Page 6 of The Lady Was Lying
What did she know of his problems?
Maybe he was impoverished. Or on the brink of ruin. Maybe he was a wastrel. Or a prude. His pristinely tailored evening wear made it impossible to discern anything except that he was a gentleman. She considered asking for his identity, but it was none of her business, so she simply nodded slowly.
“Are you…uh…fond of balls?” he ventured when she stayed silent.
She chuckled. “I’m lurking in the dark far enough from the ballroom that I can’t even hear the music. Not exactly the behavior of a woman who is enamored with society and its trappings.”
He studied her as if he wasn’t sure what to make of her. “You don’t like to dance?”
“It’s tolerable.” She’d enjoy it much more if it didn’t come with expectations.
“I enjoy dancing,” he responded even though she didn’t ask. “Gives me something to focus on, and it’s infinitely easier than conversing.”
In full agreement with the last part, she smiled a little. “Conversing is the worst.”
“The worst,” he echoed with a slight smile of his own.
Once again, she briefly wondered whether she ought to recognize him and then considered introducing herself. Witnessing his reaction to her name would reveal quite a bit about him. Had he heard the whispers about her promiscuous behavior? Or was he so new to society that he didn’t know of her at all?
If she were smart, she would bid him good evening and then slip away, but something about his manner intrigued her, so she did something far more dangerous than tell him who she was—she released the full force of her sensuality. Slowly and deliberately, she shifted so she was bathed in the moonlight.
All of her assets were on full display in the shimmering golden gown, and experience had taught her that she could be rather potent, but his gaze didn’t so much as flicker away from her face. Other than scrutinizing her when he’d asked if she was cold, he seemed unaware of her physical appearance.
His lack of reaction felt like a challenge. Or a dare.
One that she shouldn’t accept.
It came as no surprise that she wanted his attention to drop to her rose-tinted lips, exposed bosom, and slightly flared hips. She might have railed about the wanton nature of men on more than one occasion, but she was nothing if not contrary, and even though she shouldn’t, she desired his admiration.
After all, if he didn’t appreciate her, how would she get him to kiss her?
Her thoughts halted. No. No. No.
Kissing him was a terrible idea, and until that moment, she hadn’t even realized she was considering it. But between his blush, his stammering, and his lack of leering, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to feel his lips on hers. Would kissing him be different from kissing other men? Could he be the one who would finally make her feel something?
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t appreciated the look of the men she had kissed in the past. Thick thighs, broad shoulders, and a noticeable bulge were attractive, but physical attributes were simply not enough to inspire lust, or passion, or love. She had no real reason to think this time would be different—and his face wasn’t even that striking—but the possibility seemed worth the risk.
As she watched, he crossed his arms over his chest and then uncrossed them and let them fall to his sides. His beauty wasn’t the kind that made it impossible to look away, but she couldn’t deny that he was neither too short nor too tall, with features that were even and reasonably pleasing.
In the silence, he seemed almost vulnerable, and her willpower was not strong enough to resist stepping closer and unleashing the charisma that had never failed her. It was akin to pulling heavy drapes aside and letting sunlight flood a shadowy room.
Slowly and deliberately, she arched her back and licked her lips. She imagined luring him closer, and as if she’d choreographed it, his gaze finally dropped and obediently locked onto her mouth. His eyes flared slightly as they traced the path of her tongue, but he didn’t react in any other way.
He didn’t attempt to initiate contact. Nor did he give her any indication that he might be overwhelmed by desire. For some reason, she wasn’t deterred by his infinitesimal response. If anything, his lack of reaction made her want to try harder.
Of all the men she’d kissed, she’d never met one who wasn’t easily seduced. In her experience, men simply took as if it was their due, and a man who didn’t was a rare specimen, indeed.
Slowly inching closer, she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth and let her eyelids drop a fraction, so her gaze was sultry rather than direct. The time she’d spent practicing before her mirror proved worth it when his eyes widened slightly.
Power flooded through her.
He couldn’t help being seduced by her.
No one could.
Waiting until her bottom lip was plump and glistening, she beckoned him forward with nothing but the promise of her body and whispered, “Kiss me.”
As if in a trance, he leaned forward until they were so close to each other that his breath ghosted over her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as she waited for him to close the remaining distance between them. Anticipation was the best part of every kiss she’d ever experienced. It allowed her to imagine, however briefly, that the man in front of her was the one she’d been searching for.
