Page 33 of Lord Carlisle's Enticing Lure
He carried her to the settee near the fireplace and sat her in his lap. She melted into him, kissing his jaw, undoing his cravat.
He cupped her cheek. “Look at me.”
She shook her head. He’d tell her to stop. Give her some reason to deny what they should be doing here.
“Sweetheart, we—”
She gulped back her sorrow that he’d leave. “You know how to kiss.”
“What?” He laughed.
She brushed her lips on his. “You are so good at kissing.”
He lifted her chin. “Darling, this art takes two. And you know how to kiss.”
“Do I?” That shocked her.
His eyes were faceted in shades of curiosity and desire. “You know how to thrill me with your lips.”
She sank closer to him. “I am so very glad.”
“And you deserve to be kissed.”
“Well,” she said with a wide-eyed glance.
“And often,” he added.
“By you.” She nuzzled his cheek.
“Only by me.”
“Oh, yes. No other. Let me,” she begged him, “let me have more of you.”
He pulled away, the arch of his brows and the caution in his eyes showing her his thought that she meant more. “I… No, we shouldn’t.”
She dropped little kisses to the firm curve of his lips. With one hand, she learned the contours of his biceps and his corded torso. She’d had her husband…or rather, he had had her. Often and in moods more of dominance and possession rather than the tenderness or love. She’d had other lovers, briefly, as a means to slake desire. With none had she found more than physical fulfillment. With this man, she knew she would have more, give more, find more than she had with any man. “Oh, Clive, we should.”
He sucked in a breath and shook his head. “Giselle. Soft and sweet. It suits you. All of you.”
“And you are Clive. Darling, daring Clive who knows how to kiss a lady.”
“Ah, Giselle, my lovely. I know how to kiss you.”
“Then do not stop.” She put her lips to his. “Never stop.”
He held her away from him, his gray eyes full of reluctance. The gentleman again came forth, and she loved him for it. “You are certain?”
“Never more so.”
He put her to the settee, got to his feet, and turned to scoop her into his arms, then marched through to her bedroom. He stood her by the bed and turned her away from him. In the hushed silence of the night, the music from the ballroom drifting up and curling around her euphoria, he worked on her gown and put it to a chair. Then her stays, but he left her in her chemise.
Then he spun her toward him.
She held the muslin up with one hand to her chest. “Don’t think.”
“No.” He plucked pins from her coiffure. “There is no logic here. Not tonight. My God,” he crooned as he threaded his fingers through the wealth of her hair and spread it over her bare shoulders. “You are a beautiful dream. Giselle.” He murmured her name as he drew her nearhim and took her lips in a savage kiss. “Giselle.”
As he broke away, she lifted her arms and let fall the cotton shift.
