Page 48 of Keeping Kate
“I cannot bear to be shackled again,” she said. “You know that.”
“I am aware, lass. But you continually talk of leaving. What happened to your word to stay? What assurance do I have of that?”
“I would rather stay with you than go with Grant’s men, I can tell you that.” She watched him boldly. Alec saw a crystal spark in her eyes, felt his body answer, surging. “Can you not trust me?”
“Trust Katie Hell?” He almost laughed. “I am not as easily beguiled as you might think.” He leaned closer—too close, his body aware of her nearness.
“If you leave off the chains, I will stay. I promise.” Her glance, gray eyes silver-bright, did not waver.
His breath stirred her hair. She tilted her head, closed her eyes. Waited, as did he.
The girl’s natural allure was gentle, compelling, potent. So far, he had done his best to resist, yet once again felt drawn to her. She did not seem aware of how strong that charisma was, at least where he was concerned, for she stood watching him without guile or suggestion, more innocent than intentional. All the while, she exuded a wild, natural magic that he was determined to withstand. He leaned back.
“Promise what you will, Kate, but it may be best to secure that promise.” He clenched his hand, chains clanking. He did not want to use the things, and would not unless there was absolutely no choice. Yet this was not the moment to let her know that.
She tilted her head. “Let me prove my word.” She tipped her face a little, inviting him. Since he had first apprehended her, she had insisted on her innocence despite the rumors, and insisted she was no wanton. He believed her. Yet his heart thundered; had he been less of a gentleman, he might have followed the urge and taken her.
Kate leaned closer, nudging her nose to his, and her lips touched his tenderly. The kiss was soft, tentative, vulnerable, under it a hint of loneliness that matched his own—a kiss that wrenched his heart.
He stilled. He would not be the aggressor where he sensed vulnerability. His inherent impulse to protect was strong, but he understood hurt and loneliness too well and would not add to that in her.
She stretched toward him again, nudging, sliding an arm around his neck. Rising on her toes, she kissed him again, a soft, quiet, questioning little kiss. It melted through him and nearly undid his reserve. Nostrils flaring, he scarcely moved.
She drew back. “I promise.” Her gaze was earnest, open. “Will you believe me?”
He drew a breath, heart thumping, and clenched his fingers. The chains clanked. “I will. For now.”
“You asked for my word and I gave it.” Her body gave off a natural warmth through the cushion of their clothing. “Give me your word, then. No chains.”
“I have promised what is possible.” The heat of her stirred him like a hearth fire. He kept utterly still, leaning back a bit, though he lifted a hand to touch her arm gently.
“But I need—” She stopped, standing so close, looking up at him.
“What do you need?” he asked hoarsely. Suddenly he did not want the answer.
“I need your assurance just as you need mine. And I need—oh—” Up on her toes again, the tip of her nose to his, her lips brushing his cheek. “Do you—”
“Katie—” he began, but her lips touched his even as he spoke, and he sighed and surrendered and sank into a kiss, her hunger as keen and strong as his, for she returned the kiss with a wildness that drove him on, that stoked the fire building in him.
Stop, he told himself, even as he pressed her against the door, one palm flat on the wood, free hand tracing her shoulder and down, grazing the side of her bodice. At that, her little sigh undid him, as did her hands, coming up to sift through his hair, cup his jaw. As she pressed to him, he responded, urgent, too ready.
Madness,he cautioned himself, breath quickening, madness, this—but her gliding fingers sent a vein of lightning cutting through him, white-hot and wild. He pulsed, burned, lost reason further with the next hungry kiss and the next. She tugged at his clothing, her lips parting beneath his, her tongue cool, moist, divine, sending another keen flare through him. All the while, his body filled and hardened and he thought he might burst.
Cupping her bodice, shaping the soft, high curve of her breasts, he could feel her strong heartbeat, her breathing pattern as rapid and eager as his own. He traced kisses along her jaw, the arch of her throat, the graceful line of her collarbone, the sweet softness of her breast, and she mewled a little in his arms without protest. As his fingers worked the front lacings of her green gown, her hands were there with him, loosening, releasing the folds of her chemise, then the fullness of her breasts. She lifted her hands away, arched into him, rippled her hands through his hair, tugged at his coat, his shirt.
He raised his head to kiss her again, pressing her hard against the door, turning then, his back to the wall, her body firm and sinuous on his as he kissed her, fingertips slipping inside the chemise, finding warmth and heavy softness, and the warm pearls that made her moan at his lips, his ear. This was lunacy, to pursue this now, he thought in a fog—but sank downward as she did, down to his knees, holding her safe in his arms, kissing her to madness, dimly aware that he hovered on the brink of something that could change him—a boundless moment beyond passion. Think, he told himself.Think.
Wrapping his arms around her, he paused, ducked his head against the heated, earthy, intoxicating scent of her. Closed his eyes, breathed. That, in and of itself, felt so damnably good, satisfying, a bliss of comfort and desire.Stop,he whispered against the skin of her shoulder, caught in a strange, hot mist of passion that he had to master, had to diminish.
She nudged, sought another kiss, luscious, lingering. He could feel her heart thumping hard through the cage of her ribs. Grasping for logic, he could only savor kisses like a drunkard, driven on by the hunger and desire she returned in full. He was touching joy, tasting wildness, enveloped in her lush, warm, generous eagerness. Moments later, her gown, shabby green thing that it was, came away easily, leaving her in a petticoat and a simple set of stays. She pulled at his waistcoat, his shirt, his things and hers scattering now between the floor and the bed, every motion they made woven in a net of kisses, caresses, quickening breaths, and somehow he was on the mattress with her, limbs and clothing and bed linens in a tangle.
In the lighter garment, the curves of her body were taut and beautiful, breathtaking. He rained gentle kisses over her as he slid the delicate shoulder pieces of the chemise down and down, freeing her to his fingers, his lips, and she pulled further at the fabric, arching—
A memory, half a dream, swirled past him—he had loved her like this before. He remembered the wild sweetness of it then, the pleasure, the eagerness and willingness, savoring kisses—the rest was fog and yearning. Foolish then—and just as foolish now.
“Stop,” he ground out, more to himself than her. Breaths heaving, he paused, then forced himself to pull away, fighting what his body demanded, what his heart was opening to—he could not.
“What is it,” she said, cupping his face.
