The Desperate Love of a Lord Read Online Free PDF Page A

fancy your bachelor apartments.”
    God he could still remember the sudden heat which had burned in his veins and the weight in his groin at the very idea.
    She was bold and domineering, and he had been bloody devoted.
    In the carriage she had not let him touch her or kiss her, all the time building a burning tension between them.
    He’d been constantly aware of where her hands were. When they’d brushed the fabric of her dress he’d felt a tremor run through him.
    He’d been even more aware of the lift and fall of her bodice as she’d breathed, while she laid out the rules. “You are not to read any favour into it, Sparks, you understand…”

    He’d nodded, not giving a damn, just thinking of lifting her bloody skirt. He’d heard how good she was, rumours about her had circulated men’s clubs. He knew others she’d been with, and no one ever complained about her rules.
    “I wish to be treated well, Sparks. I do not expect to be looked at as if I am your discarded linen after this.”
    He could remember smiling at that. She could hardly be compared to dirty linen, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever set eyes on.
    “We are equals in this, I do not wish you plying me with prose or…”
    She had rambled on the whole way, drawing lines in the sand he wasn’t supposed to cross. When they’d reached her house he’d climbed down first and offered his hand. She’d accepted it, her small fingers clutching his. They were so delicate.
    They’d had a nightcap and then he’d thought it time to take the reins from her hands. He’d lifted her glass from her fingers and covered her mouth with his to shut her up. Violet. He ached to kiss her now as he remembered.
    That first time had been sheer bliss. It had never been the same with other women, and he’d had other women before and after. There had been several casual liaisons since, but none quite like the first. She had been fire and ice, and earth and wind that night.
    The first time he’d taken her had been on the floor in her drawing-room, with a fire blazing beside them, its light warming her skin and turning it amber. But before he’d gone that far she had been on her knees worshipping him in a way a decent woman should not, her fingers running over his torso and brushing over the hairs on his thighs like she simply could not get enough of him.
    When he’d pressed into her heat, an uncontrollable hunger had ripped through him, and he couldn’t get deep enough or work fast enough. It had been excruciating, delicious, blissful pleasure. He’d driven into her like an unleashed animal and she’d cried out as her fingernails clawed into his skin. He’d made her break numerous times, with her thighs gripping his hips and the breath of her cries caressing his neck.

    His coming had been something monumental but not the end of their first night. Their second encounter had come after half a bottle of wine, which they’d shared lying naked before the fire. It had been in a chair. He could still feel her sitting astride him and undulating in a rhythm which had enthralled. His fingertips had pressed into her thighs, while she had bitten his neck.
    There had been a third time. In the morning. In her bed. That time had been achingly slow and beautiful and he’d felt the tremors of her pleasure racing through her body as he’d touched the skin covering her ribs and seen in the daylight just how beautiful the magnificent woman was.
    She’d bathed while he’d languished in her bed, watching, mesmerised by her lack of care for others opinions. Her maid and the footmen had come and gone, filling a bath for her, while he’d remained in her bed.
    Before she’d got into the tub, she’d taken off the rings which she’d worn the night before and left them on the chest beside her bed. He’d picked one up, surprised by just how tiny it was and played with it while she talked, laughing at him from her relaxed pose in the water.
    Even then he’d known what a