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Sebastian always could read her face. He moved slowly but with the assurance that marked every one of his movements. He reached out and his hands went to the small of her back and pulled her slowly toward him.

He stopped when the hard circle of her belly touched his body. Esme didn’t look away from his eyes. She knew damn well that if she looked away, she would think about what—

she didn’t want to think.

He bent his head and his lips brushed hers as softly. His lips were hot and sweet. They demanded nothing. One of his hands roamed down and touched her belly as lightly as a feather floats to the ground. “I wish this was our child, Esme,” he said against her mouth.

“It’s not,” she said hastily.

But she didn’t move and his mouth came back to hers, and just as always, even the brush of his lip made her weak. Made her moral resolutions melt.

She meant to move back. She really did. But somehow her mouth opened not because he demanded it, but because she Fool for Love

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remembered . . . And she remembered correctly. The taste of him was heaven and earth rolled into one. Their tongues met and mated, and all her dreams came back to her in a rush. It wasn’t as if they were truly lovers, but she had dreamed so many variations on the evening they spent together that it felt as if they’d been together for years. It was that easy. They kissed with the sweetness of familiarity, and the deep craving of lovers separated for months. He moved as if he knew every tingle in her body, as if years had attuned him to her cravings.

She trembled against his hard chest and one of his big hands drifted southward, slipped into her pelisse and clasped her breast. She arched forward, just a trifle, into his palm. He didn’t really say anything except her name, but his voice, usually so controlled and urbane, sounded thick and hoarse.

In that one strained syllable was a valuable lesson. Suddenly Esme realized that it wasn’t necessarily all bad to gain so much weight. Of course, she had curves before carrying a child. And she had noticed in passing that her chest had expanded as generously as the rest of her. But it wasn’t until she heard the rasp in Sebastian’s voice, and saw the way he shuddered just from touching the heavy swell of her breast, that she saw a benefit in the situation.

She melted into him as if the baby in her belly didn’t exist, as if they were kissing in a bedchamber. He was kissing her back, his mouth hard and possessive, and his fingers moved over her breast in a way that sent flames through her body and weakened her resolve even further. A craving, that’s what she felt. A craving for him, for Sebastian, a thirst that had only grown in the six months they’d been separated.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he said, and his voice was smoky with desire. He pulled back. “I dreamed of you until I thought I was going insane, Esme. I came back because I de-160 Eloisa James

cided it was better to return than endure any more of those dreams.”

His words brought her back a measure of sanity. “We can’t do this!” she gasped, pulling back so quickly that she almost fell over. He steadied her.

“Why not?”

She gaped at him. “What’s happened to you, Sebastian Bonnington? I used to call you a Holy Willy when you were engaged to Gina. Sometimes I thought you lived for the moments when you could catch me in an indiscretion and read me a lecture!”

“I did,” he said. “Because I wanted to talk to you, Esme. I wanted to watch that flush rise in your cheeks, and find your magnificent eyes focused only on me, not on other men. I didn’t ever want to see you flirting with a simpleton like Bernie Burdett. I wanted you only looking at me.”

“But you were engaged to Gina.”

He shrugged. “We were friends for years, and it seemed an entirely reasonable marriage.”

She scowled. “That’s a foolish notion—a reasonable marriage.”

“You were married,” he said quietly.

“Yes, in a reasonable marriage.”

“I think Gina and I would have been kinder to each other than you and Miles were. I genuinely love Gina and I respect her enormously.”

“Miles loved me!”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, he was genuinely fond of me,” she snapped.

“He didn’t respect you.”

She looked away with a careless shrug. “Well, who could?

Early in our marriage, I behaved like a strumpet . . . But I loved Miles. It’s true that I didn’t love him in an amorous fashion, but there are very few love matches made these days.”