Hero: John Roark, aka Viscount Castleton.
Heroine: Miss Prudence Merryweather Payton.
Both have secrets that could destroy them but together they may be able to lay to rest the demons that ride them.
May reviewed. You can read it HERE.
“Tell me to stop.” Prue opened her eyes and looked at him. Castleton was still in the chair, but his knuckles were white as he gripped the arms. That he was feeling this and was still planted in that chair on the far side of the room made her feel safe enough to do this. That he had given her a chance to stop made her feel comfortable continuing.
“It’s fine,” she said softly.
“Actually fine or ‘not fine but don’t want to talk about it’?”
“Actually fine.” And it was actually fine. Prudence smiled. She heard his breath hitch.
“I would kiss you across your chest,” he said, growing bolder now. “Just the skin exposed just above the bodice.” Her fingertips took a leisurely trip to the previously unexplored territory of her skin, just above her bodice. This was the bit on display in ball gowns. The bit that occasionally men looked at until she turned away. This was the part of her the world had seen. Now she was going to take it back.
Fingertips along the bodice edge, right where the muslin gave way to bare skin, she played with the edge of the fabric, weaving from one side to the other, ultimately seeking out the uncovered.
“Your skin looks so soft, Prue. Is it?” There was a slight anguish in his voice. She knew that it was because he wanted to feel with his own hands what she was feeling with hers. She was sorry, a little, if he suffered unduly. But this rediscovery of herself was magical, and for once she wanted to put herself first.
“It’s soft,” she told him.
“God, I want to feel you . . . ,” he groaned. Her eyes flew open and she exhaled with relief to see that he was still in the chair. He pushed his fingers roughly through his hair.
“I won’t,” he said in a rush of breath. “Not until you ask me to.”
“Why?” The word, the question came from somewhere beyond her brain.
“Because I’m falling in love with you,” he said, his voice low, his words starting that heat inside again. “Because I respect you. Because you should be cherished. Because, because, because, because . . . Do you want to stop?”
Prudence paused to consider. No, she did not want to stop. The pleasure of each touch propelled her forward.
“What do I do next?” she asked.
“Keep your dress on,” he said.
“I was planning on it,” she remarked, the spell breaking slightly. Then what he said next swept her away, right back to this space lacking a sense of time or place. There was nothing but him, and her, and desire.
“If everything was just right,” he said, “and if you wanted it, I would touch your breasts.”
Prudence stilled. This was going far now. It was one thing to touch her shoulder in front of him. It was another to touch her breasts. Even Dudley hadn’t touched her breasts. His hands had been full pinning hers against the wall and shoving up her skirts.
“How?” Prudence asked in a whisper. Honestly, she didn’t know.
“Lightly,” he said, his voice firm and slightly tortured. “Just your fingertips. Find the center.” Even with her eyes closed, Prue knew that his were open and watching her intently. She felt nervous and . . . innocent.
She hadn’t done this before. No one had ever touched her thusly. She was the first.
God, what a feeling of satisfaction that was.
What’s A Wallflower Wants is the third installment in Maya Rodale’s historical romance series-Bad Boys and Wallflowers.
Available now.
Sold. lol