Wild and Wicked Read Online Free PDF Page B

pulse pounded in his ears, the noise of the castle drifted away. She smelled of roses and violets and all things feminine. In the darkness of the alcove they were alone in the universe. His fingers twined in the thick curls of her hair. His mouth molded over hers. His tongue pressed hard against her teeth. Slowly her lips parted, giving him access to the moist haven of her mouth.
    ’Twas hours or an instant. He knew not which.
    But he wanted her.
    Burned for her.
    Pushing her back against the wall, he pressed his body closer to hers, thigh to thigh, chest to breasts, lips to lips. Beneath the downy folds of her dress he felt her mound.
    One hand lowered to cup her breast.
    “Nay,” she whispered breathlessly, though her words quivered and he felt her heat, sensed her own blood running hot. In his mind’s eye he saw them lying naked upon his bed, the fire casting golden shadows on her naked flesh.
    Now, in the alcove, with the sounds of the celebration drifting through the curtain, she forced her mouth from his. Her breathing was as ragged as his own. “Please . . . do . . . do not . . .” Swallowing hard, licking her lips, she stared at him as if suddenly afraid. “Oh, dear God in heaven,” she said, blowing out a breath as she drew away. “I cannot . . . we . . . we cannot.” She shook her head as if to convince herself. She placed one hand over her breasts and she bit her lower lip. “Lord Devlynn,” she whispered, her voice deeper than he remembered, “I . . . I am not what you think. . . .”
    “And what do I think you are?”
    She glanced into his eyes, hesitated, then looked away as if uncertain. “’Tis of no matter,” she said. “Oh, curse it all!” To his surprise, she placed her soft palms on either side of his face and dragged his mouth down to her upturned lips. She kissed him soundly, as if she would never stop. As if she couldn’t. Her lips were warm and trembled slightly.
    Ah, she was a tease and a tart and looked the part of an innocent. Every muscle in his body screamed with the want of her and he could think of nothing save laying atop her, joining with her. . . .
    “Nay!” she whispered as if at herself and pulled back to stare at him in dismay, as if she were ashamed. “Nay . . . I cannot—”
    “Stay with me. Here.” He said the words before he’d thought them.
    “What? Oh . . . nay.”
    “Apryll, I—”
    “Shh.” She placed a finger over his lips and before he could suck it into his mouth, she jerked her hand away and pulled away from him. “This is madness! Oh, for the love of St. Jude, I be such a fool!” Flushing crimson, avoiding his gaze, she pushed hard against his shoulders and shook her head. “Forgive me.” His arms dropped to his sides. “I’m sorry . . . I mean . . . I . . . need . . . if you could tell me where I might find the latrine. . . .”
    “’Tis on the second floor, around the first corner, up a short flight of stairs to the tower.”
    “I—I will be back,” she vowed, nearly stumbling as she approached the stairs. Cheeks burning, she turned on her heel swiftly. Lifting the skirts of her glittery dress, she flew up the stone steps and disappeared around the corner.
    “I’ll wait,” he called after her, not knowing that she lied.

Chapter Three
    Apryll bolted up the stairs. Oh, this was madness, sheer, horrifying madness! Why had she ever agreed to Payton’s bold, vengeful plan? She dashed around the corners of the upper hallway without error, meeting no one, her heart pounding as she found a small alcove, where she found, as Payton had promised, a change of clothes, huntsman’s garb.
    Her fingers flew over the buttons holding her gown together and she stepped out of the frothy white dress that had been the bridal gown of her mother, Rowelda. With a fleeting thought of the woman who bore her, Apryll threw on the rough-sewn tunic that chaffed her skin after the finery of the wedding dress. Oh, mother, I’m sorry. She yanked on leggings