“The Wait is Over”
Excerpt from
SCOUNDREL FOR HIRE
By Adrienne deWolfe
"I am. I am ready."
Rafe tried to withdraw, but she only gripped his hand more insistently against the ridge of her corset. Her eyes begged him, and God knew, he ached to oblige. There was nothing he'd like better than to act out the fantasies he'd been sweating through every night since she'd given him that sassy, all-knowing smile at the Mining Exchange.
But he'd be worse than Aaron Townsend if he laid her down to vent a selfish desire.
He drew a sobering breath. "Max and Cellie will be looking for us."
"I don't care." Her chin quivered, and she pressed closer, so close that the soft, fleshy curve of her breast filled his palm. "Let them."
He licked his dry lips. "You don't mean that."
"Silver," he half pleaded, half cursed, "you'd regret this. You'd regret us."
"Why?" Her face crumpled. "D-don't you want me anymore?"
Oh God. He squeezed his eyes closed, struggling to quench the unholy fire that smoked through his veins. "Of course I want you. It's just that you need a decent man. An upstanding man. Someone who isn't wanted in three states. Someone with a future."
"I need you, Rafe. Don't you see? You're the only one who can make it right for me because... because I love you."
His throat tightened over the lump that had wedged there.
She loved him, God help her. Him. He could see it shining in her eyes like the heaven he'd thought he'd be forever denied.
Reason failed him then. In that moment, confronted by a truth so hallowed that even his soul had to believe, he couldn't force himself to turn away. He couldn't deprive himself of the one blessing that, he realized now, he'd been searching for his whole life. Silver's love was his salvation, and salvation was within his reach. Call him callous; call him selfish, but he grabbed for the prize with both hands.
"Then marry me, Silver," he said fervently, cupping her face in his hands. "Marry me and be my wife and Aaron Townsend be damned."
Silver gasped as Rafe's lips swooped, possessing hers. A tender savagery had suffused him; she swayed, exhilarated and yet awed, clutching the pleats of his shirt as his mouth plundered hers. He held her enthralled, a willing captive in the wildfire of his passion. His kisses devoured her; her breath became his.
Lightning danced beyond the fringe of her lashes. She was sizzling from head to toe when he clasped her buttocks, imprisoning her hips against the heat of his arousal. And just as her world was spinning deliciously, precariously out of control, he lowered her to the chaise.
The weight of him was a scandalous pleasure. She squirmed with delight, flattening her breasts against his rock-ribbed torso. She wanted more of him, all of him, and fumbled with his waistcoat and bow tie. She might have succeeded at tearing the nuisances free if she hadn't been so wickedly distracted. A sudden gust of mountain air warned her that her corset and chemise had been expertly rifled.
He was shedding his own clothes now: black worsted, linen, satin, and leather. The earthy manscents of him—sandalwood and pine—grew sharper, more seductive, as his skin was bared to her senses. He was rugged and vital, magnetic and sensual, and more heart-trippingly masculine than anything she had ever dared to admire.
A breathless sense of awe washed over her.
"I want this night to be special for you, Silver," he whispered, his eyes aglow with a secret promise as he pulled the ribbon from her hair. It tumbled around her shoulders in a lavender-scented mess, but he smoothed it, weaving his fingers through the curls. "I want to make your love dreams come true. Will you let me?"
Don't miss Scoundrel for Hire,
Book 1, in the Velvet Lies Series
By Adrienne deWolfe
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