Page 72 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“Given that we are no longer involved in any semblance of a relationship, I find it somewhat curious that you would speak of kissing me.”
His eyes narrowed as he gave a nod. “I believe I referred to the act as potentially rash.”
“I would agree with that assessment,” she said, affecting a prim tone. “And impulsive as well.” Fixing a sly smile on her mouth, she grazed her fingertips along the strong lines of his chin. “And might I add, utterly ill-advised.”
His jaw went taut. His response to her touch seemed a triumph, if only a minor one.
“Indeed.” His voice was edged with gravel.
She met his gaze. “While I am here—under your roof, day and night—I presume you will remain a proper gentleman.”
“That is the plan.” His eyes flashed with an emotion she could not quite read.
“Oh yes, of course... the plan.” She brushed her fingers over dark bristles of new beard. “Frankly, Jon, I am not sure whether I should be relieved.” She lowered her voice, her tone anything but prim. “Or disappointed.”
“Perhaps you should tell me, Arabelle.” He uttered her name in a deliciously husky rasp. “Tell me what you want.”
Despite her best efforts to shield herself with a veneer of ice, the emotion in his dark gaze was all too clear. The flickers of primal hunger set her pulse racing.
He seemed to study her. “Arabelle, what is it that you truly want?”
You.
As she threaded her fingers through his straight, dark hair, her instinctive response sounded an alarm. My, she was playing a risky game—a game she could not win.
She’d taken her little ruse as far as she dared. She could not put her heart on the line. Not again. Taking a step back, she created a slight distance between them. But when she turned away, he reached for her. Gently, he caught her hand against his.
“Belle, is something wrong?”
She gave a brisk shake of her head, but he seemed to see through it. “When you spoke of a kiss, you seemed rather bold. I sensed that you were teasing me.”
“Teasing, eh?” His brows quirked, betraying his sense of intrigue. “And if I was?”
“I thought I might call your bluff.”
“Did you, now?” His mouth curved at the corners, not quite a smile. “I must admit, you had me going there. You’re a far better actress than I’d credited you.”
She hadn’t been acting. Not really. But she certainly wouldn’t tell himthattruth.
Reaching for her, he drew the pad of his thumb over the curve of her face. Gently, he tipped up her chin. “It occurs tome that you never truly answered my question—would a kiss be rash, Arabelle?”
“Perhaps,” she repeated her response, but this time, her heartbeat thudded in her ears and she could not bring herself to look away from his eyes.
“Shall we seek a definitive answer?” His query was far more civilized than the simmering heat in his gaze.
“That might prove a risky venture.” Her pulse quickened. “Perhaps even a bit reckless.”
“Indeed.” He let out a low breath, as though he debated within himself. “But I am ready to take that chance.” With a velvet-smooth touch, he traced the tip of one finger over the curve of her mouth. “Are you?”
Belle held his gaze as his question echoed in her thoughts. Could he feel the slight acceleration of her breaths? Had he sensed how intensely she reacted to his touch?
“Yes,” she said on a whisper.
“Arabelle, if I kissed you—right here, right now—would you think me utterly mad?”
When he spoke her name like that, as a husky caress, it was all she could do to maintain a shred of coherent thought. All she could do to resist the impulse to fall into his powerful arms even as a voice deep within warned her to walk away. All she could do to hold tight to the strings to her heart.
“I would think you bold. Perhaps overly so,” she said. “And most definitely impetuous.”
