Free Bedding The Baron by Alexandra Ivy Page A

those fingers at last cupped the aching fullness of her breasts.
    Blessed heavens.
    That was what she wanted. Needed. For one insane moment she arched her back to thrust herself toward his touch, her nipples hard beneath her corset.
    Oh . . . to have her stupid wool and whalebone magically disappear. To feel those wondrous hands on her bare skin.
    It did not take a great imagination to know that the sensations that Fredrick Smith could inspire would be a world away from her previous experience.
    He was no callow youth, intent only on his own pleasure. Nor was he elderly enough to consider her more a daughter than lover.
    No, he would be patient and tender and he would teach her all the delicious secrets that other women whispered of.
    The sound of voices in the corridor at last jerked Portia out of her sensual haze. Dear God, she had left the door wide open. Anyone could have walked by and seen her acting as if this were some bawdy house rather than a respectable inn.
    With a small gasp she stumbled away from the lingering touch, her hand pressed to her pounding heart.
    Fredrick sat up on the bed, his hand stretched out. “Portia . . .”
    “No,” she whispered, refusing to allow her gaze to lower to the vast amount of flesh exposed as his blanket tumbled to his waist. “I do not know why I did that. I cannot . . .” She gave a shake of her head and rushed toward the door. “Not again. Never again.”

Chapter Five
    Not again. Never again.
    Portia’s tortured words haunted Fredrick as he forced himself to bathe and dress for the upcoming meeting with his father.
    Dash it all. He hadn’t meant to startle her. In truth, he hadn’t expected her to give into his coaxing for a kiss.
    But once she had . . .
    His body shuddered at the memory of her hands moving over his chest with those soft, tentative strokes. In that moment he would have given his fortune to have tugged her onto the bed beside him and eased his smoldering frustration in the heat of her body.
    Instead she had once again bolted, leaving him alone and aching, with no genuine hope of relief in sight.
    Bloody hell. The woman was enough to drive the most sane man to Bedlam. One moment she was the cold, aloof general who commanded all those around her with crisp precision, and the next she was melting in his arms as if she were a sweet, vulnerable woman who was in dire need of a man’s touch.
    No doubt if he had a lick of sense he would flee with all possible speed. For all Portia’s obvious skill as an innkeeper, he sensed that beneath her careful control she was still struggling to understand the meaning of being a woman.
    How could she not be, with a father who abandoned her when she was a mere babe, and a husband who had clearly left her wounded?
    And yet, a small voice whispered, she was also warm, and passionate, and so tender-hearted that it made him smile to think of the misfits she had gathered beneath her wings.
    A rare, exquisite woman who would put up a struggle worthy of Napoleon for any man stupid enough to try and get close to her.
    Gathering his horse from the stables, Fredrick headed for his father’s estate. Oh yes, she was an aggravating minx. And he was an idiot not to pack his bags and head for less dangerous grounds.
    Idiot or not, however, he knew that he would not be packing any bags. At least not yet.
    Mrs. Portia Walker might be the very definition of trouble, but she fascinated him like no other woman he had ever encountered. He would not be leaving until he managed to understand precisely what it was about her that entranced him.
    Traveling up the tree-lined drive to the estate, Fredrick grudgingly put all thoughts of Portia aside and instead turned his attention to the upcoming meal with his father.
    A far less fascinating subject, he acknowledged wryly. After the short, decidedly terse encounter only the day before he had never expected to hear from Lord Graystone again. Certainly he had not expected to receive a gracious