The Forbidden Lord Read Online Free PDF

head until his mouth hovered inches from hers. “The truth is, I’m having a devil of a time resisting the urge to kiss you.”
    “Oh, but you must !” she protested feebly as her head swam.
    “Yes. I must.”
    Yet he didn’t. Before she could protest or even move away, he covered her mouth with his.
    It was a shock, the most sublime shock she’d ever had in her life. Who would have guessed a man’s lips could be so soft…or so fiendishly tempting? His breath mingled with hers, spiked with brandy, though he didn’t seem the least bit drunk. His mouth caressed hers in such a leisurely fashion that it seduced her into stillness.
    She exhaled on a sigh, then caught her breath when he clasped her shoulders to draw her closer. In a futile attempt to dispel the fog forming in her brain, she turned her lips away, but he only shifted his mouth to drop short, delectable kisses along the curve of her cheek to her earlobe, following the line of the mask.
    “Sweet Emily,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. “Sweet, innocent Emily.”
    Her name sounded foreign to her ears when he rasped it like that. How did he know it anyway? Oh, yes, he’d overheard her conversation with Sophie. “You mustn’t c-call me that,” she stammered. He nibbled on her earlobe, and she gasped. “You…you must call me Miss Fairchild.”
    “All right. Kiss me, Miss Fairchild. Or I shall surely kiss you again.”
    “I…I would prefer that you not…kiss me, Lord Blackmore. It’s not proper.”
    “As if I care about propriety.” He planted a kiss on the pulse in her neck. “Remember my scandalous reputation? And my name is Jordan. Say it.”
    “I-I can’t. It’s too intimate.”
    “Exactly.” Sliding one arm about her waist, he tugged her close, then tipped her chin up with his free hand until she was staring into his glittering eyes, her heart beating a wild, staccato rhythm.
    “Say my name,” he whispered hoarsely. “I want to hear you say it.”
    “Jordan,” she breathed. If they continued this much longer, he wouldn’t have to ruin her. She’d gladly rush to ruin herself. “Jordan, we mustn’t do this. You…you mustn’t kiss me.”
    “I want a taste of the woman who’s to be my downfall.” As she stiffened, preparing to protest, he caught her mouth with his once more.
    There was less softness in his kiss this time. He kissed like a man with a purpose, single-minded and thorough. His mouth drew on hers hungrily, his tongue outlining the seam of her lips as his hand swept from her chin to her throat, lingering there to stroke the bare skin of her arched neck with his clever, knowing fingers. When she gasped at the sheer intimacy of his caress, he slid his tongue inside her mouth.
    Some Puritan part of her insisted that she protest this latest indignity. But protest was impossible. The Earl of Blackmore was kissing her, deliciously and provocatively. She’d never even expected to meet him and now to have him kissing her like this…
    Her mind went blank as he swept the inside of her mouth with his tongue, finding and conquering every sensitive part. His kiss deepened, grew more daring, and she became his willing accomplice. Dear heavens, the man certainly knew what he was doing. Like a ninny, she found herself welcoming each heady stroke, each masterful thrust of his tongue.
    Then she was curling her fingers into the crisp superfine lapels of his cutaway, clinging to him like a wretched wanton. And she no longer cared. Like drinking champagne for the first time, the varied pleasures of his kiss roused new and unfamiliarcravings in her. She strained against him, needing those cravings answered, and he gave her more than she even knew to ask for, bending her back until she was half-reclining on the brocade seat.
    Then the carriage lurched, throwing him off-balance and forcing him to break off the kiss. He stared down into her eyes a long moment, the desire leaching out of his face like color from bleached linen. A