Free Addicted by Charlotte Featherstone Page A

immaculate waistcoat.
    “I’m off to meet a charming young lady on the terrace.”
    “Take care of her.” Broughton’s voice held a hint of warning that Lindsay did not particularly care for.
    “I love her, Broughton.”

    “I know, but sometimes…” Lindsay knew what his friend was going to say. Sometimes you’re not worthy of someone as good as Anais Darnby.
    “My Cambridge days are behind me, Broughton. I am no longer the neck or nothing youngblood you knew in university. Then I was searching for what I wanted in life and I know I was reckless. I no longer need to do that. I know what, and who, I want.”
    Broughton reached for his arm and stayed him. “Do not make the mistake of thinking you’re the only one who cares for her. Anais has been my friend as long as she has been yours. I would not want her feelings trifled with.”
    “What are you implying?” Lindsay asked with a glare.
    “I think you know what I mean, Raeburn. If your intentions are not honorable toward her, then do not pursue her.”
    Lindsay brushed Broughton’s hand off his arm. “I would never dishonor her.”
    “I would hope not. I would hope that you would strive— always —to be the sort of man she needs and deserves.”
    With a brisk tilt of his head and the clenching of his teeth, Lindsay turned and made his way to the door, slightly disoriented from the heavy vapor of smoke hanging in the air. Opening the door, he let himself out, waiting for the fresh air to clear the cobwebs that were suddenly taking root in his brain.
    Anais, he thought, reaching to the wall to steady himself. I’m not like my father. I’m worthy of you. I can be the sort of man you need. I swear it.
    “Good evening, Lindsay.”
    He whirled around. The corridor narrowed sharply, making him experience a nauseating bout of syncope. The candle flamesflickered madly, almost as if they were leaping from their wax stands and he reeled back as he watched the flames jump out at him, threatening to land on his clothes. The vision was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by a kaleidoscope of bright swirling colors that clouded his vision.
    Blinking, Lindsay looked up from the black-and-white floor that seemed to ripple like a ribbon in a breeze beneath his feet. And then he saw her, Anais, standing at the end of the hall dressed in a wonderfully seductive purple-and-gold gown.
    “Anais?” he asked in a disbelieving voice. He tried to step forward but couldn’t. He could barely see straight or focus his gaze on her.
    Bloody hell, what was the matter with him? The Passion Lips, he suddenly remembered. What had the houri fed him? Certainly nothing he recalled ever dabbling in before. He had never imbibed anything quite so potent.
    “Lindsay,” Anais cried, calling his name and running toward him.
    He caught her in his arms and pressed her against the wall. He ran his hands along her curves, delighting in her soft skin, in the flare of her hip above the low-slung skirt. His fingers became tangled in the filmy purple chiffon and he growled appreciatively, suddenly as randy as he had ever been in his life.
    “Kiss me,” she purred in a low, hypnotic voice that made his already hard cock rear in his trousers. “Kiss me, Lindsay,” she said, over and over again, as if she were chanting a Siren’s seductive call.
    He searched for her mouth and kissed her, slow at first, then more carnally as she slipped her tongue between his lips. Hegroaned as she rubbed her mound against his throbbing arousal. He couldn’t make himself stop. His blood was humming. His body felt languorous, as if he had all the time in the world, as if they were already back in his bedchamber and not standing in a hall where anyone may happen upon them.
    She moaned and reached for his bulging trousers, stroking him boldly. Bloody hell, where had she learned that? “Touch me, Lindsay. Take me into your mouth as you did in the stables.”
    “Mmm, yes,” he said, feeling the floor shift again.