Little Love Affair (Southern Romance Series, #1) by Lexy Timms Page A

her face and her skin on fire with his touch.
    When they drew away from one another, Clara could not have said how much time had passed. It seemed an eternity and yet too soon. She wrapped her fingers in the front of his shirt, looking up to meet his brown eyes.
    “We shouldn’t do this,” he murmured.
    His voice sent a thrill through her, running over her skin, sparking a low heat in her belly and lower. She caught her breath at that and saw his eyes darken with desire. His fingers were splayed against her back, holding her close. She could feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt, the linen soaked against his skin, and for a moment she was overwhelmed with the desire to press her lips against his throat where the cloth parted. She let her breath out in a little sigh, and he groaned, made to pull away from her.
    “Don’t go.”
    “If I stay, I’ll do things we’ll both regret.” He shuddered as she flattened her palm against his chest.
    “Are you sure?” She leaned closer, smiling, and brushed her lips against his.
    “Very sure.” His fingers clenched against her back.
    “No.” Clara traced a finger over his skin. “Are you sure we’ll regret it?”
    “Woman, you will be the death of me.” He caught his breath in a laugh and stepped back, running his fingers through his hair. His breath coming hard.
    “Jasper.” She wanted to say his name, and she felt a smile grow on her face, unstoppable, when he looked over at her.
    He could hardly hold himself away from her. “This would ruin you,” he murmured.
    “I don’t care,” she whispered back. She did not, in this moment, she cared for nothing but the touch of his lips again. “I don’t. Please, Jasper.”
    “Don’t say that,” he whispered. “Don’t say my name, Clara. I can’t bear it.”
    She turned away, heart pounding. She wanted to run into his arms and away from him, too. She was terrified, yearning, desire and fear tumbling over one another in her chest. The red of the farmhouse showed faintly between the blowing branches of the willow, rain coming down in sheets.
    There was no going back yet.
    She did not want to go back. It was more than desire, she realized. She longed for the touch of his skin against hers once more, but more, for the first time in her life, she understood the feeling others had described to her. It was something she had never expected to find. She had thought she was immune to it.
    How could it feel like both the storm and the haven? And how could it take every ounce of self-control she had built up over the years and scatter it to the winds? Clara turned, hardly realizing what she did. Her fingers were on the buttons at the front of her bodice, unhooking each slowly. She did not have to look down to know that the lace of her chemise showed, along with the swell of her breasts. She kept her eyes fixed on Jasper’s, watching him clench his hands to keep from moving towards her.
    He did not move until she sat, skirts billowing around her, but then he was at her side in a moment, kneeling on the carpet of leaves and moss and cupping her face between his hands for a kiss.
    He laid her out on the ground gently, hand behind her head to cushion it. He was hesitant, bracing himself on his elbows, and Clara left the buttons of her dress half-unbuttoned to reach for him and pull him down on top of her. One hand slid along his ribs, the other tracing down the muscles of his arms, and she opened her mouth for his kiss, hearing a gasp and a moan—her own voice.
    She had not known she would ever be so wanton. She heard stories of women undone by poor behavior and wondered at it; and now she could not have stopped her hands from questing over his body any more than she could have stopped the rain from falling. The buttons of his vest sprang open and Jasper groaned as she let her fingers play over his skin.
    “Clara.” His mouth was moving on the skin of her throat, hips driving against hers, and she bit her lip to