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There were at least a half-dozen reasons why kissing her was a bad idea.
First, this was not a leisurely holiday. They were on a quest to find Jack and Helene, and they should be preparing for a change of horses, not lingering in shared rooms in posting inns.
Second, Adelaide was a tremendous thief—which the regular collection of society idiots seemed not to have noticed—but he had noticed, and, as she was currently in possession of the most important thing he owned, kissing should be out of the question.
Third, though she did not appear to be lying to him, she was most definitely holding back enormous amounts of information relating to their quest. For that alone, he should not kiss her.
And the most important reason? Adelaide Frampton deserved a man who would kiss her, love her, and marry her. And Henry was not that man.
But in that moment, as candles and firelight cast long, dancing shadows around the room, and the aches—in his shoulder... at his side... on his cheek—waned in the fragrance of her rosemary magic and the memory of her long, lovely fingers circling the water to slowly brew her elixir, he didn’t think of any of those reasons.
Instead, he thought that Adelaide Frampton was wearing too many clothes.
And then she gasped, a soft little sigh that opened her to his kiss, and he wasn’t thinking at all. He was pulling her closer, and the box she’d been holding dropped to the carpet with a softthunkthat he might have cared about if not for the wild temptation of her mouth, wide and soft and sopretty.
When he returned to thinking, he would remind himself of all the reasons kissing her was a bad idea.
But now, those pretty lips parted and Henry deepened the kiss, aligning his mouth to hers and sliding his tongue along her full bottom lip, savoring the taste of her, sweet and sinful, as she leaned into him, sliding her hands over his broad shoulders, wrapping her arms about his neck, and pressing herself close.
Yes.With a groan of approval, he deepened the kiss, stroking his tongue over hers once, twice, before she broke the caress and tilted her face to the ceiling, baring the long pale column of her throat to him... an offering.
He took it. Knowing he shouldn’t. Knowing a gentleman wouldn’t.
Knowing he wasn’t a gentleman.
She sucked in a breath when he pressed kisses along her neck to her ear, where he whispered her name again, “Adelaide,” loving the taste of it on his tongue. The way speaking it made him feel like a thief, undeserving of the familiarity. She loved it, too, in the way her fingers slid into his hair and tightened, the sting of her grip driving him forward.
He answered the bite of her touch with a bite of his own, taking the soft lobe of her ear between his teeth, worrying the skin there until she shivered her pleasure.
He couldn’t stop his smile. “You like that.”
“Mmm,” she said, and the sound, low and rich, was nearly his undoing. He was hard and hot and the only thing that kept him from lifting her in his arms and taking her immediately to bed was the desire to undo her in turn.
“What else do you like, Adelaide Frampton?”
Her eyes flew open at the question, her pupils wide with pleasure... and something else. As though she wasn’t sure of the answer. As though she was afraid of it.
He pulled back, his thumb stroking across her cheek, something unexpected tightening in his chest as he waited for her to answer. He would have waited forever.
She whispered, “I don’t know.”
He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her lips, lingering there, marveling at her soft skin. “That was the truth. Shall I tell you the next step to opening the box?”
She gave a little laugh, her fingertips coming to rest on the bare skin of his arms. “Please don’t think less of me if I tell you I do not care about the box right now.”
He would have laughed if he hadn’t been so damn grateful for her answer. And still, he trod lightly, afraid he might scare her off. “A different game, then.”
She pulled back, her big brown eyes full of curiosity and nerves, and something tightened in his chest, unexpected and important. He released her instantly, enjoying the way her hands came to his forearms, gripping him tightly. Maybe for balance. He hoped to keep her close.
He turned from her even as she let out a little, questioning sound, and made quick work of finding his trousers—trading his towel for them before facing her once more. He worked the buttons on his falls as she watched, her gaze greedy and welcome on his still bare skin.
“Are you—” she started, then stopped, considering the next word. “Through?”
Christ, no.“Not unless you wish to be,” he said, retracing his steps to her. Slowly.
She shook her head instantly. “I do not.”
Good.“I only thought you might enjoy the game more if it was not so... urgent.”
