Free Kissed at Midnight by Samantha Holt Page B

they long and slender or
plump and ripe for grabbing? He suspected slightly on the plump side.
    Her flesh would give way
beautifully under his fingertips. But worse was the memory of her breasts
curving against the material, of the dark nipples clearly visible.
    Heat licked along his body.
Breathing grew hard. Other parts of him grew hard too. What the devil was wrong
with him? He’d already broken his promise by touching her, no matter how brief,
and here he was lusting after her while she wasn’t even lucid.
    He’d have to break his
promise again and urge her back to bed. What if she tried to go downstairs and
she fell? What if she tried to enter his room? Or even his bed? Damnation, how
he wished she would.
    August bit the side of his
tongue, punishing himself for the thought. Sucking in a deep breath, he steeled
himself against the sight of her and took her hands. Her slender fingers in his
sent a jolt through him that seemed to aim straight for his heart.
    She let him lead her easily
into her bedroom and coax her towards her bed. The trust she had in him—albeit
while she was asleep—made him feel more of a cad than ever for his heated
imaginings. He clenched his jaw as he eased her down with two hands to her
shoulders.
    Clearly he needed to find
some satisfaction—and fast. A trip to a high-class brothel was in order
perhaps. He grimaced. Since work on the tunnel had taken over his life and then
Elsie entered it, brothels seemed tawdry, no matter how expensive or well
looked after the girls were. It had been different when he was younger and he
cared little where he found his pleasure. As he grew older, the thought of
bedding a strange woman and paying her for the privilege appealed less and
less.
    As if aware of his thoughts,
Ivy flopped back against the bed, her legs hanging off the bed, her arms
sprawled. Her breasts rose up like an offering. The temptation to bend over
her, take one of those nipples in his mouth and suck until the cotton was
transparent created such an ache in his gut that it nearly forced him double.
    Ironic. Had she not done the
very same thing for him but a few nights ago? He lifted her legs and pushed
them under the blankets. Soft skin brushed his palms and she kicked off the
blankets.
    “Damn it, Ivy.”
     Even in the dark, he could
make out the attractive arch of her calf and knew it was the same warm colour
as her face.
    Wonderful. Now he was
wondering what they would look like around his hips? This was an innocent woman
for goodness sake’s. He scrubbed a hand across his face and tried to think of
something distasteful. Mrs Pepperwhite with her shocking taste in hats. Yes,
that might do it.
    No, that wouldn’t do it.
    Ivy’s taste in hats was no
better yet she looked entirely too beautiful in the overly-ruffled, brightly-coloured
concoctions she wore.
    August bent to tuck her in
again, and he found himself with a mouthful of cotton and—bloody hell—breasts.
She had latched her arms around his neck and drawn him down on top of her. He
pressed his palms against the mattress, the wooden frame creaking in protest of
their combined weights.
    Ivy’s grip proved to be
surprisingly strong, and his arms gave way and he found himself tucked against
those breasts again. Lord, she smelled good. Like soap and violets, clean and
pure.
    Yes, pure, which was why he
had to extract himself as hastily as possible before he did something that made
her un-pure.
    “August,” she whispered, her
voice breezing over his hair.
     He froze.
    Had she awoken? He craned
his head up and saw her eyes had closed. She remained asleep. Did she dream of
him then? Whisky-like heat curled into his blood.
    August drew in the scent of
her again through his nostrils and steeled his courage. Did it matter if she
did? He would not break his promise. He smirked to himself from his position
between her breasts. It was a little too late for keeping his promise. The only
way he could make it worse would be to strip her,