A Hellion In Her Bed Part 30

Unless you prove yourself capable of running it alone.

The idea arrested him. He had nearly a year. If he could wrest the company from the brink of disaster in that time he'd have leverage. He could demand that she step down. She might even do it-especially if he'd taken a wife by then. And if that wife were a brewster, that could only help.

A slow smile curved his lips. With excitement building in his chest, he downed the rest of the brandy.

He might have trouble convincing Annabel. She'd told him twice now she had no desire to marry-but he had a few tricks up his sleeve. He had tonight to convince her, and he meant to show her exactly how well it could work for them both. She was a practical female: she'd see the business advantages to such a union. He need not spout a lot of emotional nonsense he didn't mean. She wouldn't expect that, would she? After all, she'd been in love with that a.r.s.e Rupert, and that hadn't turned out well. She understood that marrying for such frivolous reasons could only make a person unhappy.

Unable to wait any longer, he headed over to Lake Ale. To his delight, Annabel was already there when he arrived, stoking up the coal fire in the little room off the office.

"Jarret!" she cried as she turned to him, wearing a smile as broad as the Thames. "I was afraid you'd changed your mind."

"Not on your life," he said as he peeled off his coat and tossed it over a chair. "I had to consult with Pinter. It took longer than I expected." Perhaps he should broach the subject of marriage first. Get it out of the way.

But if she turned him down, it would make things awkward between them.

He couldn't chance that-not when he'd spent half the evening burning to bed her again. He walked up to sweep her into his embrace. "You have no idea how much I've missed you," he murmured.

"How could you miss me?" she said, eyes filled with mischief. "You've seen me every day."

"You know what I mean, you teasing wench." He bent his head to nip her ear. "I missed the taste of these tender earlobes." He speared his fingers into her coiffure to tug it loose of its pins. "The feel of your luscious hair between my hands. And this ..."

He kissed her hot, deep, and long, with all the pa.s.sion he'd kept banked during their many meetings and dinners. He kissed her until she trembled and pressed her body flush against his.

When he broke the kiss, he said in a husky whisper, "I missed this most of all-having you in my arms and holding you against me." He began to undress her, so hungry for her that he couldn't wait a moment more. "Did you miss it, too?"

"Certainly not." At his scowl, she let out a laugh. "All right, perhaps a little."

Her breath came quickly, and now that he'd stripped her down to her shift, he could see the buds of her nipples, pink and hard beneath the sheer fabric.

"More than a little, I'll warrant," he rasped. "Admit it, you minx. You thought of me at night alone in your bed. You thought of me alone in mine, aching with need for you." He slipped his hand between her legs to find her so d.a.m.ned wet and hot that it made him insane. "Perhaps you even touched yourself here, remembering."

"Jarret!" she cried, her cheeks going pink. "I would never-"

"Never?" he prodded. "Not once?"

Dropping her gaze from his, she removed his waistcoat, cravat, and shirt, then went to work on his trouser b.u.t.tons. "Well, perhaps ... once or twice."

Instantly, his imagination conjured up an image of her caressing herself. His c.o.c.k stiffened painfully. "Show me."

She gaped at him. "What?"

He kicked off his shoes, removed his trousers and drawers, then sat on the bed. "Show me how you touched yourself. I want to watch you touching yourself."

Her blush deepened. "That sounds ... wicked."

"I'm a wicked man, dearling, something you've pointed out often enough. I'm a rogue, an irresponsible scapegrace, a h.e.l.lion-"

"I never called you a h.e.l.lion," she protested. "You called yourself that."

Grabbing the hem of her shift, he lifted it to bare her sweet, fragrant flesh. "All the same, indulge me." He stripped off her shift and tossed it aside, then settled back on the bed to enjoy the view. "Let me see you touch yourself. So I'll have something to remember during my lonely nights in bed in London."

When she paled, his pulse gave a leap. She wasn't as easy about their impending separation as she pretended. Perhaps she wouldn't be as opposed to a marriage, either.

"I doubt that you'll be lonely for long in London," she said tartly.

"Ah, but you've spoiled me for anyone else," he said. "I've become decidedly fond of a certain brewster with the body of Venus and the will of a lioness." He lowered his voice to a coaxing murmur. "Did you caress your b.r.e.a.s.t.s while you lay alone in your room?"

Her lashes dipped down demurely to shield her pretty eyes, and she nodded.

"Show me."

Finally, she did. She teased her nipples erect, her breath coming in throaty little gasps that set his blood afire.

"And what about your ... ace of spades?" he said hoa.r.s.ely, enthralled by the sight of her hands fondling her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Did you touch yourself there, too?"

Her gaze met his, turning coy. "Did you touch your jack?"

"G.o.d, yes."

A smile curled up her lips. "Show me."

Closing his hand around his c.o.c.k, he began to work it slowly, afraid that if he did any more, he wouldn't last until he could be inside her. In response, she dropped one hand between her legs to stroke her slick and swollen flesh.

He dragged in a harsh breath. G.o.d help him. She looked so d.a.m.ned tempting with her hands caressing herself and her eyes glazing over with her arousal. She was the very picture of femininity-all rosy and flushed, her lips parting with her heavy breaths. His c.o.c.k felt ready to explode with his need. Much more of this, and he would embarra.s.s himself.

"Enough," he murmured, releasing his erection so he could tug her astride him. "I want to be inside you. Ride me, sweet Venus. Take me to the heavens."

Curiosity lit her face. "Ride you?"

He scooted back on the bed and pulled her knees to rest on either side of his thighs. "Rise up and take me inside you. Come down on my ... jack. Ever since you sat astride my lap the other night, I've imagined you impaled on me, a G.o.ddess taking her pleasure."

Awareness dawned on her face, but still she hesitated. "Do you have one of those things you put on your ... jack?"

"The cundum." He had half a mind to tell her it didn't matter, that they were going to marry, but he didn't want to ruin the mood in case she wasn't as keen on it as he hoped. So he jerked his trousers up from the floor and removed his only remaining cundum from his pocket.

He handed it to her. "Want to put it on?"

She smiled shyly, tugged the sheaf onto his rigid c.o.c.k and tied it in place. Then she rose up and slid down onto him to engulf him in her silky feminine heat.

With a heartfelt moan, he thrust up into her. "That's it, dearling. Like that. Now you're in charge."

Her face lit up. "Am I?"

He groaned. She was just temptress enough to use her power over him to torment him.

She rose up and came down on him again, with slow, fluid movements that had him gasping. Her hair frothed over her shoulders like foaming porter-he'd never seen anything more erotic in his life. And her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, oh G.o.d, they were displayed so prettily that he couldn't resist filling his hands with them, kneading them, thumbing the nipples while she rode him.

"My sweet G.o.ddess ..." he rasped as she increased her pace, maddening him, dragging him rapidly toward release.

Her soft gasps told him she was nearing her own release, and that triggered his, sending him over the edge into insanity just as she cried out and collapsed against him, milking him. And in that moment of intimacy, he knew he would do anything to keep her. Anything within his power.

As he held her to him, stroking her hair, brushing kisses over her brow, he whispered, "Marry me, Annabel."

ANNABEL DREW BACK to stare at him. Had he really just asked her ... No, surely she'd imagined it. Or perhaps he'd been caught up in the moment when he said it. Lord knew they'd both been carried away. Having him watch her touch herself had roused her in ways she hadn't expected.

"Well?" he prodded. "What do you say?"

She swallowed hard. "I-I'm not sure I heard what you-"

"I asked you to marry me." Tenderly, he brushed the hair from her face. "To become my wife."

It made no sense, given what she knew of him. "As I recall, a week ago you were firmly opposed to marrying anyone."

A smile played about his lips. He wrapped her hair about his hand and kissed it so tenderly it made her heart hurt. "That was before I became so inordinately fond of you."

Well, that implied a certain amount of affection, but still ...

He thrust up against her. "Fond of this."

She frowned and pulled free of him, leaving his lap to find her shift and pull it over her head. She couldn't think when he was touching her. And as long as she was naked, he would keep touching her.

When she could trust herself to speak evenly, she said, "So you want to marry me because you like bedding me."

"Because I like you," he said hastily. "You have a sharp mind and an even temperament. You're loyal to your family. And we suit each other."

She gaped at him. "Suit each other! You're a marquess's son, and I'm a brewer's daughter."

"I don't care about that, and you don't either. Admit it."

"Your family will care."

He arched one eyebrow. "Yes, they will. My grandmother will be so ecstatic to see me marry someone respectable, with good connections to brewing, that she'll probably dance a jig on the roofs of London." His tone held an edge. "If she doesn't hand the brewery over to you outright."

"Do be serious, Jarret."

"Sadly, I am." He rose to toss the cundum in the fire, then pulled on his drawers. "You're exactly what my grandmother would want for me."

"That bothers you, doesn't it?"

He shrugged. "A little. I hate letting Gran win."

"Then why-"

"Because there are several advantages to our marrying. For one thing, it would squelch the rumors entirely."

Her blood ran cold. "Rumors?"

A groan escaped him. "Right. I haven't told you about those yet." Sudden anger glinted in his eyes. "It seems that Gran's b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a nephew got wind of the gossip about our wager and is telling everyone about it, presenting it in the worst possible light."

Just what she and Lake Ale needed-more gossip. "You mean that he's telling the truth."

"What he guesses is the truth."

"Which just happens to be the truth."

"Does it matter? The point is, it won't be long before the tale reaches Burton. I don't care about it for myself, but I don't want to see you suffer more. Or your family."

She stiffened. "So you're marrying me because you pity me?"

"No, d.a.m.n it! That's not-" He paced before her, clearly agitated. "I'm just pointing out the many advantages to our union." Stopping in front of her, he seized her hands. "The best way to settle this situation is for us to have a legitimate connection."

"A legitimate connection," she repeated dully. Amazing how he managed to make a marriage sound like a business arrangement.

"It would be great for Lake Ale," he said, as if he thought that was her only objection. "People would see our a.s.sociation as a family thing, which would give more weight to our new project. The East India captains would be a.s.sured that I could follow through. Or make your brother follow through."

He was right. And with every word, he drove another nail in her heart.

"As Pinter pointed out-"

She jerked her hands from his. "You're proposing marriage because Mr. Pinter said you should?"

"No! I mean, yes, he did suggest-" He broke off with a curse. "I'm mangling this badly, aren't I?"

"Let me put it this way. I've never heard a more cold-blooded proposal of marriage in my life. Even the butcher at least pretended he had some affection for me."

"I didn't say I had no affection for you." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the very picture of frustrated male. "I just thought ... I mean, you've always seemed a practical woman, and I figured that if you heard the advantages-"

"Forget the practical advantages. I need to know why you want to marry me. You, the person. Not you, the temporary head of Plumtree Brewery."

"It isn't temporary," he corrected her. "Not anymore. I want to run the place for good. I want to give up the gambling." He crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture of belligerence. "That was your objection to marrying me before, wasn't it? I'm quitting it. So you needn't worry about that."

That revelation nearly knocked her off her feet. Giving up the gambling? To marry her? Incredible. It almost gave her hope.

"Jarret," she said softly, "while I'm delighted beyond words that you mean to continue running your family brewery, what I want to know-what I need to know-is how you feel about me. Why you think we should spend a lifetime together."

The instant wariness in his gaze made her heart sink. Why couldn't he give her anything of himself? Why was it so hard for him?

"I already told you how I feel about you," he clipped out. "I like you. I like making love to you. And I should think you'd prefer a man who's honest with you, considering that you were taken advantage of by a man who claimed to love you, but ran off to the war without caring that you would suffer for his neglect."

She sucked in a breath, fighting not to show the pain his blunt words had inflicted.

A desperate look came over his face. "I'm promising to be your husband in every respect, to support you and do what I can to help your family. I'm promising to give up gambling, for G.o.d's sake. If all of that isn't enough for you, I don't know what else to offer."

You could offer your heart. But he clearly didn't have that in him.

While that hurt deeply, she might have been able to overlook it if she hadn't lost her heart utterly to him. She'd fallen hard for him, harder than she'd ever fallen for Rupert.

She loved how he deftly managed her brother, making Hugh think he was guiding the negotiations when it was really Jarret doing so. She loved his ridiculously bad singing. She loved that he worried about her.