Page 107 of While You Were Spying

Ethan’s gaze searched her face, but he didn’t pull away. “Is that what you really want?”

It wasn’t, and she knew he could see the truth.

His hand on her cheek dropped, and he released her waist, moving a few inches away. The only contact between them was her hand on his chest. He was making it clear the decision was hers.

She watched him, considering. She wanted to kiss him again, and she knew where that would lead. And once she went down that path, she couldn’t go back. For all the familiarity of him—his voice, his smell, his face—Ethan, the man, was still an enigma to her.

He watched her, seeming to trace the thoughts as they raced through her head. She was aware of his closeness, his scent, the heat of his body under her hand on his chest. Then she felt it—the rapid but steady pulse of his heart—beating under her fingertips. She made her decision.

Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his so lightly that she barely felt his mouth. He didn’t move, merely allowed her to kiss him. She didn’t know what she’d expected to happen. That he’d seize her in a wild embrace and kiss her senseless? That he’d sweep her off her feet and plunder her mouth as if it were a king’s treasure?

She certainly didn’t expect this restraint, the barest motion of his lips against hers. She kissed him again, lingering a little longer this time. The softness of his mouth under hers made her shiver, and she drew back.

She glanced at him for guidance. He was watching her with an intensity that made the blood rush to her head.

“Now give me a real kiss. I promise not to bite.” His voice was low and husky, teasing in its tone. But not his eyes. His eyes were all but devouring her.

She hesitated. “And if I—” She swallowed and made an awkward gesture. “If I give you a real kiss, what happens next?”

He leaned down and pushed her hair from her shoulder while his hand caressed the oval of skin bared by the bodice of her gown. His lips found her neck, and she felt them trace a torturous path from her collarbone to her earlobe. She stifled a gasp when he bit her lightly.

“What do you want to happen next?” he murmured against her sensitive flesh.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ve never—” Her voice faded away, and she felt herself blushing again. She couldn’t remember when she’d blushed so much in the space of five minutes.

Her words seemed to hit him like the first gust of wind from a coming storm. He pulled back, moved away from her and leaned against the hospital’s table, bronze hands splayed on the pale wood. She watched him lift a hand and massage the bridge of his nose. For a long moment he didn’t say anything. Why couldn’t she have let him continue instead of questioning everything?

Finally he turned to her, met her gaze. “I want you, Francesca. And—this is a first—”

She almost smiled at the bewildered look that crossed his face when he said the words.

“I will be honest with you. I could seduce you.” He said it matter-of-factly, not giving her time to argue.

She wouldn’t have anyway.

“But I’d regret it tomorrow,” he continued, “and you’d probably end up hating me. You might anyway.” He smiled ruefully. “But I want you to come to me. I want you to want me as much as I want you.”

She did. There was no question of that. But that wasn’t what she’d meant when she’d asked what came next, and he knew it. Still, he’d answered her question. He’d said he wanted her and left it at that. He didn’t make any promises, didn’t propose marriage—an amusing idea considering half the world already thought they were engaged. He had said that he didn’t want to lose her, but she knew he hadn’t meant it, couldn’t mean it. And now he hinted that, in fact, she might come to regret getting so close to him..

And, she thought as she went to him, she knew she might very well come to regret this. But she also knew she’d regret the missed opportunity even more. His legs were braced apart, and she stepped between them. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“I want you, probably more than you’ll ever want me,” she said.

“Don’t be so sure of that.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, dragging her forward so that she was pressed tightly against his chest. “Show me how much you want me,cara.”

“How? I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do?” he murmured into her hair. She thought a moment, as if the decision of how to proceed required serious thought, then leaned up on tiptoes and kissed him.

He was smiling—probably amused at her lengthy deliberations—and his lips were curved under hers at first. That would never do. She wanted to feel his heart racing, hear his quick intake of breath and the low growl in his throat when she pleased him.

Amazed at her own audacity, she traced the curve of his smile with the tip of her tongue. And smiled herself when she felt his grin fade and his hands tighten on her waist. She parted his lips and kissed him deeper, exploring him and tasting him, filling every one of her senses with the touch, flavor, and feel of him.

All of this he allowed, encouraging her with the subtle pressure of his fingers or an angling of his head to give her better access, but when her hands mirrored the actions of her lips and began to explore his body as well, she felt his control slipping.

Her fingers, at first tentative, glided over his shoulders and arms. She enjoyed rubbing her hands over the straining cords of his muscles, honed from daily riding and exercise, enjoyed how they flexed slightly when she touched them. Then she ran her hands over his chest, parting his coat so her arms could encircle him. Hesitantly, she allowed her hands to drift lower, to his slim waist and hips, and still he made no move to stop her.

Her cheek was pressed to his. She’d become so intent in her explorations of his body that she’d abandoned his lips for the moment, and she took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, and dove lower.

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