She brightened. “You do?”
“Haven’t you fathomed out by now that it isyouI like?” He gave into temptation and pulled her into his arms.
Chapter 12
Julian did not give Miss Thorne’s bewitching lips time to formulate an impertinent response.
He kissed her instead.
Her mouth tasted like fresh fruit. Tart and sweet. A combination he was coming to associate with her and her kisses.
Julian hated not being in control, yet that was exactly how he felt whenever he was near Miss Thorne. It wasn’t the biscuits that concerned him. It was the odd sensation of being drawn to herbecauseshe forced him to unbend, despite his express wishes.
Even now, with her inviting warmth and soft curves pressed against him, he could not state with certainty that this embrace had transpired because he’d hauled her to him like a boor of low breeding.
He suspected Miss Thorne had known from the moment she entered the green parlor whether any kissing would be taking place within its walls today.
In any case, he was glad for it. He had hungered for her mouth, for her arms about his neck, for her breasts pressed against him, ever since she’d stepped out of his carriage after the market and disappeared.
No—ever since he’d first tasted her lips on the steps of his ballroom.
That he had got his wish, and his hands could now trace the curve of her spine, and the swell of her hips, did not dampen his ardor in the least. He wanted more. He hungered not just for her kisses, but for the feel of every curve rubbing delectably against the hardness of his body.
She was all edges when they argued—sharp tongue, sharp mind—but when she was in his arms, everything about her was pleasingly soft. He loved the softness of her hair, the softness of her skin, the plump softness filling out her gown to perfection.
He wanted to rend her gown from her frame and feast upon all that softness with his mouth. Caress her, tease her, tempt her, until her passion burned just as bright as his own. Then he’d sink his hard shaft beneath her thighs and—
Julian tore his lips from hers before he could act on his thoughts. His heart beat erratically. Guests would be arriving within the hour. He must be in the ballroom to greet them.
“These kisses mean nothing,” he reminded her.
And reminded himself.
Life had proven time and again that Julian could keep thethingshe held dear, but not the people.
It was good that he’d long ago hardened his heart. Kissing was just physical. Something he did for a moment’s enjoyment, like eating a shortbread guinea with a dollop of blueberry. Delicious while it lasted, and then easily forgotten.
“I remember your rules.” Miss Thorne did not look chastened. “Ifyouhave trouble remembering, you should write them down in your spontaneity diary.”
“In my... what?”
She rose from his lap and picked up a large canvas bag from beside the sofa.
His focus had been so consumed with kissing her, he hadn’t even registered the bag’s presence.
She loosened the drawstrings, reached inside, and handed him a small brown book.
“What is this?” he asked suspiciously.
“I just told you,” she said. “Spontaneity diary. My, youdoneed to write things down.”
She held out a pencil.
He ignored it.
Instead, he opened the book. It was mostly unmarked, save for the headers labeled prettily at the top of each page.
The first sheet read, “17 April, 1819.”
