Free Bedding The Baron by Alexandra Ivy

“Yes, well, when you are born a nobleman you can be the worst sort of villain without ever raising an eyebrow.”
    “You will get no argument from me,” he said softly.
    No, she probably would not. Fredrick Smith had no doubt experienced any number of slights and snubs from gentlemen of the ton . Not that it seemed to have hampered him on his climb to success.
    She had to admire him for that.
    “Will you accept your father’s offer to dine?”
    His expression unexpectedly hardened. “Unfortunately, I have little choice in the matter. I have to accept.”
    “Are you sure you should be leaving your bed?” With a small frown she moved forward, her hand instinctively reaching out to lightly touch the gash on his forehead before she realized the sheer intimacy of her behavior. “The wound has closed over, but you still have a lump.”
    With a swift motion he had captured her wrist in a light grip, his eyes darkening with the awareness that crackled to life between them.
    “Is it bad enough to tempt you to kiss it better?”
    Portia sternly told herself to move away. His touch was light enough that she could easily break his hold. But as her gaze clashed with his own she realized that his fingers might as well have been steel shackles.
    Mercy. His touch was as light as a feather, but it was sending tongues of flame licking up her arm and over her shivering skin.
    “Certainly not,” she breathed, her voice oddly husky.
    His thumb brushed the pulse at her wrist. “Even if I tell you that it still aches like the very devil?”
    “Perhaps I should call for the doctor.”
    “I would prefer a kiss.”
    The flames spread to curl in the secret depths of her stomach. Oh, yes. A kiss. A simple, delicious kiss.
    It was what she had desired from the moment she walked into the room and saw him lying on the bed like some fallen angel.
    No. It was what she desired from the moment she had awoken with the taste of him still lingering on her lips.
    “Mr. . . .”
    “Fredrick,” he interrupted. “I have never seen such perfect skin. It is like ivory satin.” He shifted her arm, bringing it lower so that he could sniff deeply of her inner wrist. “Satin scented with roses.”
    Her knees felt weak as she gulped in the elusive air. “I should go.”
    He gave a light tug on her wrist, steadily pulling her closer to his sinfully tempting lips.
    “I will not try to halt you.”
    Tiny thrills of excitement feathered down her spine. A kiss, the voice of the devil whispered in the back of her mind. What was one kiss to recall during the long, endless nights?
    Before the voice of reason could rise and destroy the moment, Portia leaned downward and touched her mouth to his own.
    He gave a choked sound, as if he had been caught off guard by her daring. Then, before she could pull back, his hands had shifted to capture her face, his lips softening as they swept over hers with slow, drugging kisses.
    Sweet, blissful heat flowed through her body as she instinctively parted her lips and allowed his tongue to explore ever deeper. Oh . . . God. Nothing in all her six and twenty years had ever felt like this.
    Her hands fluttered before landing on the naked flesh of his chest. Another blaze of heat rocked through her, and barely aware of what she did, her fingers trailed a searching path over the warm skin, exploring the rigid muscles that flexed beneath her touch.
    “Yes, poppet,” he groaned, his mouth searching and finding the sensitive pulse at the base of her throat. “Touch me. Please, touch me.”
    She gave a low groan at the sound of his ragged voice. She wanted to touch him. Everywhere. From the thick, honey curls to the tip of his toes. She wanted to rub against him like a cat, heating her skin against his own.
    As if sensing her shocking response, Fredrick allowed his slender, utterly clever fingers to slide down the curve of her neck and over the high neckline of her gown. Portia’s breath evaporated, her knees nearly buckling as