Page 18 of One Dangerous Desire
Yes. God, yes.He nodded. His body tensed, refusing every impulse urging him to reach for her.
The sincerity in her voice was an unexpected gift. As if absolution had always been simple, had always been his for the asking. This was the May he remembered. Giving. Trusting. Frighteningly naive.
Her lack of guile stoked the same impulse it had six years ago. A desire to protect her, to shelter her goodness from the ugliness he’d experienced. He must act on that urge, accept her forgiveness, and wish her well in her quest for an aristocrat. But the desire to touch her swept away all his best intentions. Her warm, scented nearness tempted him as he hadn’t been tempted in years. He knew too much about May, remembered all of it with exquisite clarity. The softness of her skin, how his hand fit perfectly in the curve of her waist, that when he kissed the spot behind her ear, she emitted erotic moans and melted in his arms.
“Does that mean you’ll grant me anything I ask?”
“Don’t push your luck, Mr. Leighton. Forgiveness is all that’s on offer this evening.” She sidestepped to move past him, and he grasped her arm lightly.
“That dress says differently.” The red frock didn’t just hug her curves; it embraced them, celebrating each and every slope and swell.
He expected her to pull away or even strike him for his teasing tone, but she simply stared down at the spot where he held her.
“I did not wear this dress for you.”
“I wish you had.” If only she had. If only he could have her and the Pinnacle and every other goal he’d yet to achieve. He didn’t need anyone to tell him it was more than he deserved. Just as he needed no one to spell out who she’d worn the dress to impress. Devenham’s gaze had been firmly affixed to her chest from the moment he pranced into Ashworth’s drawing room.
“We’re past wishes, Mr. Leighton.”
“Rex,” he corrected, sliding a hand up to skim his fingertips along the bare patch of skin between the top of her damnably long gloves and the sleeve of her gown. So soft. Just as he remembered. He wanted to touch his tongue to her skin, and find out if she still tasted sweet too.
“Your five minutes are up,Rex.”
He circled her arm and dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “This won’t take long, but it will be better if it does.”
She gasped. Not a sound of shock but a frisson of awareness. He lifted his head to look into her eyes. Smoky blue sapphire glinted back at him in the moonlight.
One taste. One kiss, and he’d walk away and let her have the life she deserved.
HE WAS GOINGto kiss her. That mercurial gaze of his fixed on her mouth. The first time he’d kissed her, he’d stared at her this way. Hot and eager, focusing on her lips as if he’d reached the end of a long journey, and she was his reward. As if nothing mattered more than pressing his mouth to hers.
Waiting breathlessly for her first kiss, her heart had thudded so fiercely she’d feared fainting or an attack of apoplexy before his lips ever touched hers.
And when they had. Mercy. That kiss had been everything—delicious, sinful, sweet, and not nearly long enough. All the rumors she’d heard had underrated every aspect of kissing. And no one had warned her how addictive it could be to kiss a man who touched her as no one had before. She still remembered the taste of him. Heaven help her, she wanted his kiss again.
May leaned in a few inches too far, nearly tipping off balance, and he reached an arm out to catch her.
“May,” he whispered, and she pressed into him. A tall, heated wall of a man who’d once been all she ever wanted. “One kiss, May.”
When his other arm slid around her waist and he pulled her in, she eased onto her tiptoes. His spice and bergamot scent was new, but all the rest felt familiar. And right. So very right.
She reached up to run a finger along the edge of that firm, square jaw of his, and he seemed to take the caress as her answer. He lowered his head and took her mouth. Not the sweet, gentle teasing of their first kiss but a deep, fierce reclaiming. Responding with her own fire, she loosed all her anger and regret, weeks and months and years of missing him. Reaching up, she slid her fingers through his hair, luxuriating in the softness and then gripping a handful to pull him closer.Mine. You should have been mine.She’d wanted him then. She wanted him now.
When a moan rumbled between them, she knew he’d crashed past all her resentment, earning a bit of the forgiveness she’d spoken of so blithely. But it wasn’t her moan. It was his, and she opened to him, letting him slip his tongue between her lips, letting his hands wander from her waist. He gripped her backside and pulled her closer, then reached up to stroke the sensitive skin of her neck, then lower, tugging at her already low bodice, skimming the edge of her corset and chemise.
She’d wanted this from the second she’d seen him again. Maybe she’d never stopped wanting him.
Arching her back, May pushed against his hand, needing him to explore the places she’d never let him touch. Their past romance had consisted of a few stolen kisses. Wonderful, drugging, unforgettable kisses but too few of them. Propriety had kept her from allowing him more. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. Now she’d give him everything and hold nothing back.
He slid his mouth from hers and kissed her cheek, then dipped lower, touching his tongue to the edge of her ear, shooting shivers all the way to her toes. He lifted his head and kissed her other cheek, gently cupped her face in his hands, as if she was precious and he needed to touch her with care. Finally, he pressed his lips to her forehead.
The gesture felt . . . strange. Comforting, reassuring, and yet completely at odds with the way his breath rasped ragged against her skin, the way the heat of his body steamed the front of her gown.
Pulling back, he gazed at her, though she could barely make out his features in the darkness. “I wish you happiness, sweet, darling May.”
Every inch of her body was on fire, but his words doused the flame.
“You wish me happiness?” she whispered. Her throat wouldn’t allow for volume. It burned with the effort of saying those few words.
