Regency Surrender: Ruthless Rakes. Bronwyn Scott

it was all the more reason to protect her from herself and from him. Nolan nearly laughed out loud. There was a certain irony to the situation. In London, he was the man most likely to seduce, well, anything. Now, he’d become a protector of virgins.

      The adagio ended and the quartet launched their full assault on his senses with their main presentation, the classic Four Seasons: forty-three minutes of mental lovemaking. Nolan did not try to fight it. He gave his imagination free rein. He wanted to pull the pins out of her hair to the languorous melodies of summer, wanted to watch her hair fall in slow accord to the violins’ indolent, lazy strains.

      The quartet moved into the rousing melodies of autumn and he imagined dancing her up against the wall of the church, running playful kisses down her neck, over her breasts, kneeling before her and skimming her navel with his lips in a celebration of passion and life before he took her with hard thrusts, to the sharp, icy rhythms of winter, letting passion break over them with the force of an avalanche. He let his eyes slide in her direction. Did she have any idea of the thoughts running through his mind as she sat there? This was why he was dangerous to her, why she should have let him play cards tonight instead. She thought he was her assistant, that she had somehow manoeuvred him, when really he was winter’s wolf and he would ravish her with the slightest of invitations.

       Chapter Ten

      The music faded in a single, quivering note, followed by the applause of the modest audience. ‘Did you enjoy it?’ Gianna reached for her cloak where it draped over her chair, but Nolan was faster. He held it out for her, letting his hands linger firmly at her shoulders in a gesture that left no room for misinterpretation. This was no subtle brushing of hands that might be dismissed as accidental. This was a man issuing an invitation, and it made her mouth go dry. This particular man didn’t have to ‘invite’, he could have simply announced his intentions. She was technically his and she hadn’t forgotten. Yet, he’d given her the choice.

      His voice hovered warm and private at her ear. ‘I did. However, I enjoyed watching you far more.’ She’d known that. She’d felt his gaze on her throughout the concert, hot and intense but she’d not found it repellent or frightening. Just the opposite. Heat had pooled low in her belly as if he were the flame to her match and her pulse had raced at the thought of attracting the attentions of a man like Nolan Gray; a man who was powerful, handsome, skilled in the art of seduction.

      She should not be excited by him. What did that say about her? Did such an attraction make her wanton? Did the blood of a courtesan run in her veins, too? Perhaps there truly was no escaping her destiny. The strategist in her whispered the tempting thought: If it is inevitable, why not embrace it, embrace your power? He desires you. Use it to your benefit.

      Gianna turned in his grasp, a coy smile on her lips as she raised her eyes to his, her voice pitched husky and low. ‘Was I a worthy subject for your ruminations?’ Her hands rested on the lapels of his coat, against the strength of his chest.

      His hands reached behind her neck, drawing the pins from her hair. She could feel the coiffure loosen, a few curls fall. His fingers combed through them, his touch brushing against her neck, sending a shiver of delight down her spine. She suddenly wanted his touch on her everywhere. ‘You were more than worthy.’

      Those words had her making rapid justifications in her mind now. If she chose this course, there would be no going back, but Giovanni needed her even if he didn’t know it yet and she feared she would not be able to reach him alone. The greater good would be worth it. She would not be the first woman to use that most feminine of powers for gain.

      Even as she bargained with herself, she knew the real fear was that Nolan would not be the only one swept away if she committed to this path. The race of her pulse when he touched her, when he looked at her, was indication enough that she could very well become caught in her own web. That had been her mother’s downfall—not that she was a courtesan. Gianna had never faulted her mother for that, only for falling in love or what passed for it.

      Nolan’s voice was low for her alone. He gave a half-smile, his fingers tracing a lingering trail at her neck. ‘You inspire a man to wickedness, Gianna. Shall I show you?’

      Around them, the church had emptied quickly. There was only the two of them and the light of the votive candles in the prayer racks. Her back hit the smooth wall beside the little flames. She hadn’t realised they’d moved. ‘I thought of taking down your hair and watching it fall through my fingers.’

      The pins disappeared out of her hair with alarming swiftness, the length of it pooling in the hood of her cloak. Nolan’s hands were at her temples, smoothing away her hair, his eyes dropping to her mouth. ‘After your hair was loose, my hands tangled in its length, I would put my mouth on you.’ His lips hovered above hers, her body on fire at his words, her head tilted up to his, all of her eager for his touch.

      ‘Where, Nolan? Where would you put your mouth?’ She breathed the question in the merest of whispers.

      ‘Here.’ His mouth covered hers, and she opened for him, ready for him as she’d not been quite ready last night. There was no hesitancy tonight. Tonight, she was his partner, coaxing and encouraging him to give free rein to his fantasies. His tongue teased her mouth, running over lips, teeth, even her own tongue in slow, exploratory strokes. She leaned into him, into the kiss, answering his exploration with one of her own, and it stoked the fire in her higher.

      ‘And here.’ Nolan’s mouth moved to her throat, pressing a kiss to the pulse point that beat at the base. His hand reached beneath the folds of her cloak to push back the shoulders of her gown, his mouth finding her skin above the lace trim of her chemise, his lips skimming the hint of bare breast that rose above the lace. She arched against the wall, arched into him, her body begging, inviting more as his hand slipped beneath the fabric. This was torture, to have his touch, but not enough of it. His mouth, his hands, it was not nearly enough. She wanted to be naked beneath him, wanted him to strip away the garments that kept his mouth from devouring all of her.

      His mouth returned to hers, leaving her breast to the warm competence of his hand and the wicked caress of his thumb over the peak of her nipple. She kissed him with abandon this time, her hands in his hair, her body pressing recklessly against his. But she was not the only reckless one, his body was hard against hers, his own heart beating strong and fast in rhythm with the madness. Somewhere in the distance, bells chimed.

      Midnight! The thought registered vaguely in Nolan’s heated brain, but it was enough to sound the alarm. He’d been in Catholic Italy long enough to know what midnight meant. Nolan broke from her, his voice hoarse with need unfulfilled. ‘Right yourself, we must go. The monks will be here for matins soon.’

      Nolan stepped back, giving her a chance to arrange her bodice. What had he been thinking? He’d nearly ravished her in a church! If it hadn’t been for the risk of monks discovering them in flagrante delicto, he would have. He raked a hand through his hair. His father would have had a fine time with that—Oliver Gray’s son tupping women in churches would be a sin beyond imagining, worse than anything Nolan had done to date in his father’s eyes.

      He’d begun this interlude with a plan in mind: Let her see that she played a dangerous game. If she wanted to flirt with him, there would be consequences and he would show her what they were. He’d not expected it to go as far as it had. He’d expected to feel the reticence of last night when her hands had slid up his thighs, not entirely certain. He’d expected to feel the hesitation of her mouth when he’d kissed her. Instead, she’d answered him with her tongue, with her body, her hands, and it had left his plan in shreds.

      She’d not been frightened off by his bold sensuality. She’d embraced it and it had ratcheted up his desire to the point that he would have taken her against the wall if not for the bells. And it shamed him. Tonight, she had bested him. She’d taken his game and turned it against him. He should have been more astute.

      Nolan ushered her out of the church, his steps brisk, his hand at her back propelling her towards the pier, his words coming