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He reached up for the volume, gluing to her spine in the process as the sandalwood enveloped her in a tempting cloud. The hot, flat planes of him touched her curves, and she froze. She was sure he did not realise it would happen until it did.
His long arm covered her extended one and the heat that suffused her skin made her go boneless. Her right hand grabbed onto the lower shelf edge in a futile attempt to cling to sanity. His head lowered and she sensed his lips so close to her hair. Air halted in her lungs while her heart skipped on a wild race.
Harriet felt something twitch on her hair as the flow of air told her it was his nose sauntering the loose strands. His left hand met hers on the higher shelf, covering it with his warm, big one.
She found nothing to say, found no voice to say it, nor the will. The sensation of his tall, imposing frame on hers was beyond description. And then his right hand spanned her waist to start a slow, so slow, glide towards her midriff, peppering goose-bumps wherever it went. His touch seemed stilted, almost as if he needed to contain himself, and held that white-hot incandescence that melted everything in its wake. But a reverent one, too, like he was touching something sacred, precious that he would find once in a lifetime.
His palm reached her flat, soft stomach, causing ripples of warmth to arrow downwards. Air escaped her in what could only be described as a sigh in the same second his mouth touched the shell of her ear. Without enough will to keep standing, she sagged on his lean chest, her head coming barely to his shoulder. That was when his hand closed on hers still stretched on the higher shelf, effectively trapping her between him and the books. The hand worshipping her midriff inched perilously upwards to the base of her breast. The simple notion that he might cover the puckered tip drove her nether regions to produce scorching, shameful moisture. On its own volition, her other hand covered his to halt it or to urge on, she could not tell.
When had he plastered her this much against the wood she did not know, but it made her realise his body had lengthened, hardened, and nestled on the small of her back.
How could a man display such purity after having been with a prostitute the previous night? The shaft of lucidity that came with the question brought her to her senses. With a sudden push, she untangled herself from him and stumbled to the other side of the desk as if it was a fortress against the sensations he incited in her.
“Harriet?” it came an octave lower than normal, which caressed her senses.
Her eyes languished on the sight of him against the books, wide eyes on her, ragged breath and the bulge, good gracious, the bulge, that led her to wonder how it would feel in its wanted place in her body. The fantasy made her flush crimson.
With a huge effort, she erased the lustful musing and stared hard at him. “Having lain with a lightskirt does not give you the right to touch every woman in your radius,” The wry note on her voice bellied the steep temperature of her insides.
Samuel eyed her quizzically. He had naively never imagined she knew of such things, much less mention it. “How—?”
Her chin inched up and her gaze fixed on him. “You drenched this house in cheap perfume at your return!”
His eyes clasped on hers, and for a moment he could only see its beauty, a blue so light it was almost crystalline, a gift from her Nordic ancestors, no doubt. But his mind reeled back to her words. “I didn’t—” He found no words to talk about this with a lady, for she comported herself as one.
Her delicate arms crossed, and she directed him an inquisitive glare. Her silence stretched until he had no choice but speak.
“I tried, but I couldn’t stand her touch,” the simple answer had to be the truth.
Those arms loosened and fell to their sides, her lips parted in an ‘oh’, but her gaze remained watchful.
His legs moved when he saw her understanding and stood less than a foot from her. The scent of flowers and woman so familiar called to his guts. He gave one step to crowd her as her petite frame leaned on the window.
Her reaction to his closeness just now told him she might not be indifferent. He clung to this perception to overcome his natural shyness. One hand on each side lined her satiny face. Everything about her felt so luscious, he could die at this very instant and believe himself in heaven.
He lowered his head and sealed his lips to the plump ones of hers, and his world exploded in something much more intense than watery heaven. His mouth rubbed on hers, taking in the whole lushness of her. He lost count of how many times he repeated it.
“Put your tongue in my mouth,” she instructed still glued on him.
He did, and heaven became an inferno of pleasure and hunger because her own tongue involved his in a circular movement that caused his blood to boil in his veins, never having been so rock-hard as he was at that moment. His throat emitted a sound more pertinent to a primitive specimen.
Those slim arms wound around his shoulders as her fingers raked his hair, giving him the certainty of being wanted, desired, and drenched in warmth. His whole frame pasted to hers, tightening their embrace. Her head turned to allow him more access, which he made use of unrepentantly. The corner of his spectacles’ frame touched her cheeks, but he did not notice, his entire person immersed in the bliss she afforded him.
His lungs demanded oxygen, and he reluctantly lifted his head to gobble an ounce of air before he resumed their rapture. Her crystalline gaze raised to merge with his. Time stood still, their bodies touching everywhere, their breaths coming in broken puffs, his hand moulded to her flushed cheeks. Sam found it hard to believe this was even happening. Yet her swollen, moist lips and his uncivilised state stood witnesses to it, and invited an eternity of kisses.
“Not bad for a first time,” she ventured with a playful glint.
With a small smile, he lowered his head again. “Shall we try the second?” he murmured almost touching her pouty lips.
A knock came on the door. “Luncheon,” Harriet warned.
Swiftly, he walked to the bookshelves, and she sat on her chair before he answered the housekeeper.
CHAPTER THREE
Harriet was keeping her distance, Sam lamented more than a week later while he walked to his lodgings. He needed to fetch a few notations to continue his work. The warm spring sun soothed his dark mood and gave a redder hue to his hair. Had it been warmer, his freckles would have surfaced.
Those delicious kisses threw him in a bonfire of craving he had never felt before. Now he had reality to go with the gnawing hunger that had lived in him since he met her. His nights became a blur of sleeplessness, a feverish roundabout of fantasies and self-relief did nothing to assuage his need. If anything, it made it worse.
