Page 33 of No One's Bride
He recalled being swamped by erotic thoughts but had no clue she might have been equally bewitched.
“We’re strong-minded people,” he professed, though his resolve was being tested to the limit. “I’m sure we’ll be able to resist the temptation. Besides, there’s every chance it will be a disaster.”
More like an utter catastrophe.
She blinked like she’d had a sudden epiphany. “Of course. Why did I nae think of it before? ’Tis a sure way to break the enchantment. Kissing ye would be like kissing a brother.”
He was about to agree, but a seed of doubt took root.
The volatile nature of their relationship might make her the perfect bed partner. Passionate. Demanding. Dominant.
Then again, the taste of her lips might turn his stomach.
How was he to know without sampling the forbidden fruit?
“What are you suggesting, madam?”
“Is it nae obvious?”
He did not want to be presumptuous. “Not to me.”
She squirmed on the spot, her gaze darting between him and the closed door. “Maybe just a quick peck would suffice.”
“You’re asking me to kiss you?” He pretended to sound horrified.
“I’m asking ye to break the spell.” She grumbled under her breath, then berated herself for losing her mind and considering such a foolish notion. “Forget I said anything. We’ll muddle along, safe in the knowledge it would have—”
He was on her in a heartbeat.
Their mouths met, clashing together with a force that defied logic. There was no awkward fumbling. No trying to find the right angle to avoid the brim of her bonnet. No hesitance. No tentative strokes. Just a desperate need to feed the craving. A rampant mating of mouths that hardened his cock.
Merciful Mary!
Miss MacTavish gripped his coat lapels, anchoring him to her as he pushed her back against the desk. Paper fell to the floor. The ink pot rattled on the metal stand. They were kissing open-mouthed. Panting. Frantic. Hungering for more. His blood coursed hot and wild in his veins. He needed to grip her buttocks and squeeze hard. Rub his erection against her stomach to ease the damnable ache.
Unable to control the primal urge to thrust, he breached the seam of her soft lips with his tongue.
A sweet moan rumbled in her throat.
But the Highland lass did not surrender. She fought him, the seductive dance of her tongue driving him to the brink of insanity. Never had he wanted a woman more. Never had he considered bending a woman over a desk in another man’s office and pounding deep.
Miss MacTavish pulled away on a ragged gasp, desire burning like wildfire in her eyes. “Good Lord!”
“Quite,” he managed while trying to gather his wits. Damn, he shook like a virgin schoolboy reaching his first climax.
“What possessed ye to do that?” She batted her skirts, evidently annoyed that their brief clinch hadn’t been an utter disaster. “I said a quick peck, nae a thorough ravishment.”
“Madam, you put your tongue in my mouth. What was I supposed to do? Ignore the delightful intrusion?” And if he’d meant to ravish her, she’d be spread on the desk, his face buried between her thighs. Indeed, the fact they’d stopped so abruptly left him as randy as a feral dog.
She pressed the backs of her fingers to her flaming cheeks. “On my oath, ye breached my lips first.”
“Perhaps it was a simultaneous devouring.” He might have taken the lead. Who knew? They’d been so rampant he’d lost use of his faculties. “Regardless, it cannot happen again.”
The damn grimoire meant to manipulate events until he breached her maidenhead. Then he’d be hurtling down a slippery slope to marriage.
“I’m nae sure how it happened at all.”
“We were attempting to break the spell. It was your idea.”
