The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

lady-of-the-manorish.
    Winthrup would probably serve little canapeÉs—or did the butler do that? Well, no matter. She could offer him one as if she did such things every day.
    That was just how to play the part.
    When scented and polished, she stepped out of the bath to the bedroom just as Trevor stepped in from the hall, her stomach did a shaky flip. Time to ad-lib, she thought and put on her best smile.
    “Well, hello, there. I thought you’d be another hour or more.”
    “I finished up early today.” He kept his eyes on hers as he closed the door behind him. “And how was your day?”
    “Lovely, thank you.” Why couldn’t she get her legs to move? It would be far better if she could just stroll across the room. “I hope yours was successful.”
    “It was worth the trip.”
    As he stepped forward, she managed to shove herself away from the door, moved to the little table where she’d laid the bracelet. “I want to thank you for this. It’s beautiful, and extravagant, which is nearly as important. We both know I shouldn’t accept it.”
    He closed the distance between them and, taking the bracelet, circled it around her wrist. “And we both know you will.” He fastened it with a quiet click that echoed in her head.
    “I suppose we do. I’ve a hard time resisting the beautiful and extravagant.”
    “Why resist?” Firmly, possessively, he laid his hands on her shoulders, ran them down the arms of her robe. “I don’t intend to.”
    It wasn’t the way he’d planned it. He’d imagined it all very civilized. Drinks, then the sort of elegant dinner she’d enjoy, a quiet ride home, then a smooth, practiced seduction that would please them both.
    But here she was, in that long robe, her skin warm and fragrant from her bath, her eyes wary and watchful.
    Why resist?
    His gaze held hers as he loosened the tie of her robe. He watched the heat flicker in that deep, deep blue, heard the quick and quiet catch of her breath. Lowering his mouth to hers, he captured that breath, skimmed his hands under the thin material to trail his fingers up and down her sides.
    “Now.” He murmured it, surprised that he had to fight off a shudder at just the touch of his fingertips to her flesh.
    “Well, then.” She let her body have its way, lifted her arms around him.
    He meant to go slowly, to savor, to take them both up level by level. But the moment her mouth answered his, the instant her body pressed to his, greed swallowed him. It was as if he’d been waiting his whole life to taste this, to touch this, to have this.
    He jerked the robe off her shoulders and set his teeth on her.
    She gave a muffled cry, both pleasure and shock. In that flash of heat, she forgot all about role playing, motivation, consequences. Desperate for more, she tugged at his jacket, yanked and pulled until it was in a heap on the floor. His mouth was savaging hers, her hands dragging at his tie as they stumbled to the bed.
    Light going dim with evening poured through the windows, and the busy sounds of London traffic swished and coughed on the street below. The grand clock in the hall struck the hour of five. Then the only sound in the room were gasps and murmurs.
    She rolled with him over the luxurious duvet, sinking in, sliding over. Her fingers fought with the buttons of his shirt, and his pulled her robe aside. The weight of him pushed her deep into the covers, like sinking into clouds of silk, she thought, then he took her breast in his mouth and she didn’t think at all.
    Fire and light and the sharp saber points of desire, the wild, unsteady roll of sheer lust. It filled her, and burned in the blood, and pushed a raw cry of delight from her throat.
    “Hurry.” She all but chanted it. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.” She’d die without him inside her. Frantically she struggled with the hook of his trousers.
    His fingers shook. The roar in his head was a thousand waves pounding on a thousand rocks. All he knew was that to wait a moment longer would destroy him.
    Her hips arched toward him, and he drove into her in one violent thrust.
    Their twin groans rippled the air, and their eyes met— shock mirroring shock. For a heartbeat, then two, they stared at each other.
    Then it was all movement, a frantic mating driven by hot blood. Flesh against flesh, the ragged strain of quickened breath, the low cry of a woman at peak. Bodies plunged together in a slick and sensuous dance.
    She came again, staggered that there could be so much, so