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Her face crumbled. “You’ve ruined everything! You always do! All I wanted was a first kiss to remember as I grow old. Now, all I will remember is your hateful kiss.”
Bloody hell. He should have known that was her first kiss. How could that bloody fool Bolton never even have kissed his fiancée of three months? Simon drew in a breath. There must be a way to make this right for her because no woman should have that punishing kiss as her first. Slowly, he drew her closer. Using every bit of charm he’d gained over the past ten years, he bent to kiss her jaw.
“Who said your first kiss was over yet?” he whispered before tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue.
“I don’t want you to be my first.”
He suddenly wanted to be her first everything. Trailing hot kisses down her jaw, he found the crease of her lips. Gently, he pulled her against him as he plucked light kisses on her lips. Feeling her tremble, he eased his lips over hers once more. As her lips softened, he let his tongue slide along the crease of her lips, praying she would open to him.
“Angel, open your mouth.”
Her lips gaped slightly but just enough for him to slip his tongue into her mouth. Feeling her tense, he gently swiped his tongue across hers until she moaned. Just as quickly, she was kissing him back, pressing her tongue to his, twining her arms around his neck, and pressing her soft body closer to his. God, she was a delight. Timid and then bold. Allowing him to teach her until she wanted to take control, and then he let her take it.
He was a fool to kiss her, to taste the whisky she had been drinking. He felt like a man deprived of water, who suddenly had a well from which to drink. Cupping her cheeks, he slanted his lips over hers again and again, desperate to have more of her but knowing he could take this no further.
In a sudden movement, she pressed against his chest and pushed away from him with a slight gasp.
“No,” she cried, shaking her head. “No, no, no! Oh God, no!”
Not exactly the reaction he’d expected after such a passionate encounter.
“Not you,” she said before racing from the room.
He stared at the open door, unsure of what happened. How had an ardent kiss achieved such an adverse reaction? He’d been certain she enjoyed it. What the bloody hell just happened?
“Simon, have you seen Emma?” Louisa asked at the threshold. “She spoke with Ainsley but then disappeared.”
He shook his head to erase the memories and then smiled at his sister-in-law. “Yes, I returned to fetch my glass and ran into her. She asked me to tell you that she had a headache and decided to retire.”
Louisa tilted her head and stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Very well, thank you.”
“Are you taking my favorite boy to bed?”
“Yes,” she said, rubbing George’s back.
He walked over and kissed his nephew’s head. “Good night, little boy.”
“You need to marry and have children of your own,” she said lightly.
“Perhaps someday,” he lied. But one thing he knew for certain, tonight, he would return to the library and make sure Emma Drake did not kiss Ainsley.
EMMA PACED THE CONFINES of her bedchamber, trying to determine how she could have reacted so intently to Kingsley’s kiss. This was dreadful. Beyond dreadful...horrible! She could not be attracted to one of the biggest scoundrels in London. She pressed a hand to her belly.
Oh, but that kiss.
The sensual feel of his lips on hers, his tongue brushing against hers. It had overwhelmed her senses and peace of mind. He was everything Mamma had told her to stay far away from when she was younger. Still, she had to admit it was a first kiss she would not soon forget.
“Emma, are you all right?”
Emma tilted her head up and stared at the ceiling. If she didn’t open the door, her sister would find a way in and then determine what happened. “Yes, I’m well.”
Louisa opened the door and entered the room. “You certainly don’t look like you have a headache.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“I was told that you had a headache and retired.”
“Ainsley was wrong. I am quite fine, just a little tired.” Emma finally sat down.
