Page 51 of Frankly, My Dear

His sounded ragged and loud in the heavy stillness.

He put one hand on the column of her neck to hold her in place and rubbed the callused pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. Then, tunneling his fingers through her hair, he angled her face. With a soft sigh, she welcomed his impending kiss.

At first he just brushed his lips softly against hers. “I’ve wanted to do this for days.”

“So have I,” she confessed on a groan.

He moved his body against hers urgently and deepened the kiss. She made a soft mewling sound low in her throat, and he responded with a deep masculine groan of satisfaction. Molten desire exploded throughout her body, but at the same time a peaceful sense of completeness swept her senses. She felt his heart beat against hers, with the same rhythm.

When she parted her lips for his searing tongue, he made a low hissing sound. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she drew him closer, then jerked with awareness at the evidence of his arousal pressing against her belly.

“You taste like beignets,” she murmured when he allowed her to take a breath.

He laughed…a low musical sound to her ears. “So do you.” He licked the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue, and currents of sharp electric pleasure darted to all the sweet nerve endings in her body.

Within seconds, James had made her want him in ways she’d never thought imaginable. He’d shattered her carefully erected defenses with the hunger of a mere kiss. A mere kiss! Hah! There was nothing “mere” about his kiss. Caught in the throes of passion, Selene didn’t want to remember why involvement with this man from the past was not a good idea. He was a gift from the gods and she would not question the priceless bequest.

“I thought you weren’t attracted to me,” she said, tracing the line of his strong jaw with a forefinger, lovingly. “You said you wouldn’t touch me with a barge pole.”

“I lied.” He kissed the warm hollow of her slender neck and pulled her body more intimately against his.

“Is she yer mistress?”

James halted his kiss with a groan of dismay at the sound of Etienne’s voice, and for a brief second leaned against her, forehead to forehead, until their breathing calmed. Then they both turned, still in an embrace, toward the kitchen where Etienne was leaning against a chair, watching them with insolent arrogance, munching on a beignet.

“I thought she was supposed to be my governess. Guess I won’t be needin’ to clean out them skins if ye’re plannin’ to share a bed with her,” he remarked cheekily.

James pulled away from Selene, a regretful expression on his face. He trailed the edges of his fingertips over her kiss-swollen lips, gazing at her with unfathomable soulfulness. Then he put her away from him with obvious reluctance and moved into the kitchen.

“I guess you forgot that I told you to take a bath and prepare for bed.”

With lightning speed, the scamp turned and ran for the back stairs. “I wuz just goin’, Papa. Tarnation! Can’t a starvin’ boy even stop to eat?”

For a long moment, James stared after his son, shaking his head with dismay. Then he turned back to Selene. His shoulders slumped in delayed reaction to all the problems that had hit him since his arrival home. “You must feel like you’ve landed in Bedlam,” he said, raking his fingers through his overlong hair.

Still feeling the aftershocks of his devastating kiss, Selene nodded. “But I’m glad I came,” she admitted on a soft whisper.

“That’s what you say now. But tomorrow is another day.”

Tomorrow is another day?

Tingles of synchroneity swept over Selene like goose bumps. “Don’t count on it, Rhett,” she murmured as he walked away. “Don’t count on it.”

Chapter Nine

A short time later, even though it was barely eight o’clock, Selene headed for bed, exhausted from the cumulative effects of her long trip. Not to mention a delayed reaction to her time-travel experience. And the emotional wallop of James’s mind-shattering kiss.

She dragged her feet wearily as she followed a slave, Iris, from the kitchen on the lower level through a corridor to the front of the house.

“Are you ailin’, mam’zelle? You lookin’ mighty peaked.”

Selene shook her head, smiling weakly at the beautiful woman who peered down at her. Iris had to be six feet tall. She was big-boned but statuesque, with high cheekbones and full, sensual lips—a cameraman’s dream. Her tight curls were clipped close to her finely formed head, calling attention to smooth, obsidian skin and finely sculpted features. The only flaw in her perfectly proportioned body was a huge behind, which couldn’t be hidden, even by her full-skirted gown.

Geez! Here I go again. Thinking about a person’s physical attributes. Selene giggled, a thread of hysteria tugging at her wandering, exhausted mind.

“I guess I’m more tired than I thought, Iris. Just point me toward a bed and I’ll be fine in the morning.” The morning? Today had brought a staggering kaleidoscope of new scenery and people and experiences. She could only wonder what tomorrow would bring.

An unbidden thought crept into her consciousness, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood out with alarm. Perhaps this brain-numbing paralysis creeping in her bones was the precursor of her return to the future. Once she fell asleep, maybe she would wake up in her nice, air-conditioned bedroom back in New York, surrounded by all the modern trappings she valued so much—electricity, television, running water, telephones.