Page 7 of Untaming Lady Violet
Violet wound up sprawled across his stomach with her hips, her plush, graspable hips, nestled between his legs.
Indecently nestled between his legs.
Pressed intimately against his groin.
Grinding.There.
A rush of blood, hot and fluid, surged to that precise area. Tristan let out a tortured groan, and along with it came unmistakable panic.
His panic, not hers.
Lady Violet’s gaze locked with his. Her eyes were wide. Shocked. And such an impossible shade of blue, they appeared stained purple. Tristan never realized that her eyes were such an intense color. They sparkled like precious jewels as she gaped unblinking at him. Thick and surprisingly dark eyelashes framed the crystal-clear depths.
Rare amethysts. The rarest shade of the deepest violet.
Her tongue darted out, bringing attention immediately to a spot of blood in the center of her lower lip. She licked the crimson drop away, and before he could help himself, another groan, this one constructed of pure lust, escaped him.
It was quickly buried beneath a layer of concern.
“You are hurt.”
The words emerged as a growl, but it couldn’t be helped. An abrupt desire to protect this delicately plump female overwhelmed Tristan.
Primal. Heated. Surprising.
And completely unwelcome.
Violet stared as though he uttered nothing but sheer gibberish. Well, in all fairness, maybe he had. His head felt scrambled enough.
“Your lip… it’s cut,” Tristan prompted. Fascinated, he watched the milky hue of her cheeks turn a shade of scarlet that almost eclipsed the color of her hair.
Speaking of which… Tendrils escaped what was probably once a tidy bun arranged by her maid that very morning. Now, it was a glorious mess. Curling wisps of rich, glossy, burnished red. A bright green oak leaf accented one upswept curl still held haphazardly within the hairpins.
Another rumble issued from deep in Tristan’s throat. Violet had been Celia’s friend for years, and he was just now seeing her.Reallyseeing her.
When the hell did she grow up?
“Oh.” Violet touched a fingertip to the injury. “Is it? That-that was from before. Not from falling. I bit it, I think.”
Her voice was so soft, so… so lyrical. And so different from moments ago when a bit of feistiness laced her words. This hesitancy he heard now? Tristan did not like it at all.
“You were far more impudent up in the tree.” The corner of his lips twitched with a grin as he teased her. “Testing those claws from a safe distance, it seems. Now that has been erased, what shall the kitten do?”
A lacy scrap of a handkerchief was shoved between her breasts. It was a tempting valley, created by the modest neckline of the deep green dress she wore. Tristan considered taking the cloth and dabbing her lip, but in a flash of utter weakness, he did something entirely unexpected.
His index finger gently skated over the tiny wound in a soothing fashion until Violet’s eyes fluttered half-shut. A new blood droplet swept across the plump flesh of her lip, staining it. Dazed, she watched as he slowly brought his finger to his own mouth and sucked it clean.
Electrifying jolts of abrupt awareness coursed between them. This—this was an awakening. An unfurling. A violent spring storm rolling over the meadows and everything in its path.
She was the thunder, low and distant while he was the lightning, intense and blinding. And this attraction between them roiled immediately to life.
Sweet. Heady. Dangerous.
With a strangled squeak, Violet scrambled away in a flurry of green velvet, hampered by the tangle of her skirts.
Knife-sharp pain lanced through Tristan, sizzling nerve endings and a few he never realized existed. Dislodging Violet’s knee from his groin, he half rolled onto his side, hands fisted so he wouldn’t clutch those parts now furiously throbbing.
On her feet at last, Violet stood just out of reach. His obvious distress concerned her, evidenced by the frantic wringing of her hands.
