Page 100 of The Art of Sinning
It was, actually. The summer sun barely penetrated the overhanging trees, but where it did, it danced on the stream’s surface like fairy lights. The warble of the water twined with the croak of the toads to soothe her agitation and settle her nerves. And because of the bends in the shallow stream on either end, they were entirely private so long as no one else came along the path.
Propping his elbows on the stone parapet, he gazed out over the water. They both stood there, silent, before she drummed up the courage to ask the most crucial question. “Why do you wish to marry me?”
He hissed out a breath. “Because I ru—”
“Donotsay it’s because you ruined me. I’ve already warned you of the insufficiency of that argument. And if that’s your only reason, I see no sense in our marrying.”
There. She’d laid her cards on the table. It was his turn.
As the silence stretched out between them, she looked expectantly at him. In profile, he wasn’t just handsome but beautiful, like a marble bust of some unknown Greek youth contemplating his future.
“The truth?” He angled his body toward her, one elbow still propped on the parapet.
“Always.”
His eyes glinted diamond-bright in the shadows. “I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you.”
“In your bed, you mean.”
A fiercely tender expression lit his face. “Not just in my bed. Everywhere, doing anything. Presiding over dinner, driving my curricle, accompanying me on my trips to wherever. You stimulate me, body and soul, as no woman ever has. Surely that counts for something.”
It did. It counted for quite a lot. Indeed, she was so surprised that she couldn’t swallow past the thickness in her throat.
When he continued, his voice held a fervent certainty. “You make me feel things I don’t want to feel, make me yearn for things I don’t want to yearn for, hope for things that seem impossible.” He pushed away from the parapet to loom over her. “You’re annoying as hell, yet every time I’m near you, I want more. Does that make any sense? Because it damned well makes no sense to me.”
There was a certain belligerence in his tone and stance, as if he were sure of being tossed aside after that odd little speech. As if hefearedbeing tossed aside.
Perversely, that convinced her of his sincerity... and of the depth of his feelings. It might not be love, but it was something to build a marriage upon. At least she could hope that one day his feelingsmightblossom into love.
“So if that answers your question—”
She stretched up to give him a soft kiss.
He froze. And when she drew back, he stood there motionless, seemingly stunned.
Then hunger lit his face and he swept her into his arms.
His kiss was a sweet and fiery answer to all her fears, reminding her that he stimulated her, too. That he, too, made her want and yearn and hope for the impossible. That he made her love.
With her heart in her throat, she threaded her fingers through his dappled golden hair, glorying in the soft silk of it as she clasped him close. He delved deep with his tongue to probe and caress and seduce. The kiss went on and on, until they were both forced to break it in a desperate bid for air.
He shifted her so she was sandwiched between his body and the wide stone parapet, then planted his hands on either side of her, making a little thrill flash through her. “I’ve thought of nothing but this since last night,” he murmured. “Hell, I’ve thought of nothing but this since the day I met you.”
Then he returned to kissing her as if his life would end if he stopped, and she wrapped her arms about his waist. She knew it was unwise. They hadn’t by any means settled things. But the way he was holding her, touching her, was too intoxicating to resist.
Only after he dragged his mouth from hers to kiss a path down her neck did she summon the will to chide, “What do you think you’re doing?”
He tongued the hollow of her throat. “Answering the question of whyyoushould marryme. Aside from the argument that I took your innocence.”
When his hand swept up to cover her breast, she gasped. “And I suppose you think... seducing me is the answer.”
“One answer.” His palm kneaded her through the fabric with a deftness that made her mouth dry and other parts of her wet. “But there are others.”
She found it hard to breathe, much less speak. “Such as?”
“I’m willing to put you into any number of my famous paintings.”
“What if I don’t... want to be in your famous paintings?”
