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Anger flashed through her. The famous lover had kissed her with all the finesse of a navvy breaking ground for a new canal. “So can you,” she snapped.
Immediately she realized her mistake when challenge sharpened his black gaze.
“N-no,” she stammered, at last making some attempt to sidle away. So far she’d stood in his embrace like a quiescent doll. She needed to start thinking about self-preservation before it was too late.
It was too late.
“Ah, but how can any red-blooded man ignore a demand from a lovely lady?” he said silkily.
“Believe me, you should ignore it.” Her voice was as uncertain as her attempt to escape.
“Chivalry forbids.” His lips twitched with the humor that never failed to transfix her. She was so utterly brainless when it came to Ranelaw. He turned her common sense to sawdust. Before she could summon a crushing retort, his touch softened to seduction and a calculating light entered his eyes.
Run, Antonia, run. . .
Her feet didn’t heed her mind’s panicked message. Instead she waited in tremulous silence for his mouth to claim hers.
At the touch of his lips, she made a muffled sound in her throat. She clenched her hands in his coat, ready to push him away. Until he began to ravish her mouth and her knees turned to water. The salty, spicy taste of Ranelaw flooded her senses.
Briefly everything but pleasure receded. With a sigh, she sagged into his arms. Impossibly she felt him hesitate, as though her abrupt surrender disconcerted him. Before she could take advantage of the fleeting reprieve, his mouth moved in unmistakable demand. Everything dissolved into heat. Her mouth opened wide, her tongue curled over his in welcome, her arms circled his powerful body, drawing him closer.
Antonia shut her eyes and drowned in hot, black delight. Deep in the recesses of her mind, she admitted this was what she wanted from him. Had always wanted. It was wrong, but his kiss made her feel more alive than anything else in the past ten years.
“You taste so sweet, Antonia . . .” he murmured against her neck. He bit down on the tendons until she trembled.
He returned to her lips, kissing her so violently that she staggered. As she stumbled, he caught her and dragged her tighter against him. She felt the nip of his teeth, the rough velvet of his tongue against hers.
Through the symphony of desire, discordant bells clanged warning. She must end this shattering pleasure. Before she was lost.
Weakly she pushed at his chest even as she stretched upward to seek more delicious torment. Her body arched shamelessly into his, relishing the heavy weight of his rod against her belly. She wanted to touch him there. She wanted to hold him in her hand. She wanted him to push that hard length inside her until this restless, throbbing need ignited in a climax to eclipse anything she’d known with Johnny Benton.
Stop.
Don’t stop. . .
Her attempt to hold Ranelaw away turned into a feverish exploration of his chest. He was as hot as a big open fire. She wanted his waistcoat and his fine linen shirt gone. She wanted his skin against hers.
She wanted . . . him.
His hands moved up and down her back in rhythm with the movement of his lips. She drifted into a fog of sensation. A place that held only Ranelaw and his rich scent. Still he pressed her, giving no quarter. She felt dizzy, off-balance, bewitched.
Incapable of protest.
Until one hard hand closed over her breast. Her nipple tightened,
and sharp pleasure slashed through her bedazzlement like lightning through a cloudy sky.
She realized what she did. He kissed her and she let him. Worse, she encouraged him to pursue this encounter to its end.
Where only misery lurked.
For the sake of fickle pleasure, she’d once sacrificed everything. She’d never do it again, no matter how intoxicating Ranelaw’s kisses.
She ripped her lips from his and forced out the word she must say. “No.”
The denial nearly killed her. Wild, unleashed Antonia, reveling in her first freedom in years, screamed in protest. Wild, unleashed Antonia demanded more of Lord Ranelaw, the way a drunkard craved gin.
He returned to kissing her neck, shooting arrows of heat straight to her belly. His hand opened and closed on her breast, making her shake with arousal. She sucked breath into lungs starved of air. She gripped his arms. Pride insisted the action was intended to control any further incursions. Brutal honesty made her admit she just wanted to touch him.
