Page 206 of Dukes for Dessert

He leaned forward, and Margaret sucked in a startled breath over his advance. And yet... she didn’t withdraw into her seat. She swallowed convulsively.

“Perhaps,” he said, “because of the way you are once again ogling my mouth.’

“I am not!” Margaret argued, though she knew it must be a lie. She was decidedly aware of those lips, and not much else. In fact, scarce could she seem to remember even to breathe. She had to remind herself to exhale.

Her imagination? Or did it seem as though he leaned a fraction closer?

Margaret swallowed any words of protest as his hand reached out to touch her face... so gently she might have thought his fingers formed of mist—a brush of warm flesh that made her breast swell with pent up emotion. She shivered as the tip of his finger tapped her chin, before sliding down beneath, and ever so tenderly, cupping it and lifting her face to gaze evenly into his.

Margaret lowered her lashes, afraid to look into his eyes.

“No?” he asked, his voice no more than a whisper.

“N-No,” she croaked, but then she betrayed herself, closing her eyes. And she couldn’t seem to move away as he leaned close. Sweet, sweet love, what was it about this man that drew her so inexorably? What was it that made her yearn to be so bold? To be held by him? Why now did she longed to be kissed by those wickedly beautiful lips?

He sighed. “Perhaps ‘tis only me.”

“Only you?”

“Because I must confess… I cannot seem to stop myself from staring at your disconcertingly beautiful mouth.”

Margaret dared not breathe after his confession. “You cannot?”

“No,” he murmured. “I cannot.” And then he asked softly, his voice a caress in itself, “Would you deny me now if I begged you, pretty please?”

“Pretty please?”

Margaret’s thoughts simply would not coalesce; her brain seemed suddenly as mushy as the puddles she used to trample through as a girl…

Some glimmer of memory tickled her subconscious, but fled as quickly as it reared, leaving Margaret to feel an overwhelming desperation to chase it.

Gabriel moved closer, until their breaths were mingled like a warm, gossamer veil between them, and she thought perhaps he must be about to kiss her. And more, she had a perplexing feeling she wasn’t going to refuse him…

Her breasts tingled with anticipation, tiny prickles that titillated her and stirred liquid heat in her belly.

“Would you like me to kiss you, Maggie?”

Her body slumped forward, and she sighed, no longer able to think at all. His voice mesmerized her, delighted her, sent shivers racing up and down her spine…

“I believe so,” she said, lapping at lips gone dry. “Perhaps only once.” And then… and then… she could stop thinking about it once and for all…

* * *

Gabriel chuckled at her artless response.

Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. The sweet dew of her mouth shone on her lips, and his own mouth went dry as dust.

So much for good intentions.

So much for waiting.

So much for contracts.

Alas, but how could any man refuse lips as luscious as hers?

How could he be expected to turn away from this temptation when she sat so near, smelling so sweet?

How in God’s name could he refuse her, when the gentle rise and fall of her breast, and her quickened breath, were but tantalizing glimpses of the passion he knew full well lay tempered within? He knew the fiery girl she had been, and suspected he would delight in the fire she hid. After all, what chance had he of convincing himself that this could be wrong when it felt… so… right?

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