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Before I can think better of it, I gather up his other hand and bring it to my chest. My eyelids flutter closed at the feel of his palm against the upper curve of my breast. It heaves against his hand, and I wonder if he can even feel the beat of my heart through the rapid pulse of my lungs. When I dare to open my eyes, Dante’s face hovers over mine, lips parted, gaze rich with want.
I haven’t seen that look in so long, but I recognize it. It draws out the fiery part of me I’ve tried so hard to smother down.
With a sly grin, I free my hand from under his, sliding it from his chest to behind his neck. Then, tilting my head back, I drink in the increasing desire flooding his blue irises. It fuels my boldness like a heady nectar.
“Amelie,” he says, half whisper, half groan, “tell me what you want.”
“Kiss me,” I say, my tone far more demanding than his.
Without hesitation, he obeys.
18
His lips crush into mine, and I melt into him, pulling him closer to me. A sense of pride mingles with the pleasant warmth still burning inside me. It grows as I feel him come undone in my arms, eliciting a deep groan against my mouth. I echo the sound with a soft sigh and part my lips to sweep my tongue against his. His hand stiffens against my upper breast, still closed over my heart, and my pride glows brighter. In this moment I have power over him, dominance, even as I yield and soften. It’s something I haven’t fully experienced since I was younger, back when lust was my second language. Back then, I experienced this feeling on the regular, sought it out. I didn’t think I wanted to feel this way anymore. Not after the trouble this sort of behavior once got me in. But now, with him…
It’s all I want.
I tilt my head, letting our kiss deepen. With one arm, he reaches behind me and hefts me onto the counter. Lifting my skirts slightly, I widen my legs so he can stand between them. We close even more space until none remains. I lace my hands through his hair and arch into his touch, drawing attention to the less-than-chaste positioning of his hand. He obliges my wordless request, trailing his fingers from the upper curve of my breast, down to the skin along the deep, lacy neckline of my dress, then to cup me fully. Thank the All of All I’m not wearing a corset with my gown—due to the keyhole cutout in the bust—and can feel the warmth of his palm. His lips leave mine to brush my cheek, the lobe of my ear, then down the column of my neck.
“Amelie.” Dante groans my name against my collarbone, his grip tightening on my breast. I throw my head back, aching for more of his lips, his touch, his—
“Miss Fairfield!”
The unwelcome voice douses my desire. Dante stiffens, and we both swivel our heads toward the door. There Maureen Vance stands, hands on her hips as she casts her condemning gaze at us.
Dante takes a step back, releasing me to slide off the counter. But it’s too late. She saw the position we were in, saw his hand groping my breast. Rage burns through me, a deep and monstrous thing that rails against having to treat something as beautiful as an impassioned kiss like something shameful. Even as I acknowledge my ire, I know the fault lies with me. Dante and I shared a heated kiss in a public powder room at a human social event. I should have known better. Idoknow better.
Lust, some bitter part of me taunts.Romance. They will always be your ruin.
Mrs. Vance stomps forward, mouth agape. She tries to look scandalized, but I can tell she’s far more smug than shocked. Another woman follows behind her, and I wonder if she saw too. From her pale face and her too-wide eyes, I think she must have. In fact, she might be the woman who tried to enter the room when Dante first came in, before he ordered her out. I was too focused on Dante then, but damn it, of course she would have told someone. A man being caught alone with a woman in a powder room is cause enough for scandal. Whether she told someone to gain help in saving my virtue or to expose my misdeed, it matters not. The damage is done.
A public display of amorous affection is one of the worst social crimes in human society, regardless of whether the kiss is between strangers, engaged lovers, or a married couple. It simply isn’t done.
“How vulgar!” Mrs. Vance shouts. “Have you no respect for this fine establishment? Clearly you have none for yourself.”
Dante takes a forbidding step toward the woman, but I still him, placing my hand on his forearm. He halts at once and straightens his coat and cravat. Then, with deadly calm, he retrieves his cane from the counter. “Fret not,” he says through his teeth. “My fiancée and I were just leaving. Miss Fairfield is feeling unwell and nearly fainted. I was attending to her, as you saw just now.”
It’s a terrible lie, one that couldn’t possibly convince anyone who saw us with their own eyes. Others, though, may believe the story. Especially those who witnessed me rushing from the red carpet in such haste.
Dante takes my hand and leads us toward the door. That’s when I see several other women crowding the hall. Did they too catch us kissing but were too polite to do anything but scurry away?
I try to keep my head held high as we pass Mrs. Vance, despite needing to play the part of the fainting maiden. For her, I will not debase myself.
She scoffs as we reach the doorway. “Holly Abercrombie must have been unwell too, Your Highness. Do you attend to all women the same way? Or just the loose ones?”
Dante pauses midstep, chest heaving. A vein pulses at his temple, and I’m certain he’s on the verge of doing something reckless. I know because his rage is my own, burning my blood and threatening to explode from my palms like before.
Giving Dante’s hand a reassuring squeeze, I look over my shoulder with a saccharine smile. “Maybe you should ask your husband instead. He’s quite the expert at giving unwanted attention to women, is he not? Good evening, Maureen. I do hope you enjoy the play.”
With that, Dante and I march from the powder room hand in hand.
* * *
The silence fillingthe cab is a heavy one. Dante and I stare in opposite directions, each looking out at the night sky as the coach makes its way back to my hotel. He managed to find us an unattended back door to escape the theater from without having to walk past the reporters again. But ever since we made it to my cab, Dante won’t look at me. Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t know what I’d do if I saw regret in his eyes.
Then again, shouldn’t he regret what we did? Better yet…shouldn’t I? My reputation hit an all-time low, even before we were caught by Mrs. Vance. Now she’ll do whatever it takes to make our moment of indiscretion public. At least she didn’t drag a photographer along with her.
Even though I know I should feel at least a little regret over my behavior, I can’t regret our kiss. It warmed my soul in a way I haven’t felt in a long time, if ever. No matter how our moment of intimacy ended, it felt good being lost in it. Swept up by it. Consumed by passion.
