Page 29 of My Kind of Scoundel
A shiver raced down her spine when his fingers brushed her waist. His mouth was hot on her skin, the pressure light. He didn’t kiss her once but worked his way across her cheek, each featherlike touch lingering a little longer.
Her eyes fluttered closed when he reached the corner of her mouth. It was a mistake. She should have prised them open because Theodore Chance was an overload on a lady’s senses.
The sound and feel of his breath stirred the hairs on her nape. The sweet, aromatic scent of sandalwood flooded her nostrils. He was everywhere, his masculine aura teasing every nerve in her body to life.
Seeking more, she turned her head a fraction.
Then their mouths met—a sudden desperation igniting.
Eleanor had felt many emotions in her life: shame, guilt, a profound inadequacy. She had never felt a rush of passion so strong it almost knocked her off her feet.
The kiss they’d shared at the Olympic had been slow and tender.
This … this was raw. Unbridled.
This was lust, a greedy battle to feed the hunger.
Heaven help her. She couldn’t resist him.
She gripped his coat lapels as he pushed her back againstthe wall. They kissed in an open-mouthed frenzy. Heat pooled low and heavy. The pulsing between her thighs was like the incessant beat of a drum.
Sweet mercy!
This was madness.
“Mother of all saints! Tell me to stop,” he panted but claimed her mouth again with a need that defied logic.
A sweet moan rumbled in her throat.
He cupped her nape and deepened the kiss.
There was something savage, something reckless about the way he drank from her. Like she was the only woman who could slake his thirst. Every kiss was a desperate attempt to ease an ache, to sate a longing that knew no bounds.
The thought proved sobering.
Keen to guard her heart, she dragged her mouth from his, gasping to catch her breath.
Mr Chance looked at her, his gaze smouldering, his lips moist. “I suppose now I must pay a forfeit,” he said huskily.
“Don’t look so pleased. I might ask you to wrestle a wild dog.” In truth, she had no idea how to make this game enjoyable. How did one keep a man like Theodore Chance entertained? More kisses, perhaps?
“I would wrestle wolves for one more taste of your lips. When it comes to kissing, you more than meet the mark.”
“You possess the skill,” she said, struggling against the weight of his praise. “I am merely a novice.”
“You need to learn to accept a compliment.”
Heat crept to her cheeks. “It’s hard when you have been the constant cause of a man’s misery. I feel compliments are undeserved.”
He studied her before tucking a stray lock of hairbehind her ear. “There is beauty in your modesty. But when the fire of confidence blazes in your eyes, you’re breathtaking.”
Breathtaking? She had always believed herself quite plain.
“I—I’m not sure what to say to that.”
“You say thank you.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
