Chapter 13

Granville loved how open Portia was about her desire. Being a duke put one at the top of the aristocratic order. But nothing in his life compared to how powerful he felt, knowing that this one remarkable woman couldn't keep her hands off him. It made him feel ten feet tall.

The first time he'd kissed her, she'd wrapped him in sunshine. The week since had kept that glow alive. Away from Portia, the world was cold and sharp and unwelcoming. By heaven, he intended to stay as close to her as he could.

Which meant responding to her every overture.

He let his heavy coat slip from his hand and drew her into his arms.

All day, he'd kept a short rein on his passions. Now they were alone, and three days of joyous exploration lay ahead. He could hardly wait.

When she yielded, all willing femininity, he abandoned restraint without a second's hesitation and took her lips with desperate hunger. On a soft growl of encouragement, she opened her mouth to his sensual invasion.

Heat flooded him, turned his veins to rivers of fire. He couldn't doubt how much she wanted him. It was clear in the way that she pressed close and in the flicker of her tongue around his. It was in her muffled little sounds of pleasure, incoherent pleas to keep going. To give her more.

Her rich scent, floral soap and aroused woman, tinged with horse sweat, filled his senses. Became the air he breathed. Blazing darkness crammed his head, so that everything outside the circle of Portia's arms receded to nothing. It all disappeared, except Portia and the aching heaviness of his balls. He was immediately hard for her.

At last, he allowed himself to discover her body as he'd longed to do. Still kissing her, he ran his hands down her back to the sumptuous rump. He curled his fingers into that delectable softness and gloried in her whimper of approval as she wriggled closer. She'd know now just how much he wanted her.

Granville buried his hands in the silky tumble of hair, making a nonsense of what remained of her chignon. Raking his hands through the luxuriant locks, he brought her closer for more of those intoxicating kisses.

She changed the angle of the kiss, so it turned even more ferocious. Her shaking hands hooked around his shoulders, claiming him as irrevocably as he claimed her.

He'd feared that she'd be hesitant and afraid. But Portia wasn't a woman who lived in fear, praise the angels. He'd always admired her courage and her wholehearted approach to a challenge.

He admired it even more when she joined this unleashed exploration of desire. Her hands slid up and down his arms with feverish intent. With only a thin shirt separating his skin from hers, her touch shuddered through him like an earthquake. Those seeking hands ran across his back then lower to catch his hips. His dick swelled at the prospect of her touch, but he reminded himself that this was a virgin. However eager she was, he doubted that she'd stroke his breeding organs before her first tumble.

Tomorrow perhaps?

She pulled back an inch, and her question was a humid brush of breath across his sensitized lips. "You're laughing?"

"I'm happy."

"So am I."

She'd always had more life than anyone else he knew. Right now, she lit up like a Catherine wheel. In the soft lamplight, her golden beauty was incandescent.

With sudden determination, she seized his shirt. Stumbling backward, she drew him down the aisle between the stalls.

He supposed that she headed for the house so they could finish this in a bed. He hoped so. Hell, he'd carry her upstairs right now, if he could convince himself that she was ready.

They were back in the carriage house. Eyes dark and heavy-lidded with passion didn't shift from his face. Somewhere in his reeling mind, he wondered if she tried to send a message. But he was too drunk on Portia and kisses and rampant desire to have an icicle's chance in hell of deciphering her expression.

Apart from that she wanted him, too. The clutching hands and ragged breath told him that. Even without the blazing kisses.

She pushed him hard up against the side of the curricle. He landed so heavily that the vehicle rocked behind him.

Granville reached for her to keep his balance. He reached for her because she was the most glorious being in the world and he never wanted to let her go.

Portia surged to meet him halfway, so they crashed together in wild appetite. He wrapped his arms about her, using teeth and lips and tongue to arouse her. A lopsided waltz ensued that soon had them standing on a thick carpet of hay.

She wrenched away, breathing in tattered gusts. "Stop being a gentleman, Alaric," she gritted out.

Before he could decode that, she shifted further into the hay store. Perforce, he backed up, too. She placed her palms flat on his chest and pushed.

"Hell's bells!" Caught unprepared, he tumbled backward onto the hay, taking Portia with him in a tangle of arms and legs. With an oof, she landed right on top of him.

"Are you all right?" he forced out, as all that alluring softness plastered to his yearning body made him see stars. Stars edged with fire. Her squirming tested his control. Good grief, at this rate, he'd burst out of his breeches. They already felt tight enough to throttle his tackle.

"I'm fine. Better than fine." She struggled up on her elbows to look down at him. This corner of the stables was darker than the stalls, but there was enough light for him to read the strain in her features. Strain and need and determination. "I want you now."

Everything went still. His heart. His breath. Fortunately Portia. He wasn't sure that he could endure much more of her body rubbing against his.

She stared down at him with a silent entreaty that cut him like a knife. Her lips were red and swollen. When she sank white teeth into that cushiony lower lip, he bit back a groan.

He swallowed to ease his parched throat. "Do you…do you want to go to the house?"

"No, I want to stay here." She regarded him with a frustration that the dim lighting didn't conceal. He was frustrated, too. He'd been mad for her for a mere week, but desire didn't count time like a clock. Desire counted every hour that he wasn't touching her as a year.

Now that she was no longer crushed tight to his throbbing prick, he should feel less frantic. But she was still too close, and the hay made for a good mattress. The change in position didn't relieve his lust. Her scent eddied around him, drawing him nearer and nearer to the point of no return.

"If we stay here, I'll have you. Your first time should be in a bed."

"We can go to bed later." Emotion cracked her voice. When she cupped his jaw in her hand, the touch crashed through him like thunder. "Please don't make me wait anymore."

"Portia…" The idea of deflowering a delicately bred lady in a stable shocked him to the toenails.

He started to roll away as she turned and grabbed his arm, overbalancing him. For a sizzling moment, he splayed over her, squashing her into the hay. He drowned in the wonder that was Portia.

Just as she moved in his direction, he shifted to create some room between them. When he reached down blindly to find his balance, his hand closed on her breast.

She gasped and raised a hand to hold him there. He told himself to let her go, but his hand flexed over that lovely round bosom. Even through layers of clothing, he felt the jut of her nipple. When he increased the pressure, she exhaled in surprised response.

"Yes," she sighed, arching into his touch.

He was lost. By God, he was only human. He caught her in his arms for a famished kiss, then pushed her into the hay beneath her.