Page 23 of Under the Champagne Moon
And temptation.Yes.Just one taste of her lips before he lost her. That’s what he wanted.
Fleur’s gaze fixed on him, her eyes luminous, her full lips trembling.
Fleur trembling? His protective instincts stirred.
She was saving herself for marriage; he could respect that. And blast it all, she would be safe with him, though it might kill him. He’d claim one kiss, if she’d let him, but he’d never hurt her.
He took her hand and led her up the grand staircase and down a long corridor to his bedchamber.
* * *
Fleur’s handand arm and shoulder tingled where the parts of her touched the parts of him, and her breath came in short bursts. Her free hand itched to pull her bodice higher, though she’d tried that in private without success. All through dinner, she’d caught him watching her. Each time his eyes slid down her face and neck to her décolletage, heat spurted down to her nether regions. She was heady and jittery and, now that they were away from the safety of their older companions, filled with anticipation.
An answering tension radiated from him. Wherever they were going, he was going to try to kiss her, and maybe more.
She’d been kissed before by some of Quidenham’s more devious guests. She’d even deflected attempts at themaybe morefrom the so-called gentlemen. On occasion, she’d experiencedtingles.
But never like this. She’d never experienced this…this…magnetic pull, this urge to throw off all caution—along with this indecent gown.
He opened a door and nudged her inside, still holding her hand.
A bedchamber. Too breathless to speak, she squinted until her eyes adjusted to the room’s dimness. A discarded waistcoat draped a chair, and a man’s brush and toiletries rested atop a side table. Embers smoldered in the fireplace, ready to be stirred. This washisbedchamber.
Her heart beat a frenzied tattoo. “Gareth,” she said on the first breath she managed. He was going to make love to her.
Behind her the door snicked closed, and his hot breath touched her neck.
Perhapsshewould make love tohim.
She must not. What of Mr. Farnham, playing cards below?
Oh, Hades, Mr. Farnham had barely looked at her bosom, and that one glance had been not a bit spine-tingling. He’d made no declaration of interest tonight, much less courtship.
Gareth’s familiar scent—shaving soap and brandy and tobacco—floated around her. She closed her eyes and savored it.
A kiss. A kiss wouldn’t ruin her.
“Gareth.” She swallowed and hugged herself. He moved away, set aside the candle, and returned.
“I’m not… Oh Fleur.” He nudged her arms open and took her hands.
A speechless Gareth was a sight to see. His dark gaze sent her insides melting, sensation curling through her. She freed a hand and traced the scar etching his square jaw, watching his eyes darken and glitter. His was a strong face, usually a jolly one, probably a hard one when he was fighting, but not with her. The boy he was, the man he’d become, were not so very different.
“Dear Gareth,” she said. Her shawl slipped from her shoulders, and she let it.
His mouth softened and he touched his thumb to her lips. “Dear Fleur.”
Her hand slid from his jaw to the back of his neck. Her heels lifted her closer. Her lips sought his and pressed against them, softly, secured in a tender embrace.
His hand skimmed her waist and settled upon her back, the other wandering lower and pulling her against him. He angled his head, deepened the kiss, and breached the barrier of her lips.
Mon dieu. A shaky moment passed wherein she tasted brandy so potent it burned through her like liquid heat. She surrendered and then gave back with all of her heart.
When his lips left hers, she muttered a protest until she felt the soft press on her neck, and groaned. The hand on her bum pulled her even tighter, the other slid under her breast, and then up, stroking her through her gown until her nipples became hard points, every gentle caress echoing in her nether parts. She was burning, burning.
The bed—let’s go to the bed.
Gareth’s mouth stilled against her breast. A growl escaped his lips. He straightened and brushed her cheek. “We mustn’t, Fleur.”
