Page 59 of The Wolf of Mayfair
Go, leave, flee, run,a voice in Helia’s mind screamed. This place she’d run to in search of sanctuary couldn’t possibly offer safety, when this man posed a peril of his own.
Not because she truly thought Wingrave might do her actual harm. Nay, it was because she feared the overwhelming feelings he wrought—ones she’d never experienced and ones she didn’t understand.
For Helia prided herself on being rational, certainly not the sort of ninny who’d carry a tendre or, for that matter, feelanythingfor a man who at every turn sought to unsettle and scare her.
So how to explain any of this?
That scornful grin on his lips deepened ... as if he’d sensed her inner turmoil and relished in that disquietude.
“You look about ready to faint, sweetheart.”
His breath bore the sweet hint of vanilla and mint, like he’d been sucking upon a peppermint candy stick. That innocent aroma had a dizzying effect; it clouded her senses and left her with a shameful yearning to know his kiss and taste of him.
Lord help her.
“I’m n-not the fainting sort,” she rejoined, wishing her voice had been as steady and unaffected as his own.
With a ponderous slowness that both allowed her and dared her to pull away, Wingrave—nay, Anthony—reached out the same hand that had stroked her cheek moments ago and cupped Helia, this time by the jaw.
His gently unbreakable grip bore an unexpected tenderness.
“You haven’t run, little kitten,” he said in silken tones that bore an underlining of steel and mockery.
His dark-blue eyes slipped to her mouth. “Dare I take that to mean youwantmy kiss this time?”
Her belly quickened.
I do.She did. She’d wanted it before, when the storm had raged, but she’d been too afraid of this pull he had over her.
Belatedly, Helia compressed her lips, in a bid to hide their tremble.
The glitter in his shrewd eyes silently mocked her for thinking she might have any secrets from him. He stroked the pad of his right thumb along her bottom lip.
It was just a touch. She’d absently rubbed her mouth any number of times, not even giving it so much as a passing consideration. And yet, his amazingly sure, bold caress choked out logic and chased away all thoughts. Helia found herself hypnotized by that back-and-forth glide of his finger across her lip.
Her lashes fluttered, bringing his coolly knowing visage in and out of focus.
“I will take your lack of denial and that hungry little way you’re biting at that flesh as an ‘aye,’ Helia,” he murmured.
Helia.
She drew in a shaky, breathless inhalation. There it was again, her Christian name uttered upon his beautifully hard lips. The sound of those three syllables huskily spoken was like a wonderfully warm caress.
And still, he did not kiss her. He did not ravage her lips, or take them in a punishing possession that robbed her of choice and put his own desires to the forefront.
“Nothing to say?” he taunted. “Do you intend to flee again, so I can’t take your body and mouth the way I wish?”
His words liquefied her, and surely she should possess horror that she responded to him so, but strangely, she didn’t. Existing in its stead, however, was a thrill born from the lamentations about her reputation.
Helia lifted her gaze to his and held his stare. “You can’t take what I freely give, Anth—”
With a savage growl, Wingrave brought his mouth down hard on hers.
Nay,Anthony.
And this, her first kiss, was not the tender, gentle meeting she’d always thought she would know. Rather, there was a primal rawness to Anthony’s claim.
He slanted his lips over hers again and again, plundering, punishing. Her? Or himself, for wanting her?
