I read several and now I post one of my fave:
Loretta Chase
page 40
In all the years since his father had packed him off
to Eton, no woman had ever done anything to or for him until he’d put money in
her hand. Or—as in the case of the one respectable female he’d been so
misguided as to pursue nearly eight years ago—unless he signed papers putting
his body, soul, and fortune into said hands.
Miss Jessica Trent was holding on to him as though her
life depended upon it and kissing him as though the world would come to an end
if she stopped, and there was no “unless” or “until” about it.
Bewildered and heated at once, he moved his big hands unsteadily
over her back and shaped his trembling fingers to her deliciously dainty waist.
He had never before held anything like her—so sweetly slim and supple and
curved to delicate perfection. His chest tightened and ached and he wanted to
weep.
Sognavo di te.
I’ve dreamed of you.
Ti desideravo nelle mia
braccia dal primo momento che ti
vedi.
I’ve wanted you in my arms since the moment I met you.
He stood, helpless in the driving rain, unable to rule
his needy mouth, his restless hands, while, within, his heart beat out the
mortifying truth.
Ho bisogno di te.
I need you.
As though that last were an outrage so monstrous that even
the generally negligent Almighty could not let it pass, a blast of light rent
the darkness, followed immediately by a violent crash that shook the pavement.
She jerked away and stumbled back, her hand clapped to
her mouth.
“Jess,” he said, reaching out to bring her back. “Cara, I—”
“No. Oh, God.” She shoved her wet hair out of her
face. “Damn you, Dain.” Then she turned and fled.
Jessica Trent was a young woman who faced facts, and
as she mounted, dripping, the stairs to her brother’s appartement, she faced them.
First, she had leapt at the first excuse to hunt down
Lord Dain.
Second, she had sunk into a profound depression,
succeeded almost instantly by jealous rage, because she’d found two women
sitting in his lap.
Third, she had very nearly wept when he’d spoken
slightingly of her attractions and called her “a ha’pennyworth of a chit.”
Fourth, she had goaded him into assaulting her.
Fifth, she had very nearly choked him to death,
demanding the assault continue.
Sixth, it had taken a bolt of lightning to knock her
loose.
By the time she came to the appartement door, she was strongly tempted to
dash her brains out against it.
“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” she muttered, pounding on the
portal. Withers opened it. His mouth fell open. “Withers,” she said, “I have
failed you.” She marched into the apartment. “Where is Flora?”
“Oh, dear.” Withers looked helplessly about him.
“Ah, then she hasn’t returned. Not that I am the least
surprised.”
Jessica headed for her grandmother’s room. “In fact, if
my poor maid makes the driver take her direct to Calais and row her across the
Channel, I should not blame her a whit.” She rapped at Genevieve’s door.
Her grandmother opened it, gazed at her for a long
moment, then turned to Withers. “Miss Trent
requires a hot bath,” she said. “Have someone see to it—quickly—if
you please.”
Then she took Jessica’s arm, tugged her inside, sat
her down, and pulled off her sodden boots.
“I will go to that party,” said Jessica, fumbling with her pelisse
buckles. “Dain can make a fool of me if he likes, but he will not ruin my
evening. I don’t care if all of Paris saw.
He’s the one who ought to be embarrassed—running
halfnaked down the street. And when I reminded him that he was half-naked, what
do you think he did?”
“My dear, I cannot imagine.” Genevieve quickly worked the
silk stockings off.
Jessica told her about the leisurely trouser
unbuttoning. Genevieve went into whoops of laughter.
Jessica frowned at her. “It was very difficult to keep
a straight face—but that wasn’t the hardest part. The hardest part was—” She
let out a sigh. “Oh, Genevieve. He was so adorable. I wanted to kiss him. Right on his big, beautiful nose. And then
everywhere else. It was so frustrating. I had made up my mind not to lose my
temper, but I did. And so I beat him and beat him until he kissed me. And then
I kept on beating him until he did it properly. And I had better tell you,
mortifying as it is to admit, that if we had not been
struck by lightning—or very nearly—I should be utterly
ruined. Against a lamppost. On the Rue de Provence. And the horrible part
is”—she groaned—“I wish I had been.”
“I know,” Genevieve said soothingly. “Believe me,
dear, I know.” She stripped off the rest of the garments—Jessica being
incapable of doing much besides babbling and staring stupidly at the
furniture—wrapped her in a dressing gown, planted her in a chair by the fire,
and ordered brandy.
About half an hour after Jessica Trent had fled him,
Lord Dain, drenched to the skin and clutching a mangled bonnet, stalked through
the door a trembling Herbert opened for him. Ignoring the footman, the marquess
marched down the hall and up the stairs and down another hall to his bedroom.
---
Disclaimer: 40 pages 40 was my way to celebrate my 40th birthday. Now I continue it with 4 more although i'm turning 42.
It's not easy to accept that 'young' no longer describes me...
By promoting 44 awesome books I like in no way I intend to dupe the original authors. If you, as me, like what you read, buy them! (specially mine)
It's not easy to accept that 'young' no longer describes me...
By promoting 44 awesome books I like in no way I intend to dupe the original authors. If you, as me, like what you read, buy them! (specially mine)
All 44 books can be found on the right side bar. ►
All images found on Google. Kudos to the original poster.
