LADY VARNEY’S RISQUE BUSINESS is a bit of funny business that I hope you enjoy!
A nibble of my newest cherry?
Of course! (Copyright 2011, Cerise DeLand.)
Available at Resplendence, but also at Allromanceebooks.com where I am dying to rise on that list (as my other Regencies did there). Help me out, will you? http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-ladyvarney039srisquebusiness-549359-160.html
He hurried her along the hall and into an alcove. “While I am relieved to hear that you are not pregnant—”
“Hush! Are you an idiot?”
“Mad, delusional, a cretin in the mix!” He stepped inside a tiny hallway lined with cupboards and closed two doors on either side of the four foot space. “Call me any name you like, my Puss. You are driving me out of my head!”
“Well deserved, too!” she blustered as he pulled her into his arms and she once more felt the marvelous sensation of being captured by him. Held against his warmth. His might.
“Not by half, you minx. You cash my bank notes. But you will not receive me at home. You avoid me at church. Walk around me in the Park. I am reduced to waylaying you like a highwayman at a party on Wednesday afternoon!”
A laugh bubbled up from her throat but she squelched it. “We have nothing to say to each other.”
“No,” he said with dour tone. “We have so much to say that only this will do.” He caught her chin, wrapped one arm around her waist and kissed as he had that first night in her drawing room. Long and lavishly. Repeatedly. Killing her reason and her resolve.
Her fan slid from her fingers. Her hands pulled him closer. These past weeks, she’d pined for him like a schoolgirl. She’d relived every moment in his arms, in his bed, even in his rose garden at his cottage. She had cried and mooned and railed at fate for what she could not have.
He took her mouth with ravenous delight, trailing kisses across her cheek and down her throat to her bodice. His hands molded her to him and suddenly, she felt his fingers lift her skirts and slide to her pussy. Caress her seam. “Darling, I am so delighted you wear none of those ridiculous pantaloons. You are so plump and wet for me,” he murmured and what words came next became a serenade of all the endearments he had declared in his cottage and all that still lived in her heart.
He undid his flies, and plunged up inside her. Against the cupboard, she braced herself and gave over to the rapture of his possession.
He was warm and turgid and—
Tinkled all around them.
“Don’t move,” he warned as he held her tightly.
“What?” she asked soundlessly, her cunt so full of him, her breasts so needy of his kisses she thought she’d scream.
Blinking repeatedly to clear his vision and his head, he glanced about them. “Dear god, sweetheart, we’ve broken the family crystal.”
She surveyed the tiny room and the astonishing wreckage. “Justin. Oh, hell! We’re in the butler’s pantry!”