When Harry Met Molly

Chapter 32

He shouldn’t be doing this, Harry’s conscience said to him while he kissed Molly. He’d told himself he would stay away.

But she was so…irresistible. Why else would he ignore every ounce of common sense he had and persist?

Perhaps it was because she wore that exotic harem outfit. Or because her body strained toward him, and her mouth was so eager. And perhaps it was because she was simply…Molly.

He lifted his head. “We should stop now,” he forced himself to say.

Molly had that same dreamy look she’d had in the carriage the first time he’d kissed her. “I don’t want to,” she whispered, and began to play with his hair.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he groaned, his elbows propped on either side of her head. He was extremely aroused and was doing his best to keep his lower half away from her.

She sat up, her hair flying forward and settling on her shoulders. “Harry,” she said, quite agitated. “I want to be your true mistress.”

He sighed. “Molly—”

“Really.” She moved even closer to him. “I don’t want to marry a boring old squire and have his brats. And what are my chances in London of finding someone who…who understands me?”

“It will happen,” he soothed her.

“No,” she said with conviction. “I’ll reject all of them. Because once they discover what I’m really like—which is very trying, I’m well aware, and quite fond of kissing—I’ll be kept up in a turret or something.” She crossed her arms and stared at him.

He played with her hair. “It’s healthy to want to do what we do together.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Your husband will not have a disgust of you. He’ll want to be with you this way all the time. He won’t want to keep you in a turret.”

Her eyes clouded.

“What is it?” He hated to see her eyes like that.

“I—I don’t like knowing you’ll be with Anne Riordan this way,” she said. “Although it’s almost inevitable, isn’t it?”

“We must stay confident,” he said as brightly as he could.

“Right.” She sighed. “But if I do win Most Delectable Companion, you must find me a husband.”

“I know.”

She stared at him. “I wish—”

“What?”

She swallowed. “I wish it could be you.”

Oh, God. She was breaking his heart.

“Molly.” How could he say this? “I—I’m not good enough for you. You deserve—”

“You mean you’re not ready to stop being an Impossible Bachelor.” Her eyes got a little glassy.

Was she going to cry?

He sat silent for a moment. He didn’t want hers to be another heart he broke. He cared about her far too much.

“No,” he said, struggling to identify what it really was that kept him from marrying. “It’s not that. It’s just that…I have nothing to offer.”

That was it.

“Why?” she asked.

Indeed. Why?

Whose fault was it, really, that other than that brief moment in the army when he’d performed his duty to the best of his ability, he’d accomplished nothing else in his adult life of any benefit to anyone?

His father’s fault?

The fault of all the gossips and naysayers in his life?

Or his own?

Deuce take it, it was his own damned fault! Of course it was. Yet he still had too many questions to answer. Too many feelings to sift through, the main one being, how could he make up for lost time? How could he try to bring honor to the house of Mallan, even though no one believed he could?

He pulled a curl off Molly’s face. “You are a most desirable woman,” he said softly. “You’ve exceeded all my expectations of what a false mistress should be. Any man would be extraordinarily lucky to claim you for his wife. But”—he swallowed—“I cannot be that man.”

Molly blinked.

“For obvious reasons, of course,” he went on doggedly. “Such as the possible obligations of this wager.”

She still said nothing.

He grappled for words. “But also because I need time. To think. To become…” He paused. “Something.”

She lay quietly, her expression open yet inscrutable. He continued stroking her hair. “You’re my friend, Molly. And I want you to be happy.” He rose up over her, the blanket wrapped around his waist so she couldn’t get her hands on him. If she did, he couldn’t trust himself to control the urge he had to make her his own completely.

She said nothing.

He leaned down, brushed a warm kiss over her lips. “Please. Let me make you happy. Even if it’s only for a few minutes.”

Still nothing.

“Molly?”

He kissed her again. Pulled back. And looked at her face.

“Harry!” She smiled brilliantly at him. “You’re so easy to tease.” She sat up on her elbow. “I don’t truly want to marry you.”

He let out a gusty sigh. “Really?”

“Sometimes, yes, I think you might make a girl a wonderful husband. You are fun. But we both know you’re not ready. Who knows if you’ll ever be?”

“You minx!” He threw himself on his back and stared at the scarlet and white striped roof above his head. Then he leaned over and kissed her.

He felt a shiver pass through her.

“Let’s look at that book,” she whispered.

“Which book?”

She nudged him, her eyes luminous. “You know which one.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

So he clutched the blanket about his middle, moved the oil lamp, opened the chest, and withdrew the book. After he replaced the lamp, he went back to Molly, who’d made a little nook for them by stacking pillows in a circle.

Once he was situated, she sat back in the circle of his arms, pressed close to him.

He turned the pages of the book slowly, and neither of them said a word. But he felt her body tense and her heart speed up.

He rubbed her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He kissed her neck then, very gently, and she tilted her head so he could have even more access to her.

“I know you said we can’t be together completely,” she whispered. “But I want to get as close to completely as possible. Can we?”

He hesitated. “Do you really want to?”

She nodded. “More than anything.”

He put the book down and turned her to face him. “I have to admit—I do, too.”

“It’s our last chance,” she said.

“To make an incredible memory,” he whispered.

Their gazes locked, and she said nothing as he lowered her onto some pillows. Slowly, he slid her harem outfit off her arms, then down her waist, and finally, off her body altogether. Her ripened breasts, her slender legs, and the essence of her femininity…all were bared in the light of the lamp.

She was exquisite.

When he bent low to kiss her belly, she cupped his jaw and caressed it with her thumb—a tiny gesture that affected him deeply. She trusted him. And her future husband had best be worthy of that trust, Harry thought, a fierce protectiveness rising up in him. Or he would see to it that whoever the groom was would suffer greatly.

The rain came down, softer and quieter now.

“We really should get some sleep,” she murmured. “After.”

Yes. After.

He grinned, marveling at how lacking in artifice she was. “That was you, wasn’t it?” he said. “Running around the house naked.”

She nodded and smiled. “I had to. The other mistresses were starting to doubt me.”

“I have a secret, too,” he admitted. “I saw you change into your clothes outside the house.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Really? Where were you?”

“In the tree—looking for you.”

She gasped.

“I didn’t mean to see you, of course. And no one else did, I assure you,” he was quick to add.

She smiled. “I’m glad you did. You know how I feel about being naked, Harry. If it were any man but you—”

“Right.” He suckled her breast, then looked up at her. “But I didn’t simply watch, Molly.”

She drew back. “You didn’t?”

“No.”

It took her a moment, but then she laughed. A sweet, husky laugh. “Oh, Harry. I like thinking about you watching me and doing that.” She shuddered and ran her fingers through his hair. “We’ve known each other so long.”

He stopped for a moment, wanting confirmation. Because it was simply unbelievable that—

“You really do trust me, don’t you?” he asked her.

“Implicitly,” she said, with a smile that took his breath away.

My God. That was rather…something, wasn’t it?

Harry was feeling, at the moment, many feelings. He didn’t usually like to feel feelings. They were such a hindrance to having fun. But today, for some reason, they weren’t.

“I—I like you, Harry,” she said. “Very much. No matter what anyone says about you. I know”—she hesitated—“I know you’re brave. And kind. Even if you are an Impossible Bachelor.”

And it was at that moment he realized that he’d never wanted to pleasure a woman as much as he wanted to pleasure this one. Nudging her leg over, he lifted her knee and kissed the inside of her soft, deliciously scented thigh.

“Harry.” She moaned. “I love this, but I want the closest thing. Show me. Please.”

He looked up. “We’re just warming up.” He leaned forward and kissed her, his shaft pressed against her warm, silky belly. Then he flipped her on top of him, loving the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest. “The closest thing I know involves some acrobatics,” he said. “You got a glimpse of some acrobatics in that book. Are you prepared?”

She giggled. “Yes!”

“Then stay where you are, but get on your hands and knees.”

She did as he asked.

He ran the backs of his hands over her nipples, and she arched her back like a cat.

“Now I’d like you to turn around,” he said. “I’m going to kiss you again, the way I did in the kissing closet. And while I do that, you can explore me. However you want.”

Her eyes widened, but she looked excited. Not afraid. “I’ll get to kiss you that way?”

“Yes,” he said. “If you remember to. You might be slightly…distracted.”

“Of course I’ll remember,” she said stoutly, and maneuvered herself over him so that her sex was mere inches from his mouth, ready for intimate exploration.

He let out a sharp breath. She’d already found his most vulnerable flesh and tentatively circled it with her tongue.

“Is this right?” Her voice was alluringly low as she bestowed a wet kiss on the tip.

“Anything’s right.” He suppressed a groan of pleasure and reminded himself to be strong—he wanted to bring her to pleasure first. Embracing her thighs with his hands, he lifted his head to her most intimate spot, letting his tongue flick in and out.

In—

Her legs buckled, and he caught her, pulling her even closer to his mouth.

And out.

All the while, she moaned against his own sex and suckled it. Stroked it with her hands. Licked it and kissed it.

He kept her petal-soft core close and loved her with his tongue and his mouth.

“I—” She struggled to stay on her knees. “I can’t wait—” She sucked him and caressed him—she was driving him wild.

He intensified his efforts. She moaned, gyrated.

Immersed in the dual pleasure of loving her and receiving her own enthusiastic, sensual ministrations, he wondered: what was this woman doing to him? It went well beyond the exquisite gratification he was experiencing at the moment. She was imprinting herself upon him in a way no other female ever had.

“Harry,” she whispered raggedly. “With me. Please. I—I’m ready. I want it. I remember from last time. What will happen.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “With me.”

“Together,” he murmured against her flesh and gripped her buttocks, plundering her with his tongue. She bucked. He gripped her tighter and felt her shudder around his mouth.

“Har-eeeeee!” she shrieked.

And then he let himself go, as well. Into her mouth. And she welcomed his seed, her hands splayed around the base of his shaft as if she were holding on to the edge of the earth. Then she collapsed, rolled to the side, her arms thrown out.

“Oh,” she said, her voice trembling. “Oh.”

Harry sighed, sat up on his elbow, and pulled on her hand. “Come here,” he managed to whisper. She was like a rag doll, but she came and flopped onto his chest.

She’d depleted him as well, in more ways than one.

“That was as close as we could get,” he said, his chin resting on her hair. “Without…complications.”

She sighed and snuggled against him. “I—I don’t see how it could get better. I shrieked, Harry. Just like Hildur said.”

He lifted his head. “Exactly what did Hildur say?”

Molly giggled. “Never mind. It was girl talk.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. No real coupling he’d ever had had come near what he and Molly had shared tonight—the closeness and the intense, unfamiliar emotions he’d felt, as well as the exquisite pleasure.

“Just wait,” he whispered to her. Her breathing was evening out. Soon she’d be asleep. “There’s more. But all in good time.”

Although she would experience it with another man.

That was the part that was killing Harry, and the reason he made sure that when he eventually got up to extinguish the lamp, he crawled under a blanket on the other side of the tent.