Page 13 of To Wager with Love

His coat and cravat followed, and Harriet watched with rapt fascination as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, flung it to the floor, and tugged his shirt from over his head. Her mouth grew dry as his hands moved to the fall on his trousers and she hardly dared breathe as he pushed them and his small clothes down in one fluid movement before kicking them aside. He was breathing hard now, whereas Harriet thought she might have entirely forgotten how.

Good heavens. A fallen angel indeed.

She stared, unashamedly, studying him like a work of art, for he was that in every sense of the word; so very beautiful. Jasper Cadogan was a masterpiece of male perfection but all heat, flesh, and blood instead of cold, unyielding marble. Her gaze travelled over him, taking in every part of him, from broad shoulders and muscular arms to sculpted abdomen and taut belly, committing it to memory as her eyes moved down to the proud jut of his erection, where she could not help but linger for a long moment before returning to his face.

To her surprise, Jasper hesitated. Was he blushing?

“Still want me, Harry?” he asked, sounding strangely uncertain.

A helpless smile curved at her lips and she nodded. Jasper let out a breath.

“S’not the first time I’ve seen you naked,” she said, and then clapped her hand over her mouth, appalled by the admission. Why on earth had she said that?

Jasper gave a delighted bark of laughter and tugged her back into his arms. Harriet gasped at the feel of his naked body, the fierce heat of him against her through the thin fabric of her shift.

“Oh?” he said, staring down at her with devilry glinting in his eyes. “Have you been spying on me, love?”

He didn’t exactly sound displeased by her revelation, but Harriet still burned with mortification. What was wrong with her?

“Come now, you can’t leave it at that. When was this?”

“Years ago,” she mumbled, wanting to bury her face in his chest but finding his skin hot and silky beneath her touch. She could barely think at all. “You were eighteen.”

Harriet had thought him the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her entire life when she’d come across him skinny dipping with her brother in the lake, in that long, glorious summer when she’d been happy. Yet he’d been still a youth then, poised on the brink on manhood. Now he was a man in truth, and he took her breath away, made her heart ache with longing, and the secret place between her thighs pulse with desire.

Unable to stop herself she touched a fingertip to his chest, trailing through the scattering of darker gold hair until she found the flat disc of his nipple and circled it. Harriet watched, intrigued as the skin grew taut beneath her touch, and could not deny the impulse to lean in and lick the tiny nub. Jasper groaned, and the sound thrilled down her spine, a feeling of such power that she couldn’t help but revel in it. She did it again, circling with her tongue now before sucking lightly.

Jasper cursed and suddenly she was being lifted and taken to the floor, laid carefully among the nest of blankets and cushions he’d arranged for them. He kissed her again, undoing the tie that held her shift tied at the neck and tugging it open to expose her breasts.

“Harry,” he breathed reverently as he cupped her soft flesh. “You’re so lovely.”

Harry laughed a little, amused that he was trying so hard but touched all the same. At least he was making an effort.

He stared down at her, a puzzled expression in his eyes. “You are lovely, Harry,” he said again.

“Hmmm,” she said, smiling, not wanting to spoil things by pointing out the obvious.

“I’ll show you just how lovely you are,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to her breast and kissing and licking until she was mindless with pleasure. He moved to her other breast and continued feasting upon her while his hand returned beneath her shift, sliding back to the place that ached for him and seeking out the source of her pleasure.

Harriet gasped and arched under his touch and Jasper murmured sweet things to her that she could not take in, too lost in the pleasure he gave her. He slid one finger into her slick heat and his own moan echoed hers.

“Oh, God, Harry, I want this. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so damned long, I thought I’d go mad. Tell me this means something, love, please.”

Harry couldn’t tell him anything, she was incapable of anything resembling speech, beyond thought or words, dazed with the pleasure he seemed to command from her body so effortlessly. She felt like an instrument that had been left to gather dust suddenly put in the hands of a master. How could he know her body, understand her pleasure, better than she had ever done?

“Jasper,” she said, clutching at him as he raised his head, returning his mouth to hers.

“Tell me I mean something to you, Harry. It isn’t just desire, is it?”

“Oh, Jasper,” she said, wanting to cry, want to tell him not to talk, not to ask her such questions, questions that would leave her vulnerable and exposed far more than having his hands on her in such an intimate fashion. “Stop it, stop it.”

He stilled at once and she wanted to scream with frustration.

“N-No… don’t stop!” she wailed. “Just s-stop talking. I c-can’t think. I don’t want to think. Not now.”

Jasper stared down at her. “Christ, Harry, you are drunk.”

“I’m not!” she exclaimed, furious with him. “I told you, I only drank the punch.”