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Yes, he did look like a rogue.
In the best possible way.
“If this is not a highway robbery, then would you mind helping me back into my seat?” Her elbows were starting to turn numb, and she’d lost all feeling in her knees and toes around the time he had asked if she was stuck. “I would greatly appreciate your assistance.”And your discretion.If word of this ever got back to Eloise, she’d never hear the end of it.
His brow furrowing, he studied her as if she were a difficult puzzle. “Where should I, ah, begin?”
“My arms? If I could leverage myself sideways and then twist around–”
Large hands, warm and steady, cupped her hips and Annabel could have sworn that the stars in the sky glowed a little brighter as a spark of electricity zinged from under her tongue all the way to the soles of her feet.
“Like this?” he said, his voice a husky rumble against her ear as he leaned in close, pressing his front to her back and his face to her hair. Her nostrils filled with this scent; a crisp note of bergamot with a rich, underlying hint of tobacco. “My lady?”
On a silent quiver of awareness, for everything this man was doing to her and everything all of the others had failed to do, Annabel managed a jerky nod. “Y-yes. Just…just like that.”
His fingers slid upwards, traveling with torturous slowness along her ribcage before they halted just shy of her breasts. He tightened his grip, a light flexing that nearly yanked a moan from the depths of her throat, before he manipulated her body in such a way that she was able to sit up on her knees, and then up onto the seat itself, where she sagged bonelessly into the corner and wondered how on earth she had ever been cold when the carriage was swelteringly hot.
“There you are.” He grinned, revealing both a dimpleanda set of even white teeth. The corners of his eyes crinkled, gray irises shining with amusement and a sliver of something else. Something darker. Something that sent a delicious shiver down her spine. “All better. I hope the rest of your night is less eventful, and you make it home without crossing paths with any more drunk fools.” He tipped two fingers to his temple in mock salute, and pivoted on his heel.
“Wait,” she called out before he could walk away.
“Yes, my lady?”
“There is one more thing that I require of you.”
Under his cloak, his shoulders stiffened. “And what is that?”
She wet her lips. “A kiss.”
3
A Kiss of Moonlight Madness
Had she actuallysaid that outloud?
Yes, Annabel answered herself dazedly when the stranger’s gaze found hers in the dark and the flare of heat in his eyes scorched her to the bone.Yes, I did.
To date, she had kissed three men in her life.
The first kiss, with Lord Thomas Vane, occurred–somewhat predictably–in a hayloft at the tender age of fourteen. Tom (for that’s what she had called him, as they’d known each other since they were in swaddling), had coaxed her into the loft under false pretenses. With the arrogance of men young and old, he had promised her heaven…but when she climbed down the ladder, all she had was slimy lips and a vague sense of disappointment.
Thatwas kissing?
Yeck.
Her second time was a considerable improvement. Colin was the local butcher’s son, and while such a liaison was forbidden, that’s what made it so exciting. In a rare fit of impulsiveness far more suited to Eloise, she had snuck out her bedroom window when the moon was full and her heart was racing. Colin had met her in a nearby meadow, and had guided her–a tad tentatively at first, but it got better as it went on–into her firstrealkiss. Complete with a dreamy sigh afterward.
Then there was Lord Whitlock, the Marquess of Treshlawn and a memory she’d burn from her mind if she could, as he’d cornered her in the library at Clarenmore Park during a house party and slammed his mouth onto hers with such force that she’d bitten her tongue and covered them both in flecks of blood. Disgusted, Lord Whitlock had reeled away…straight into James’s waiting fist.
It had taken Annabel’s father and two other guests besides to pull her brother off the marquess. She had never seen him so enraged, before or after. Bleeding and already bruising, Lord Whitlock had been escorted off the property, and no one ever spoke of it again. Not Lord Whitlock’s actions, or the uncontrolled rage that had reverberated through James.
Three kisses. Three men. Three very different experiences.
Was she about to have her fourth?
“What–what did you say?” her Adonis rasped, a muscle ticking high in his jaw.
Goodness, but he really was beautiful. And she wasn’t vain or shallow. Except…except maybe in this instance, she was. Just a little. But it wasn’t her fault. It washis. For looking the way that he did.
