He bent over her bare wrist and planted a gentle kiss over her kicking pulse. The moment his warm lips brushed her skin, a new moan ripped from her throat.
Pearl cupped his cheek, the one with the scar, and caressed the rough stubble. She wasn’t sure what she was doing. If Christopher learned who she was, he wouldn’t want to see her again, and she was supposed to reject his attentions on behalf of Amelia. Yet, here she was, panting and too much thrilled to touch him.
“Christopher,” she whispered.
A glint flashed in his dark eyes. He pressed his mouth against hers. The heady scent of his cologne enveloped her, and his body’s heat seeped into her. She entwined her fingers in his silky strands of hair and pulled him closer.
His mouth didn’t open though. It remained firmly sealed. A sinful throb started between her thighs, and she rubbed them while parting her lips.
At the first lash of her tongue against his lips, Christopher withdrew abruptly, shifting more than eighteen inches from her. A gust of cold air hit her when he released her hand and retreated to the other corner of the couch.
“I do apologise.” His chest heaved. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation.”
“But I let you.” There was a whiny note in her voice.
“That’s not an excuse.” He shoved to his feet and put his hands in his pockets. Shoulders hunching, he strode away from her. “It won’t happen again.”
She was about to protest when Wiley entered, the apprentices at his heel. “All done, My Lord. The couches will be delivered to your mansion in the morrow.”
Pearl pretended to search her reticule and stared at her feet. Surely, her cheeks had to be all red, judging by how much they burned.
“Thank you,” Christopher grumbled, adjusting his jacket.
“Here I am.” Florence trotted inside, carrying a brown bag. “Did anything interesting happen while I was away?”
Oh, a million things.
