Free Improper Gentlemen by Mia Marlowe, Diane Whiteside, Maggie Robinson Page B

and clean from the gardens.”
    He halted. He’d said too much, far more than he’d told anyone. Even Johnson only knew he was a South Carolina veteran who’d lost everything to The War. The Georgia native preferred to dwell on his own lost farm and assume Justin’s heart ached for the same simple reasons.
    “Oh, Justin, I’m so sorry.” Charlotte leaned up and kissed his cheek.
    He turned his head and captured her sweet mouth. She tasted of youth and springtime, of hope for a civilized life in which battles were fought with words—and ladies’ handbags! —not guns.
    She kissed him back sweetly. Her tongue moved more confidently today than yesterday, as if she too hungered for his taste. Her slender fingers kneaded his shoulders like an eager little cat seeking warmth and pleasure.
    He rumbled encouragement and ran his hands down her back. Dear God, but she was deliciously strong under that delicate frame. Damn her corset, he wanted to taste skin. Here and now, in a public place, not in a bedroom’s respectable privacy.
    He needed her acceptance of his wildness, of his speed with guns, which matched her own dangerous skill with cards.
    The thought made his blood heat under his long black coat and starched shirt. He left her delectable mouth to nuzzle her sweet temples and eyelids. Tonight he could see all of her, unlike last night in his bedroom when she’d been a sorceress glimpsed under floating, icy shadows. Now he could savor the sweet flush that rose when he suckled her lip, and anticipate how she flung her head back to encourage his attentions to her neck.
    Ah yes, her beautiful throat. Long, white, flexible as a swan. She uttered the most delicious little sighs, too. She made him groan until he had to kiss her there even more often, so their neighbors wouldn’t hear him.
    Her breasts rose against his chest, fast and urgent like her hot breath ruffling his hair. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she whispered into his ear.
    “So are you, even if you don’t have a hat.” He drew back slightly to fill his eyes with her beauty.
    “Are you sure you want to do this? Someone might hear us.”
    “The curtains are closed. It’s quiet.” She pointed her chin in the air, defying him to contradict her.
    “At the moment.” He kissed the inside of her wrist. “Until I do this . . .” He glided his teeth over her delicate tendons and she moaned.
    “Wretch.” She blinked at him, her breasts rising and falling faster. “Have you done things like this before?”
    “Frequently.”
    “Ooh!” Her eyes sparkled. “Secrets to learn another day.”
    She softly stroked his cheek and he leaned his head into the delicate caress.
    “Such a close-cropped beard.” she whispered. “It’s very soft.”
    “The barber enjoys my regular patronage.”
    “I enjoy the results, even though they’re not fashionable.” Her husky voice hinted at a shared conspiracy. Her slender finger slipped inside his starched collar. “Do you shave here, too? Your skin is so smooth—but your chest felt prickly through your nightshirt.”
    “Good Lord, didn’t that idiot Holbrook teach you anything?”
    “We only had one night together. Besides, you’re much more enticing.” Color burned in her cheeks and lust flared in her eyes before she veiled them.
    Justin’s pulse leaped. Sweet Lord, had she finally, completely forgotten her initial mistrust of him? Maybe he did stand a chance to win her.
    “Well, now, I do feel the temperature rising in here.” He cupped her jaw and stroked the delicate pulse points at the back of her head. Her hands moved restlessly over his chest and arms, in the untutored, hungry pattern of an eager yet uncertain woman. He smiled privately and began to unbutton her jacket. He’d had a lifetime’s training for this.
    “Take off yours first.” She caught his wrist. “I want to feel more of you.”
    His eyes opened wide before he gave her a very predatory grin. “As my lady