Page 56 of The Lyon Returns
She licked her lips and fought not to squirm against his touch. “Yes.”
He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Are you wet?”
“Am I…you mean…” Her cheeks blazed with heat, even as her apex thrummed in reaction to his roughly spoken words.
“Is your pretty purse hot and wet?”
His harsh whisper in her ear sent another shaft of heat through her. She closed her eyes. “My…” She could not repeat his words. Though unfamiliar, she was fairly sure she discerned their meaning. “Do you…Is it important?”
“Extremely important.”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
He groaned and turned away from her, stopping when he reached the lower post of his bed. After an interminable silence, he pivoted to face her. “You are quite correct, madam. I only asked to kiss you.” An enigmatic gleam shone in his golden-green eyes. “Come.” He approached her, took her hand in his and started for the adjoining door. “It grows late. You should probably return to your chambers.”
“If you think so…” She trailed after him, aware of a niggling sense of disappointment. After the things he’d asked her, she’d expected some sort of proposition. Not that she meant to take him up on anything, of course.
He crossed through the doorway, and led her straight to her bed where he promptly sat, his back against the headboard.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought you might like a goodnight kiss.”
“Oh.”
“You’ll have to come part way, madam.” He inched toward the bed’s center, making space for her.
“Oh.” She said again, and eased a hip onto the mattress. She felt awkward and unsure, which annoyed her. Why should she, when this washerbedchamber and—
Her thoughts stalled as Gideon brought his mouth to hers. Only his mouth. Without touching her anywhere else, he destroyed her ability to think beyond his kiss. He suckled her lower lip between his, nipped it softly with his teeth, slid his tongue over the seam of her mouth, and feathered soft kisses over the corners.
Wanting more, she leaned toward him.
He pulled slightly back. She could either follow after him or allow the fragile connection to sever. God help her, she followed, wrapping her arms around his neck, to prevent him slipping away again.
Gideon’s low moan bespoke hunger, and heralded a curious ache in her chest. She tightened her arms, trying to draw him closer.
Abruptly his mouth left hers.
She blinked at him in stupefaction as he untwined her arms from around his neck, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and got to his feet.
“Good night, Gwen,” he said, his voice chipper. “Sleep well.”
Make thatannoyinglychipper.
Before she could formulate a reply, he crossed to the adjoining door, passed through to his chamber, then closed the door with a definite click.
She stared at the closed door, disappointment and frustration tangling inside her. He’d done nothing other than respect her wishes. She’d complained he’d asked only to kiss her, and he’d agreed with her summation.
So why was she now torn between the urge to kick herself or kick him? She settled for punching her pillow, telling herself when tomorrow came, she’d be glad they hadn’t passed a point of no return. How awkward if she allowed him to make love to her and hated it, as she was sure to do. She remembered the unpleasantness, the emptiness that followed, all too well.
She probably ought not to have indulged in the heated kiss to begin with. Of a certainty, she would not allow it to happen again.
If she replayed his words, those harshly whispered queries he’d breathed into her ear regarding her state of arousal, over and over in her head as she tossed and turned throughout the night, it was only to be expected. After all, no one had ever spoken to her in such a way. It had absolutely nothing to do with the thrill of heat that swarmed her flesh with each heady remembrance. Nothing whatsoever.
Chapter Fifteen
The following afternoon,Gwen stood on a carpet-covered stoop in the center of the chamber she’d chosen as her primary workspace in Gideon’s home. Her books, newspapers, journals, and article clippings had all been pushed to one side of the room to make way for Madame Eloise, the seamstress, footstool, fold-out mirror, and privacy screen she’d brought with her, and the entirety of the Ladies’ Literary Society.
