His Wicked Embrace novel Chapter 21

He leaned over, placing one hand on her hip, and lowered his face to hers. They were but inches apart, and a hint of a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. She closed her eyes a second before he kissed her.

His mouth moved over hers languidly, as though he was tasting her. There was a hint of sweetness left on his tongue from the strawberries they'd eaten. Zehra curled one arm around his neck, feathering her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck. Lawrence deepened the kiss, making her head light and her body tremble.

When his lips wandered to her throat, she was glad the modiste had prepared her low-necked dresses, because she wanted Lawrence to kiss her everywhere. Her breath hitched as he slid his hand up from her waist to gently knead one of her breasts over her gown. Although her clothes acted as a barrier to his touch, her breasts grew heavy and her nipple pebbled under his thumb.

What would it be like to feel his mouth on her skin? On her breasts? She moaned as he nibbled her collarbone before his mouth sought hers again. Zehra wasn't sure how long they lay there kissing, until a cold wind teased her and she suddenly shivered. She and Lawrence broke apart, and they both glanced around the hilltop meadow. The sun had sunk beneath a heavy bank of dark clouds, and rain was coming on the horizon. She could see the misty wall as it swept across the distant hills and the city of Richmond below.

"Bloody hell," Lawrence muttered and sat up, hastily grabbing the picnic basket. "We've got to go. You'll catch your death if you get wet."

She got to her feet and folded the blanket while he packed the picnic basket. They rushed down the hill as fast as they could, but try as they might, they could not beat the rain. The icy water soon soaked her clothes. The tall grass clung to her legs, making it difficult for her to walk when her dress caught on the grass. Lawrence held the handles of their basket with one hand and reached out to hold her free hand with his. They stumbled down to the base of the hill and onto the small muddy road.

"Zehra, I'm sorry, I should have had the curricle wait here for us instead of having us walk here," Lawrence said as they dodged the growing puddles. Her feet were starting to ache, not used to the black walking boots she wore.

"I'm fine," she assured him, laughing. There was something delightfully ridiculous about all of this.

They had been on the road for ten minutes before they heard the rattling of wheels on the ground. They turned back to see a farmer on the seat of an open wagon with two horses pulling it.

"Ho there!" Lawrence let go of Zehra's hand to wave the farmer down. The scruffy man pulled back on the reins, and the horses stopped.

Rain dripped off the farmer's wide-brimmed hat as he peered down from his perch. "Lost?"

"Lost? No, but in desperate need of a ride to the village." Lawrence pointed to a distant set of buildings, where a little inn sat on the edge of Richmond.

"I think I can help. Climb onto the back." The farmer nodded over his shoulder at the wagon.

Lawrence led Zehra over, and she helped him secure the basket and the blanket farther back in the wagon before he grasped her around the waist and lifted her up. When Lawrence climbed up beside her, she curled her arm around him. As the wagon rolled into motion, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"We'll get you inside and get you warm, I promise."

"I know you will." She tilted her head so she could place a soft kiss against his throat. In that moment, she didn't care about the rain, didn't care if she caught a chill.

I could stay here with him forever.

By the time they reached the small village, she was half frozen. Lawrence called out a thank-you to the farmer and tossed him a few shillings before he and Zehra walked toward the White Hart Inn. Zehra followed Lawrence aside, shivering as they came up to the innkeeper.

"Is there a room available for me and my wife?" Lawrence asked.

Zehra blinked in shock at being called Lawrence's wife, but she knew he had to do it to avoid scandal and for that she was grateful.

The portly gentleman chuckled. "Picnic ruined? You're not the first. All sorts of lads and lasses came in here soaked to the bone. Lucky for you I've got one room left." The man, clearly Irish by his accent, retrieved a single brass key hanging on the last peg on the wall and handed it over.

"Thank you. Could we have two hot meals and a bath prepared?"

"Of course." The innkeeper whistled at a pair of young boys behind the bar. "Follow this gent and lady to room four and heat them up some water."

The boys scrambled like pups to get up the stairs ahead of Zehra and Lawrence. When Lawrence opened the door, the boys rushed inside and grabbed several large buckets from a cabinet in the wardrobe, then rushed back downstairs. Zehra settled into the chair by the cold fireplace, wishing for the heat of the flames. A look of chagrin fell on Lawrence's face.

"I'd put a few blankets on you, but it will only drench the blankets, and we need our bed to stay warm-if you want to stay the night, that is." He watched her, as if waiting for her to deny what he'd just offered.