Page 7 of Surrender to Sin

“Such a tone, Lady Carrington. One might begin to think you were reconsidering the mild part. Now. To the task at hand. How should you like it to play out?”

“A kiss,” she said, irritable at her own transparency when she’d been able to mask herself so well in the past. “In public. Like in a phaeton, or while strolling in a park or perhaps in a box at the theater.”

“All right. What kind of kiss?”

An incredulous laugh escaped. “You are asking me about kissing?”

He didn’t smile. “Yes. There are many types, pet. Chaste kisses. Ones of friendship. Relief. A teasing kiss, nothing more than a vague promise. Then new desire, clumsy and hungry but still with the edge of non-consummation. And finally the raw carnality of lovers. What do you want Baxter to believe?”

Grace stared at Sin, mouth dry and heart pounding. Nell had been right. This was a man who knew every nuance of pleasure, utterly at ease with his knowledge and expertise. “I…I’m not sure.”

“Well then. Why don’t we try an experiment? Kiss me, and I’ll tell you what it says.”

For a long moment she hesitated. Sweet heaven she wanted to. Badly. But it had been so very long since she kissed someone she actually wanted to kiss; the secrets of finishing school seemed like a hundred years ago. What if she and Sin banged noses or foreheads? What if all she could demonstrate was friendship or lukewarm teasing? A mild scandal had seemed so easy. Perhaps it wasn’t at all. “I’m woefully out of practice,” she said awkwardly. “Probably not very seductive.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Look, I’ll even meet you halfway on the chaise. Shimmy closer, pet, and kiss me as though bloody Baxter was peering through the window right now.”

Grace nodded, excitement coiling in her belly at the chance to have something she’d wanted for the longest time. Then she leaned across and carefully brushed her mouth against his, once, twice, before timidly touching the tip of her tongue to his lips. A low growl escaped him, and she jerked back. “I did it wrong, didn’t I,” she said tightly, embarrassed. What a countrified twit she must appear to someone of his experience. “I’m sorry.”

“On the contrary. It was sweet and perfect. But sweet and perfect won’t end an engagement. If we are to create a public scandal, you cannot hold back. You must give me your all, so any gossips looking on unequivocally believe that rather than the quiet, virtuous widow of repute, you are an independent, hot-blooded woman with reckless, ungovernable sexual needs. For that is the last kind of wife a man like Baxter wants.”

“I understand. Can we try again?”

His smile was pure wickedness. “Oh, I dare you to.”

Dizzy heat flooded her, and Grace licked her lips. As if the quiet challenge had woken her inner wanton from an endless sleep, slowly, deliberately, she moved on the chaise, hitching up her gown and straddling Sin’s lap. His eyes flared in surprise then darkened with desire, and she shivered at the unfamiliar and utterly addictive sensation of power.

Cupping his face, Grace kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his stubbled jaw, tasting and exploring the salty warmth of his skin. Then she moved to his mouth, tracing and licking the hard lips so very different from her own, until he opened and sucked her tongue inside. Abruptly the kiss became something hot and wild, a light breeze to a violent storm. He wasn’t gentle, nor did she want him to be, and she could only sigh with pleasure as one hand clamped around the back of her neck, the other on the small of her back, and he crushed her lips with his.

Oh God. This was the kiss she’d been dreaming of her whole life. Raw and brutal and wonderful. With a low whimper, she threaded her fingers through his silky, short-cropped hair, letting her knees slide farther apart so she sat closer to him, unable to stop herself from rubbing her hard, aching nipples against the rock-solid expanse of his chest.

“Sin,” she gasped in frustration, when the light friction wasn’t nearly enough.

“I know. I know what you need,” he said hoarsely, and she moaned in gratitude when the hand at her back slid up over her hip to cup one breast, two fingers massaging her nipple through her bodice. But again, she soon wanted more.

“Harder,” she demanded, the wanton refusing to be denied a second longer.

“So greedy, darling.”

Yet there was nothing but approval in his voice, and when the two fingers delved under her bodice to pinch her nipple directly, it sent a jolt of fierce arousal straight to her dampening core and she arched, crying out. This was passion, what the ladies whispered about, what they craved and risked all for. And if he ever stopped, she would—

“Sinny!”

Horrified, Grace jerked around to stare at the amused-looking brunette who now lounged in the doorway to the parlor. Her glossy hair tumbled down her back and she wore just an emerald satin dressing gown that barely constrained Venus-like curves, but she remained utterly at ease. Who would dare just march in? Was the stunningly beautiful woman one of Sin’s mistresses? Sweet heaven, she could actually see the brunette’s nipples, big and dusky rose colored, but so soft-looking, like velvet.

Quickly, Grace turned away, her cheeks on fire.

“What is it, Charlotte?” said Sin, as he removed his hand from Grace’s breast and straightened her bodice so expertly, she wanted to kick him. “And what the hell happened to knocking?”

“I did knock, several times, but you were obviously, well, distracted. Your harem is waiting for you.”

His harem? Grace didn’t realize she’d growled the word until Sin laughed and squeezed her hand.

“Don’t give me that look, pet. I’m in charge of staff at Fallen, and my harem is the maids. Most days I’d say coven rather than harem, though.”

“Aw, Sinny, don’t pretend you don’t love us to bits. I’ll tell the girls you’ll be there in five minutes, don’t make me get out my crop, now,” the brunette said firmly, blowing them a kiss, and strutting from the room.

“Crop?” Grace blurted. “Did she mean a riding crop? Does she use it on people?”