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Her hands crossed in her lap as she resisted the urge to tap her foot; an old habit that only surfaced when she was genuinely nervous…or terribly excited. “I’d like you to kiss me,” she said boldly, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze beneath a coquettish fan of blonde lashes. “It seems only fair that I am granted a boon after what you put me through. You tried to rob my carriage.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” he scoffed, but it did take a step towards her. Then another, and another, until his rangy frame filled the entire doorway, blocking out the light and the hum of voices from the far side of the rig where the stranger’s friends and her driver remained locked in conversation. “It was a simple misunderstanding.”
She canted her head. “If that was simple, I’m not sure if I would want to see what you consider to be complicated.”
“You.” His hand left the doorframe to slide along the finely boned edge of her jaw, his thumb brushing across her cheek. “You’recomplicated.”
Her eyes darkened, pupils flooding with a desire that she didn’t bother trying to hide. Why would she? This–whatever happened here, between them–did not count in the outside world. No one need know that she had ever played at seduction with a nameless rogue. No one need know that she had ordered him to kiss her. No one need know that the curls between her thighs were wet with wanting.
In the outside world, she was Lady Annabel. Flawless and refined. Expected to make a grand match. But here, in the shadows, she could be whoever she wanted.
“Complicated?” She leaned, ever-so-slightly, into his palm. A cat stretching up for the stroke of a hand along its silky fur. “What makes you say that?”
“It’s written over every inch of you.” With the tip of his index finger, he traced the shell of her ear before lightly massaging her lobe, and who would have ever guessed that such a small piece of her body had so many nerve endings? “You’re a lady. An innocent, although you’re not acting like it.” His gaze dipped to her mouth, and she could have sworn that she heard him groan. “If I kissed you, I’d be putting my own paw in the trap. And I do quite fancy my paws.”
“What if there is no trap?” she countered. Of its own daring, her arm stretched out and her hand splayed across the very center of his chest.
Dear Lord, he trulywasmade of marble. Hard, smooth, cool marble. She wanted to put him in her house as a decoration. A statue sprung to life that she could kiss whenever she wanted…along with other, wickeder things that proper young ladies weren’t supposed to know about but she did courtesy of an extensive library and inquisitive sisters. There had been a single book in particular, an inconspicuous tome bound in green leather, that had held them all captivated into the wee hours of the morning.
Enquiry into the Duties of the Female Sexhad begun with a list of domestic chores, but had quickly veered off into the realm of bedroom matters…and all the ways that a good wife could please her husband. Courtesy of her Latin schooling, Annabel had recognized one word that kept cropping up again and again.
Fellare, an inflection offello, meant quite literally ‘to suck’.
“I’m meant to putthatin mymouth?” Eloise had asked, her entire face wrinkling in revulsion. “Disgusting. No. Absolutely not. I’d rather eat a worm.”
Bridget, brows lifted in curiosity, had turned her head to the side. “If you look at the picture from this angle, itdoeslook somewhat like a worm. A big, fat, one-eyed wor–”
“That’s enough.” Her face burning bright red, Lenora had slammed the book shut and returned it promptly to the shelf. “We–we shouldn’t have read that. Let’s pretend that we didn’t.”
But several nights later, when sleep proved most elusive, Annabel had tiptoed back down the stairs and foundEnquiry into the Duties of the Female Sex, whereupon she’d read it cover to cover by candlelight...burning the images and the text that had accompanied them into her mind. So while she was, technically, an innocent, she was also privy to far more knowledge about the art of sexual coupling than a young lady of her sheltered upbringing ought to be.
“It’s just a kiss,” she told the stranger, nails biting lightly into his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. He was not wearing a cravat, or any other sort of neck tie, and his collar was unbuttoned, revealing a V-shaped swath of bronzed skin. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
He lifted his brow at that. “A kiss should always mean something. It’s either a goodbye, or a promise, or a hello. Empty kisses are the worse sort, because they’re entirely forgettable. A kiss should be worthwhile enough to be remembered, and never so terrible that it becomes a regret.”
“Is that why you won’t kiss me?” She trailed her hand lower, to the highest ridge of his abdomen, and felt his stomach muscles tighten in response when he sucked in a breath. “Because you’re terrible at it?”
A lock of hair tumbled across his forehead as he smirked at her. “I’m the opposite of terrible, sweetheart.”
He’d called her ‘my lady’ before, but she liked sweetheart better. It rang with a certain intimacy that was shared only between lovers, and she wondered if it would be rude to ask how many he’d had. Lovers, that is. At least half a dozen, she’d wager, and most likely more. This wasnotthe kind of man that a woman married…but if she wanted to writhe in ecstasy, surely there was no better candidate.
“Then show me,” she challenged, leaning towards him until their faces were so close together that she could see the tiny vapors of white stealing out of his nostrils when he exhaled.
“You’re damned persistent, aren’t you?” His fingers on her earlobe slid around to the nape of her neck. He caressed the tendons gently, digging his thumb into a knot of tension that she wasn’t even aware she’d had. It dissolved beneath his touch, and it was all she could do not to melt into a puddle on the floor of the carriage. His eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, and then he was kissing her, his mouth settling on top of hers as though it had always been there. As if itbelongedthere.
It was soft, at first. Shallow. Like stepping into the ocean and letting the white, frothy surf roll over your toes. She leaned into the pressure, instinctively grasping a handful of his shirt to anchor herself against his chest. Honey poured through her, warm and sticky. It filled her belly and began to trickle lower while his mouth continued to move over hers, turning seconds into minutes and minutes into hours.
This was not Tom, or Colin, or Lord Whitlock.
This was not like any kiss she had ever experienced before.
It was like she’d had a veil over her eyes, obscuring her vision. Hiding thetruemeaning of passion. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any better, that if this was her last kiss she’d die with a smile upon her lips, her Adonis plucked them from the shallows and plunged them right into the deep.
A vibrating growl, a slight rock of the carriage as he slammed his thighs against the bench seat, and then his fingers were in her hair, and his tongue was sliding between her lips, and…and…and.
A lick of flame whipped through her with such intensity that she was left gasping, and were it not for her steadfast grip on his shirt she might have tumbled right into his arms. He angled his head, drawing her down into depths she hadn’t even known existed, and she went willingly, fearlessly, even as a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was too much, too fast, too risky.
Oh, do be quiet,she ordered her conscience, and the voice fell silent.
