Miss Simpkins' School: Molly by Raven McAllan Page B

presence of others. Like this, though, he became a lodestone to which she was drawn ever closer.
    Be honest, even the English Channel wouldn’t be a wide enough space to distract me.
    “Addersley is over there, behind Home Farm.” Charles pointed toward a group of buildings set snug behind a copse of trees, which bent away from the direction of the wind. “This is on Countisberry land. My land. My house is on the other side of the hill. Look.” He took her arm and led her out of the building.
    The soft afternoon breeze whisked stands of her hair out of the complicated arrangement she’d secured it in and tickled her cheeks. Charles chuckled and she felt his hand at her head. The next thing she experienced was her hair tumbling down her back and fanning out in an arc as the wind caught it.
    “That’s better. I hate the things you do to such lovely hair. It deserves to be seen.” He pocketed her hairpins with a satisfied smile on his face.
    “Very professional,” Molly said as she tried to find the hairpin she knew was in her own pocket. “It would certainly instill confidence in me and my credentials if future students saw me this way.”
    “It would,” Charles said. “You look like someone who is ready to be loved. Eager and alight with the power only a beautiful and responsive woman possesses. Ready for anything her lover wishes to share. No. Don’t pin it up, please.”
    She stilled her hands.
    “Are you ready?”
    Molly blinked. Had she heard him aright? “Pardon?”
    Charles cupped her face between his large hands. Slight callouses teased her skin, and reminded her he was no longer a young buck, but a man who saw no shame in working with his men. “I said”—he kissed her lips and nipped the soft flesh just to the pleasure side of pain—”Are,” nip “you,” kiss “ready?” His tongue thrust between her lips to mesh and tangle with her own.
    Molly grabbed onto his shoulders to stop herself falling. Dreams weren’t usually so graphic were they?

Chapter Two
    Charles allowed himself sink into sensation. It was madness to permit his heart and gonads to rule over his mind and common sense, but for once he was going with his emotions. Spending the better part of the day next to Molly, with her scent teasing his nostrils, and her body reminding him of all the things denied to him, had been painful. Trying to disguise a rock-hard cock under formal wear wasn’t easy. He wondered how on earth his friend Felix had managed to do it so well around Miranda, his future wife. It was a disturbing thought. Miranda was Charles’ daughter, and Felix—heaven help him—his future son-in-law . I have to commend him for his iron will. I’m sure my own will is not so strong.
    A sharp pain on his shin made him pull away from Molly. His lips still tingled with the remembrance of how she tasted. The pain in his leg radiated out and upward. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and covered his cock. Who knew where the next target might be?
    “What was that for?” he asked, as he did his best not to limp across the grass and back to the folly.
    “Taking advantage,” Molly said as she followed him inside and handed him a flute of champagne. Her eyes filled with tears and his mind filled with remorse.
    “Oh lud, Molly.” He took the glass from her and swallowed the wine. He shuddered to think what the winemaker would think if he saw him. Fine champagne should never be abused in that manner. “Was it so bad? I’m so sorry. I won’t do anything like it again. Blame the wine, the weather, hell, the lack of a woman in my life. No, not that. I want no other woman. Argh, ignore that, although it is true. Just please don’t cry.” He fished a large and immaculate linen square out of his pocket, and handed it over. “I’m sorry I upset and hurt you. Ow, ooft.”
    She punched him again, this time square in the stomach. His breath left him in a whoosh and he wheezed like a man addicted to cigarillos. The champagne