“And have a child in five years.”
“Seven,” she corrected, her eyes narrowing.
“Ah, yes, seven.” The corner of his mouth hitched in a half grin. “How could I have forgotten?”
“Perhaps we should write this all down. The terms of our agreement.” She attempted to draw her hand away, but he held fast. A muscle ticked in her jaw. “Lord Brunswick—”
“Stephen.”
“Stephen,” she said, and wasn’t that an unexpected pleasure? The sound of his name on those plump, delectable lips. “Stephen, I find this all to be highly unusual. But I also recognize this may be my best—my only—way to pursue the education that I require to become the doctor I should like to be. For that reason alone, I find myself... amenable... to your proposition.”
He lifted a brow. “Was that a very roundabout way to say that you’ll kiss me?”
“Must that be part of our agreement?”
“It binds the contract.”
“Very well.” She started to lean forward, and this time he was the one who pulled away.
“Not here.” He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “This type of kiss isn’t suitable for a public setting.”
“It’s . . . it’s not?” she said faintly.
“Definitelynot.” Escorting his bride-to-be out of the coffeehouse at a speed that hopefully prevented anyone from taking note of his bulging arousal, he turned down the first alley that they came across. A narrow path carved out between two brick buildings, one still in the process of being built, with stacks of wooden crates and piles of black ash tossed down from the windows above. Hardly a romantic venue, but Stephen’s gaze wasn’t on their surroundings. No, his focus was commandedsolely by the blushing brunette standing in front of him, and when he gently cupped her chin, everything else blurred and faded away.
“Have you been kissed before?” he asked, tracing his thumb across her jawline. Her accent may have reflected her American upbringing, but her bone structure was all British rose. Dainty and refined, with more than a dash of stubbornness in the tilt of her nose. She may not have been a classic beauty. Her hair was too frizzy. Her clothing too frumpy. But she was beautiful nonetheless, in the same way that all wild, untamed things were beautiful.
“N-no,” she said, biting her bottom lip, and it was all Stephen could do not groan.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed, bracing his other arm against the wall at her back as he stepped closer, effectively pinning her between a hard place and... well... a hard place.
“Why?” she said, her eyes opening even wider when their thighs brushed.
“Because a kiss—a kiss worth remembering—is about feel.” Lowering his head, he skimmed his mouth across her cheek to the delicate shell of her ear. “It’s about touch.” He slowly drew her lobe between his teeth and gave the tiniest pull, his abdomen tightening when he heard her gasp. “It’s about sensation.” A low chuckle vibrated in his throat when she slammed her eyes shut.
“Now . . . now what?” she whispered.
“Now,” he said, sliding his fingers under her bonnet into silky tangles of mahogany as his mouth hovered a heartbeat above hers, “comes the enjoyable part.”
“S-solely for the purpose of our contract, correct?” Her eyes flickered open. “Nothing more.”
“Yes.” In that moment, he would have agreed to anything. A kiss to sign their verbal agreement. A kiss in exchange for all of his treasures. A kiss for fifty years of indentured servitude. Yes,yes, yes. All of that and more, if it meant a few fleeting seconds of sipping from heaven’s goblet before plunging straight into hell.
“All right,” she said with a solemnity that would have made him smile were he not consumed by the fiery ache of need. “You may proceed.”
Stephen needed no further invitation.
He didn’t just kiss Abigail.
He sank into her.
Slowly.
Tenderly.
His mouth lightly passing over hers once, twice, before lingering to sip the sweet nectar of her lips while his hand slipped to her nape to gently massage muscles taut with anticipatory tension. He kissed her cheek, her chin, and then the tip of her nose, coaxing a startled giggle that eased the rigid cords beneath his fingertips.
Changing the angle of his head, he returned to her mouth, brushing his lips across hers before tracing the seam with his tongue and gliding inside when she opened for him on a quiet moan. She reached between them to grasp his shirt, digging into the fabric to the granite muscle beneath while he explored the damp, utterly delightful cavern of her mouth with languishing sweeps of his tongue.
