A Countess by Chance Read Online Free PDF

when she was angry—her cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink, her eyes were bright and lively…and glaring at him.
    Before he knew himself, he reached out and slipped a hand around her waist, pulling her flush with his body. His mouth swallowed her gasp of surprise, his tongue twining with hers. The kiss was rough, hot, passionate—two years’ worth of hunger and desire.
    Skimming his hand down the small of her back, he cupped her backside through the fabric of her dress. She was exquisite, so beautiful, and he loved the way she felt beneath his fingertips—soft, lush, ripe …  
    As his mouth devoured hers, he pulled her more firmly against his erection, rocking gently. She arched into him with a moan, her softness melting into his hard length. Sliding one hand up, he cupped her breast, his thumb teasing her tight nipple through the fabric of her dress and chemise.
    “You are so beautiful,” he whispered harshly. “So damn tempting.”
    Pulling back slightly, he tugged her neckline down a fraction, freeing her swollen breast from the confines of her gown. Lowering his head, he sucked her left nipple into his mouth. A low, throaty moan escaped her lips, fueling his arousal. She gripped his shoulders to hold herself upright.
    “God, you taste sweet,” he murmured against her breast, teasing her nipple with the tip of his tongue. Then he opened his mouth and sucked her deep.
    “Yes,” she panted, rubbing against him restlessly. “Please…”
    She threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, her body begging for more.
    A twig snapped somewhere nearby.
    Adam broke away, stepping back, putting an arm’s length between them as she quickly righted her bodice.
    Christ : how had he lost control so quickly? All he’d wanted to do was talk to her, ask her what exactly had happened between her and Whitmore. As usual, a quarter of a minute in her presence, and he was lost, reeling…
    Raking his hand through his hair, he sucked in a long, steadying breath. With his heart pounding, he could feel heat swirling through his veins like a raging tempest. Every instinct demanded he pull her back into his arms and finish what he’d started.
    Voices drifted on the breeze, reminding him that they were still out in the open, exposed to the whole goddamn house.
    “Meet me in the conservatory at midnight.”
    She blinked up at him and licked her lips, her countenance unreadable. For once, he couldn’t detect the direction of her thoughts.
    “Olivia.” His tone was harsh, abrupt. “The conservatory. Midnight.”
    Hesitantly, she nodded. Then he turned and walked away—the hardest thing he’d done in two years.
    *  *  *
    Midnight came and went with little fanfare. Olivia stared at the gilded timepiece on the mantel in the parlor, watching as the hands slowly, painfully ticked past the twelve.
    Meeting him would be a costly, regrettable mistake. One minute alone with him and she’d be offering herself up on a silver platter…with all the trimmings! She was nothing if not weak—when it came to him, at least. She wasn’t wanton or easily persuaded—since the unfortunate incident with Whitmore, most gentlemen had tried, and failed, to take liberties. Her father had taught her how to effectively gouge an eye, which had spared her on more than one occasion.
    But Adam was different. Her heart fluttered when he walked into a room; all her senses instantly attuned to his presence. Her thoughts were cast back to that morning, to the sharp flick of his crop against her backside, to the intense pleasure that followed.
    Licking her lips, she glanced at the timepiece. Quarter past.
    She could still go to him, she reasoned.
    Taking another sip of her wine, she tried to push the laughable thought out of her head. Go to him—ha!—as though she would just scurry off and allow him to claim his “prize.” Though, to be sure, the thought itself was anything but laughable. Her blood heated at the mere thought of his hands