Page 42 of Isabel and the Rogue

What was the true pity was that the men didn’t seem inclined to make their stop in Fairchild’s study a quick one. Isabel tried to ignore the feel of Sirius’s firm thighs under her bottom, or how his crisp scent wove about her. His arm around her waist was firm and soothing, but soon he began to stroke the backs of his hands along her sides, and Isabel shuddered before she could contain it. She had always been sensitive there, and she glanced up in time to see the way Sirius’s mouth quirked up when he came to this realization. Meeting her eyes, he danced his fingertips up her sides again, before he firmly dragged them back down.

Isabel bit her lip to keep her gasp trapped in her throat. No one had touched her so intimately, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to stop or continue.

The men continued to prattle on, sampling Mr. Fairchild’s liquor selection, while Sirius waged a silent war with her sensibilities. A war she was losing, because soon Isabel was squirming in his lap, her skin on fire. Her movements halted, however, when her bottom rubbed against something long and hard nestled in his lap. Her eyes flew wide. Isabel darted her gaze to his, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth to find him heavy lidded.

“Have a care, darling,” he whispered, “I’m only a man.”

And he inhaled deeply from the spot behind her ear, sending her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

The chatter of the men not a handful of yards from them continued, but Isabel could only focus on the man before her. The man beneath her. The man who suddenly dominated all of her senses and left her aflame.

Yet Isabel was determined to not burn alone. Curling her lip, she met his gaze as she slowly swiveled her hips, acting on instinct alone.

Sirius released a heavy breath as he tipped his head back to rest on the desk.

A thrill of delight—power—shot through Isabel, and she moved again, with more force, committed to eliciting a response from him.

Goodness, but she had no notion such activities could be so exciting. Isabel wished she had the room and privacy to remove her voluminous skirts and explore the sensations building within her core, her curiosity…her desire, overriding her timidity. Sinking her nails into Sirius’s thighs, Isabel moved with abandon, her body undulating over his, chasing some unknown destination that seemed just out of reach.

Sirius grasped her hips then, slowing her frantic movements, even as he leaned forward to rasp, “Let me help you.”

His large hands flexed, coaxing her to move again, and Isabel readily complied. Held enthralled by his sapphire eyes, Isabel surrendered to his ministrations, allowing him to maneuver her body over his.

Nothing else existed beside his blue-fire gaze. Nothing else mattered but the feverish awe on his face as he stared at her moving over him. And suddenly Isabel was beset by the need to touch him. To convey how much she was feeling and how desperately she hoped he felt the same. Planting her hand on his shoulder, Isabel surged up to snare his lips with her own. She had no idea what she was doing, and had desire not muddled her mind, she would have been mortified by her actions. But Sirius took her face between his hands, tilted her chin, and brought his mouth down over hers.

He tasted like every decadent, heady thing she’d ever craved. Ever denied herself. Sirius kissed her like he’d been starved to kiss her. His hand slid along her jaw to grip the back of her neck and hold her close. And Isabel went boneless under his touch, Sirius’s lips moving over hers in an elegant mimicry of her movements in his lap.

A great peak loomed before Isabel could catch her breath, and she arched her back as her pelvis moved frantically, intent upon finding some sort of relief. Sirius leaned forward and trailed his lips down the long line of her neck before he stopped at the base of her throat, licking her pulse point with one broad stroke of his tongue.

“Come for me,” he grated softly.

And every muscle in Isabel’s body seized, her eyes screwing shut as towering waves of pleasure crashed over her, rippling through her body as she writhed over him. Isabel’s lips fell open at some point, a moan of ecstasy poised on her tongue when Sirius slammed his mouth over hers, stifling the sound with his kiss. His taste seemed to radiate through her body, colliding with her rippling pleasure until Isabel wondered if she were capable of enduring such bliss. Collapsing forward, she sagged against his chest, all but purring when Sirius stroked a large hand over her shoulder and down to her waist.

Tension she wasn’t aware she carried seeped from Isabel’s bones, and she snuggled further into his chest, a cloud of sunset silk nestled like a cocoon around them. No one had ever made her feel this special, this cherished, and that it was the rakish Captain Dawson to do so caused unease to wrap tightly about her chest. Isabel wanted to trust him, but she also knew his reputation, which was not so easy to overlook.

Still, he was here with her now, hidden away, rather uncomfortably really, under a desk in a gentleman’s study. He allowed her to kiss him, and kissed her gently in return, helping her find pleasure when he had taken none for himself. He could have easily wiped his hands of her and her silly antics a long time ago. Instead, he had tried to help her…so shouldn’t she be grateful?

Pulling back, Isabel met his eyes, intent on saying something—anything—of her thoughts, when the voices of the gentlemen in the room snared her attention.

“Dawson was supposed to be Armstrong’s partner in the card game, but apparently the man couldn’t find him. Armstrong was chafed when I stepped away to join you here.”

Isabel smiled at the look of chagrin that settled on Sirius’s face.

“I’m surprised Dawson’s even here tonight. This isn’t usually his crowd.”

“That’s true.” The other man paused, and Isabel imagined he was taking a sip from his glass. “I so rarely see him outside gaming hells.”

“And if you do see him at a ball or some other such nonsense, he has this widow or that widow hanging from his arm.”

The other man snorted. “The good Lord has his favorites, it seems.”

The blood in her veins turned to ice, and Isabel froze, careful not to meet Sirius’s gaze. His grip around her grew tighter, and even when he gently shook her, Isabel stubbornly kept her eyes trained on the back side of the desk they were crammed under.

Nevertheless, Sirius leaned forward and ran his nose along her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

Isabel shook her head. How could she possibly tell him how the reminder of his rakish pursuits was a bucket of cold water over her head?

Her throat worked on a swallow, and unshed tears scorched the backs of her eyes.