Beyond Seduction by Emma Holly Page A
Authors: Emma Holly
blurred by the haze.
Goodness, Merry thought. That's a lot of smoke.
As soon as he saw she was all right, he strode to the window and heaved it open. She inhaled in protest
at the blast of frigid air and caught an unfortunate lungful of floating soot.
Nic crouched down and held her shoulders while she coughed. "What were you trying to do? Burn the bloody house down?"
Merry's teeth chattered. "I was c-cold. I was trying to light the fire."
"Well, it might help if you'd opened the flue!"
"Oh," she said, mortified. "I, uh, guess I forgot. How silly of me."
"I'll say. Why didn't you give up when it started to smoke? And what is all this paper doing in here? You're smothering the fire."
Merry could only hunch her shoulders in a shrug. She could hardly admit she wasn't sure what a flue
was, much less how one opened it. Something in the chimney, she thought, and stifled another cough. Despite her embarrassment, she couldn't help noticing Nic was bare from the waist up. The side he'd pulled her to during her coughing fit was smooth-skinned and toasty warm. As if he knew how good
he felt, he snuggled her closer. His ribs pressed her arm, moving evenly as he breathed.
She knew the moment his awareness of her shifted, because the rhythm of that movement changed. Apparently, being alone with a scantily clad woman affected even a jaded rogue like him.
"Here." He moved to his knees behind her, his long, lean body spooning hers. "Let me show you how
to find it."
He took her hand, cupping its back with his palm and guiding it up the chimney's maw. Merry's heart began to pound. He was so close his jaw brushed hers, its bone sharp, its skin appreciably smoother than her brothers'. When he nudged her hair back with his nose, a shiver skittered deliciously down her spine.
"Here's the handle," he said, his lips next to her ear. His fingers wrapped hers around a rusty metal hoop. He pulled and jiggled and she heard a muffled thunk. Air rushed down the shaft. Like magic, a tiny flame sprang up from one of the coals.
"There," he said, "now the fire can breathe."
Too bad Merry couldn't say the same.
Though he drew their arms back out, he remained on his knees behind her. His sleeping trousers were something a native of India might wear, silk with a twisted cord to tie them at the waist. Feeling her
shiver again, he chafed her arms, then hummed low in his throat. The sound of his pleasure was sweet
as honey.
"I never had to light the fires," she said, wanting to distract him. "I always worked in the laundry."
Nic smiled against her cheek. "No woman should have to light her own fire unless she enjoys it."
Heat washed Merry's body. She knew he wasn't talking about a fire you built with coal. He was talking about the pleasure she'd refused to give herself before.
The concept rocked a place inside her that had never moved before. That a man might know, and approve, and perhaps even want to watch what women did... She couldn't catch her breath. It came in shallow, ragged gasps. She knew he must hear, must guess what his words had done. He made a sound, low and rumbling, and rubbed his front against her like a cat. At once, her spine lost all its starch. His narrow, silk-clad hips slid slowly behind her own. Tiny hairs stood on her arms. He was aroused. His erection strafed her bottom, the friction light but unmistakable, as if he meant to tease them both. The ridge of his sex pulsed behind the silk, its motion enticingly erratic, its heat as humid as a summer day.
Merry struggled for control.
"I've always—" She drew a startled breath as he dragged the rounded tip along the parting of her cheeks. "I've always thought a woman should cultivate independence."
Nic chuckled, the sound a seduction by itself. "To be sure, independence is an admirable trait, but when
a man has the strength and the will to offer a woman aid, why shouldn't she
Goodness, Merry thought. That's a lot of smoke.
As soon as he saw she was all right, he strode to the window and heaved it open. She inhaled in protest
at the blast of frigid air and caught an unfortunate lungful of floating soot.
Nic crouched down and held her shoulders while she coughed. "What were you trying to do? Burn the bloody house down?"
Merry's teeth chattered. "I was c-cold. I was trying to light the fire."
"Well, it might help if you'd opened the flue!"
"Oh," she said, mortified. "I, uh, guess I forgot. How silly of me."
"I'll say. Why didn't you give up when it started to smoke? And what is all this paper doing in here? You're smothering the fire."
Merry could only hunch her shoulders in a shrug. She could hardly admit she wasn't sure what a flue
was, much less how one opened it. Something in the chimney, she thought, and stifled another cough. Despite her embarrassment, she couldn't help noticing Nic was bare from the waist up. The side he'd pulled her to during her coughing fit was smooth-skinned and toasty warm. As if he knew how good
he felt, he snuggled her closer. His ribs pressed her arm, moving evenly as he breathed.
She knew the moment his awareness of her shifted, because the rhythm of that movement changed. Apparently, being alone with a scantily clad woman affected even a jaded rogue like him.
"Here." He moved to his knees behind her, his long, lean body spooning hers. "Let me show you how
to find it."
He took her hand, cupping its back with his palm and guiding it up the chimney's maw. Merry's heart began to pound. He was so close his jaw brushed hers, its bone sharp, its skin appreciably smoother than her brothers'. When he nudged her hair back with his nose, a shiver skittered deliciously down her spine.
"Here's the handle," he said, his lips next to her ear. His fingers wrapped hers around a rusty metal hoop. He pulled and jiggled and she heard a muffled thunk. Air rushed down the shaft. Like magic, a tiny flame sprang up from one of the coals.
"There," he said, "now the fire can breathe."
Too bad Merry couldn't say the same.
Though he drew their arms back out, he remained on his knees behind her. His sleeping trousers were something a native of India might wear, silk with a twisted cord to tie them at the waist. Feeling her
shiver again, he chafed her arms, then hummed low in his throat. The sound of his pleasure was sweet
as honey.
"I never had to light the fires," she said, wanting to distract him. "I always worked in the laundry."
Nic smiled against her cheek. "No woman should have to light her own fire unless she enjoys it."
Heat washed Merry's body. She knew he wasn't talking about a fire you built with coal. He was talking about the pleasure she'd refused to give herself before.
The concept rocked a place inside her that had never moved before. That a man might know, and approve, and perhaps even want to watch what women did... She couldn't catch her breath. It came in shallow, ragged gasps. She knew he must hear, must guess what his words had done. He made a sound, low and rumbling, and rubbed his front against her like a cat. At once, her spine lost all its starch. His narrow, silk-clad hips slid slowly behind her own. Tiny hairs stood on her arms. He was aroused. His erection strafed her bottom, the friction light but unmistakable, as if he meant to tease them both. The ridge of his sex pulsed behind the silk, its motion enticingly erratic, its heat as humid as a summer day.
Merry struggled for control.
"I've always—" She drew a startled breath as he dragged the rounded tip along the parting of her cheeks. "I've always thought a woman should cultivate independence."
Nic chuckled, the sound a seduction by itself. "To be sure, independence is an admirable trait, but when
a man has the strength and the will to offer a woman aid, why shouldn't she