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She wanted this man…the shock of it almost killed Charity. Oh, God. She had quite lost her mind. Charity was about to step back when he snapped his gaze to hers. The unchecked lust in his eyes stole her breath, and suddenly she understood why he was afraid to have her under his roof for two weeks.
He wanted her? Surely…surely she was mistaking the matter. The very idea was absurd.
Lord Ralston watched her thoughts whirling across her face with something akin to lazy interest. Yet the longer they stared at each other in fraught silence, she could reach no other conclusion. The very proper Earl of Ralston was very possibly attracted to her. The notion did not frighten her in the least, instead a jolt of thrill scythed down her spine.
“My lord…Ethan,” she whispered from lips that felt numb.
At the intimate use of his name, his blue eyes darkened. He was thinking of her in terms of…of sensual pleasure.
“Are you suggesting I might find myself ravished under your roof?” she daringly asked.
He prowled over to her, never once taking his brilliant gaze from her face. “I prefer not to make sweeping statements,” he murmured.
She felt…ensnared.
His hand darted out to slip around her waist and drew her to slam against his body. The feel of him pressed against her had her pulse tapping a wonderfully crazy rhythm in her body. She was immediately, overwhelmingly conscious of everything about him. The vivid, perfect beauty of his eyes seemed to reflect the blue of the deepest part of the ocean. The touch of his body, the inherent strength in those broad shoulders enveloped her senses.
She was most emphatically aware of his hands over her waist and senses that had remained dormant…well, senses that had never been stimulated in all her life…awakened on a surge of stunning want.
Oh! All from being clasped in his arms. “My lor…lord…,” she stammered, blushing furiously.
Charity never stammered and felt wretched to have been brought so low.
The earl’s head dipped, and he caught her mouth in a tender yet ravishing kiss. Her knees truly weakened. With a soft gasp, she wrapped her hands around his forearms, holding tightly, as he ravished her mouth with exquisite thoroughness. An alarming heat pooled low in Charity’s belly, and, with a soft moan, she responded to his kiss. Or tried to. She had never kissed a gentleman before, and she accidentally knocked their foreheads together when she tried to get closer.
That did not seem to matter, for he angled their heads perfectly, and everything then seemed to click in place. It was no longer awkward. His tongue licked along her lips, and she opened her mouth to let him inside. A wanton moan spilled from her as their tongues touched in a sensual glide. Their mouths moved in wonderful synchronicity. She’d never known that a kiss could last so long, that it could have moved from awkward to sweet and passionate. Pleasure pitched and roiled through her as Charity touched him all over, unable to stop the need blossoming through her heart. She touched him. His hair, his face, his neck, his shoulders, his back.
“You are so wonderfully hard all over,” she murmured, truly awed.
“Am I?”
Flushing with mortification, she pulled back, staring up at him. “You kissed me.”
“You should understand now,” he said gruffly. “I am a man who wants to bed you.”
“I gather that is not a marriage proposal,” she whispered, knotting her fingers together.
“It is a warning that should you stay at my country house, you might find yourself compromised before the week is out. Now to protect your virtue and to maintain my honor, you will convey your regret to Jenna.”
Charity dipped into a curtsy, straightened, turned around and walked away. At the door, she paused with her hand on the latch, trying to understand the complex emotions tumbling through her. She was five and twenty and had never experienced a kiss before. Or the tender touch of a lover. Or to see such want in a man’s eyes. Yet somehow, she had inspired all of that in one of London’s most eligible bachelors, even if he was frightfully proper and so very different from her.
There was nothing proper about that kiss.
The ghost of it whispered across her swollen lips, and it was as if he was kissing her again. Charity felt the soft heat of his sensual mouth, tasted his flavor of coffee and fire. Shifting around, she noted he stood still, his hands clenched at his side as he observed her retreat.
There was nothing in his expression to help to settle the butterflies that were dancing in her stomach. In truth, the earl appeared as if he wanted to devour her and fought with the desire.
“My lord,” she said softly, tossing whatever little propriety she had left to the winds. “Invitation accepted.”
