Improper Gentlemen by Mia Marlowe, Diane Whiteside, Maggie Robinson Read Free Book Online Page A

a long way away. So were the secrets of whatever forces had created Justin Talbot.
    “Are you cold?” he asked quickly.
    “You must be.” She started to shiver. “Perhaps we could share the bed.”
    “Are you sure?” He cocked his head at her.
    “Just for warmth?” she offered. Surely she could brazen out a single night with Justin Talbot. He hadn’t shown any signs of interest in her. Even if he did, it wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen and she had her experience with Jeremiah to inform her.
    “Very well.” He joined her under the remaining covers in a sleek movement, graceful as a cat diving into its den. His torso was warm under the fine linen but his extremities made snow-covered rocks seem cozy.
    His foot brushed Charlotte and she yelped in surprise.
    “Sorry,” he muttered and stiffened, taking himself away from her.
    “No, please.” She caught him by the shoulders and pressed herself closer. If she’d been bold enough to share a bed with him, she could be honest enough to share her limbs’ warmth.
    “Charlotte.” He wrapped his arms around her and relaxed slightly, enough that their toes brushed against each other. “You are full of surprises. Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.” She dared to rest her head on his shoulder, since he didn’t seem to want to mention the erection that pressed against her thighs. Her breasts were warmer than the rest of her body, more than his proximity would account for.
    She stirred restlessly but said nothing.
    “Still upset by the nightmare?” Justin’s voice was a rich, sensual thread in the darkness.
    “Uh—yes, a little.” Could she say she’d been picturing him more the dream’s horrific denizens? Better not.
    “Let’s try distracting you a bit.”
    “With what?” she asked, honestly curious. There was no light to play a game by.
    He kissed the top of her head.
    “I, uh . . .” What would he expect her to do?
    “Just cuddle, sugar, that’s all.” Something in his tone hinted at nighttime comforts that she’d never known before. “All you need to do is relax and think about poetry.”
    “Okay.” She could do that. She settled more comfortably against him.
    “What does this make you think of? ‘That time of year thou mayst in me behold / When yellow leave, or none, or few . . .’ ” His drawl slowed to a velvet secret.
    “ ‘Do hang / Upon those boughs which shake against the cold.’ ” She chuckled softly and closed her eyes. She’d played this game before. “Shakespeare, Sonnet 73.”
    “Very good. Your turn.”
    “Hmm. ‘When I consider every thing that grows / Holds in perfection but a moment . . .”
    “You know your Shakespeare.” His arms shifted her to a closer, warmer position. The storm’s dangers were very far away and his attractions so close. “Sonnet 15.”
    She dared to slip her fingers into the thick, raw silk of his hair. It glided over her knuckles, potent as a caress. Something stirred deep inside her and her pulse quickened.
    “Perhaps you should try a different poet,” she mumbled.
    “So you can fall asleep while considering the options?” He brushed his lips along her temple.
    “Yes, let’s try that.”
    He was silent for a long time. His heart beat heavily against hers before he spoke again.
    “I thought once how Theocritus had sung / Of the sweet years, the dear and wished for years . . .”
    “Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnets from the Portugese, Sonnet 1,” she purred.
    “Congratulations,” he rumbled.
    “Mmhmm,” she purred and shifted closer to savor his cherishing. His mouth drifted over her eyes and her cheeks, setting off sparks in her blood.
    She stroked his head, echoing the shimmer in her body. He murmured approval and caressed her throat. His lean, strong fingers cupped her head with the same delicacy necessary for spring’s first flowers, not a Colt’s heavy frame.
    Their mouths glided over each other and their lips met. Their kiss was leisurely, sensual, as