ooooh.”

Her hand dropped to her side and she arched her
hips. He plunged his tongue down her channel, lapping at her
juices, all the while thrusting his fingers inside of her, urging
her on. He couldn’t get enough of her, her taste, the feel of her
lips on his tongue. He sucked and he lapped and he nibbled and she
shook around him.