Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (best books for 20 year olds TXT) 📕

to kiss her pert, upturned nose, her high forehead, soft cheek, the delightfully stubborn chin and, at last, her lips. Her response was instant and spontaneous. Her hand reached up, touching his chin and the nape of his neck, winding her fingers through his hair to pull him closer to her.

He heard the rustle of her clothes as she shifted towards him. The kiss deepened. His grip tightened, his fingers splayed against her back, pulling her tighter. He could feel her pressed against him, swaying into him. A need, a desire, like a primal life force, engulfed. He wanted this woman. Her eager innocence threatened all self-control. Everything intensified the feeling: the tentative touch of her tongue against his, the instinctive, unschooled arch of her body, her muted groans of need and the soft husky breathiness as she whispered his name.

His fingers ran up her spine. He felt the fine cloth, the soft skin of her neck and the silk of her hair. The muslin slipped from her shoulder, exposing the creaminess of her skin. He ran kisses down her neck and her collarbone. They inched backwards towards the sofa and she sank into it, half lying. He knelt beside her, undoing the top button of her gown so that her bodice loosened. He pushed it lower, revealing the chemise. Through the thin cotton, he could see the darker outline of her nipples.

‘Sam,’ she breathed.

The need, the desire pulsed through him. He stared down at her flushed countenance, her huge magical dark blue eyes and parted pink lips.

‘Millie,’ he groaned. ‘I—We...cannot.’

She smiled, as always her expression slow to build, but then transformative. ‘Why not?’

‘You are an innocent.’

‘Maybe I do not wish to remain so.’

The calm, husky words were more arousing than anything he had ever heard. Shock mixed with a tidal wave of lust.

He cupped her face with his hands. ‘You are entirely different than anyone I have ever met.’

With exploratory fingers, she reached up to his face. She touched his chin. She ran her fingers along his jaw, her movement unschooled and spontaneous. He touched her lips and she teased his tongue. His kiss was no longer tentative. He plundered her mouth, his hand pushing up the fabric of her skirts, feeling the shape of her legs through the cotton pantaloons. Then he kissed the smooth line of her jaw, her neck and the sweet spot on her collarbone where he could feel the beat of her pulse. Her skin had a dewy softness. He slipped his hand under the thin cotton fabric of her chemise, exposing her breast. He kissed the rosy tip while his hands bunched at the fabric of her skirts.

Millie felt beautiful. She felt wanted. She had never felt like this before. She felt like a woman—a woman who was desired. Instinctively, she pressed herself closer so that she could feel every inch of him. She revelled in the strong, hard lines of his body, his quickened breath and the urgency of his movements. She revelled in the intoxicating power that she could make this tall beautiful man murmur her name and pull at her gown with a driving need.

His touch ignited her skin with a heat that connected to the very core of her. Her fingers moved under his jacket. She could feel his skin through the fine cotton of his shirt. The muscles were hard, but their movement fluid. His hair fell forward across his forehead. She reached up, pushing it away, allowing her fingers to trace across his jawbone, feeling the slight roughness of stubble on her skin.

Her own pulse drummed against her ears. Her body became molten, no longer composed of bone and muscle, but rather she was liquid, sensuous and fluid. She moved without thought, instinctively responding to the driving heat, pulsing throughout her body. She arched against him. Her hands gripped at his shoulders. Exaltation, sensation and primal need dwarfed all other thoughts.

The rattle of carriage wheels on the drive outside sounded loud and discordant in the quiet room. Millie and Sam froze in the tumbling return of reality.

He jerked away from her. ‘Millie—My God—I am sorry. I—I apologise.’

Millie sat upright, gripping her clothes about her. Confusion, hurt, loss and a raw vulnerability flooded her. He turned away from her, adjusting his jacket as she hurriedly straightened her clothes. Her nipples felt painful against her chemise as she quickly did up the buttons with trembling fingers. Her cheeks burned. Her lips felt swollen by his kisses and her hair fell about her face in long tangles.

‘Who would be visiting us at this hour?’ she gasped.

‘Whoever they are, thank goodness they are here. I am so sorry. That should never have happened.’

She stiffened. The words struck a chill in her. She felt the hurt, that raw neediness morphing to anger. Her confused thoughts circled about that one phrase: That should never have happened.

Of course, it should never have happened. She was not destined for desire or love or happily-ever-afters. Did he think she did not know that? Except she’d wanted to feel something before she dutifully married Mr Edmunds. Did that make her a fallen woman? Or just stupid? She supposed it was yet more proof of the family failing—to risk without thought of consequence.

That should never have happened.

Somewhere outside, a carriage door slammed.

With efficiency verging on viciousness, she twisted her hair into a bun, jamming pins into it. Then she smoothed down her skirts, staring at the parlour door with apparent fascination, if only to avoid his gaze.

‘Again, I apologise,’ he said stiffly.

‘I would not worry about it, Mr Garrett. We all make mistakes.’

‘I was irresponsible.’

She paused at the door, her fingers resting on the knob. ‘Then it is fortunate that we both returned to our senses. Doubtless the foolishness was brought about by our misadventures and the danger we experienced. Indeed, I do not know what came over me given that I anticipate a proposal of marriage in the near future.’

‘What?’ She heard his movement behind her