Three Kisses Before Christmas, Wilde, Tanya [ebooks that read to you TXT] 📗

his tongue. He circled his thumb over her core as he kissed her, years of dreams and fantasies combined in the soft moan that breathed from her lips.

She bucked in his arms and cried out moments later. Wolfstan tightened his grip as he kissed her, his tongue drawing out every last drop of her pleasure.

“What did you do to me?” she gasped as Wolfstan pulled away from her.

“Exactly what you are doing to me, Rebecca.” He let out a deep breath. “Drive me to the brink of insanity.”

“That was . . .” Her gaze lifted to stare at him.

“Magical?” he prompted.

“Magical,” she repeated. Her eyes suddenly widened. “Magical? Lord Above, that was grossly inappropriate!”

“You did not think so a moment ago.”

“You took advantage of me!”

“Advantage?” He laughed. “You did not push me away, Rebecca. You never push me away.”

“That’s . . . I . . .”

“You had ample time to flee the chamber. You did not.”

“So this is my fault? Hah! You are more experienced in these arts than I am. You ought to have known better.”

“I am no more experienced than you are, Rebecca.”

Her eyes widened at his admission. “You have never . . . do men not engage in . . . affairs?”

Wolfstan scowled. “You shouldn’t know about such things.”

“Let us not go through that again,” she quipped. “Society is riddled with tales of debauchery and women left in ruin.” Her gaze narrowed as they studied him. “Was I your first kiss?”

“Women have kissed me. I’ve never kissed them back.”

“Then I am your first kiss?”

Wolfstan shrugged. Her shock did not surprise him. Many would think him mad for being restrained, but for him, it was simple. He had never wanted any woman except for Rebecca.

“As first kisses go, ours was damn spectacular.”

She gasped. “Says the devil who stole mine!”

“I am glad I did,” Wolfstan remarked. “Now we both know how good it can be between us if you give me a chance.”

She shook her head furiously. “I know nothing of the sort. And I certainly do not drive men to insanity, Wicke. Not you. Not any man.”

Wolfstan snatched up her hand and guided it to his erection, which even now, was painfully hard. She did that to him. He’d be damned if he gave her up to his cousin without a fight. He had to get through to her. Had to make her understand his sincerity. She could not deny the fire between them. He would not allow it.

She gasped, her eyes rounding as he pressed her hand firmly against him.

“You drive me crazy with want, Rebecca. Just you. There will never be any other woman for me.” He held her gaze. “I love you.”

It was done. He had confessed his heart. Bared his soul. It was only to be expected that she scramble from the bed and dash from the room.

Chapter 9

Rebecca sketched the outline of a horse as she attempted not to think about Wicke and his heart-stalling confessions. Which, frankly, proved impossible. Two days had passed since Wicke had left for Willoughby Castle and she hadn’t heard from him since. He had been interested in her for years, gave her pleasure beyond her comprehension, and confessed he loved her. She had felt his desire for her. The man had doused her with his revelations and then left. He hadn’t even said goodbye.

She found it hard to wrap her mind around these past several days. Ever since she was little, Rebecca had known she was no grand beauty. She’d been teased about the color of her hair, the freckles that scattered across her cheeks, and her lack of interest in embroidery and other girly pursuits.

She had long ago accepted she would remain a spinster for life, which suited her, for she quite enjoyed the role of a businesswoman.

Rebecca paused mid-stroke in her sketching to glance at her correspondence, her gaze flicking between the envelope containing Mr. Lance’s letter and the invitation to join the merriment at Willoughby Castle sent by Langley.

She shook her head, glancing down at her sketch, and yelped.

Lord Above!

Rebecca shot up from her writing desk and scrambled back from the chair, gazing at her drawing in horror. Wicke’s features stared back at her through the page.

Panic set in. Hard.

How could she draw Wicke without realizing it? Heavens, she must be the mad one now.

There will never be any other woman for me . . . I love you.

No. No. No.

She shut her eyes against the raw emotion that still echoed through those words even in her head. He had given her what nine-year-old Rebecca had wanted, and much, much more. Passion she hadn’t dreamed could exist.

She was one secret away from Awkward Blotchy Wallflower turned Infamous Ruined Wallflower. She could not entertain Wicke’s proposal. Men like him did not marry women who owned gaming hells.

Damn the beast.

Would she have accepted him had he courted her back in her first season? Would she have been as shocked by his feelings then as she was now? Had he truly thought she was infatuated with Langley all these years?

“What am I going to do?”

Her eyes flicked back to Mr. Lance’s letter. She’d been too distracted to give any thought to the contents and stepped forward to reach for it. Perhaps Knightley’s was the perfect way to purge Wicke from her mind. She could meet up with Mr. Lance and be reminded all that was at stake.

But how to go about meeting Mr. Lance without inviting suspicion? She loved secretly running her establishment, but in moments such as these, where she had to creep around her brother and convention, it could become a chore.

A thrilling rush still, a chore nonetheless.

She considered Langley’s invitation. She supposed she could go to one of the events and meet Mr. Lance at the Queen’s Arms in Bumpstead Hollow, the local village tavern, on her way.

Which meant she would see Wicke again.

As long as she stayed far away from his bedchamber and left before sunset. Rebecca could manage