Page 23 of A Hero's Guide to Love
For a moment, she forgot she was trying to seduce him.
“Really, Christian,” she huffed. “It’s not a secret that the king had several mistresses. And I was married, after all. I’m quite aware of what can happen in the bedchamber.”
Oh, Lord.She hadn’t meant to blurt that out. His eyes turned a smoky blue, and waves of heat raced under the confinement of her stays. Well, that was exactly the reaction she was hoping to elicit from him, wasn’t it?
“I’m sure you are,” he murmured. “But I never expected to hear you admit it.”
“I don’t see why not,” she said lightly. “We’re both adults.”
She leaned forward to peer inside the trunk, giving him a generous view of her breasts. She blushed, shocked by her own behavior, but she couldn’t suppress a niggle of excitement. And a surge of satisfaction when she heard the breath hitch in his throat.
Carefully removing a stack of papers, she gave him ample time to inspect her bosom before slowly straightening up. She turned to look at him, surprised to find she was beginning to enjoy playing the role of seductress. She had never been that kind of woman. One who was confident and sensual, and who could hold a man in the palm of her hand. It was intoxicating, especially when it involved a man as strong and masculine as Christian.
Her enjoyment died a swift death when she met his hard, suspicious gaze.
“What are you up to, Clarissa?”
Flinching at the steel in his voice, she fought the urge to bolt. She must be making a mess of it by confusing him. After all, just a few days ago she had begged him to leave her alone.
She tried again, giving him what she hoped was an adoring smile as she tentatively rested her hand on his thigh. The muscles in his leg felt as unyielding as stone, but the heat flowing into her fingers practically scorched her.
“I thought this was what you wanted,” she whispered, gliding her hand upward.
He hissed out a breath, his fingers engulfing hers and holding them still. “It is. I suppose I’m a fool to question it, but this doesn’t make any sense. You asked me to stay away from you, Clarissa. Have you really changed your mind, or is this some kind of game?” He looked angry, baffled, and … ready to rip her clothes off.
She called up every ounce of internal fortitude and heldhis gaze, refusing to shrink away from his penetrating inspection. Quelling her fear, she tossed her head and pretended to be as bold as the other widows of theton.
“A lady can change her mind, can’t she? You were right about me, Christian. Ihavelocked myself away, too afraid to let anyone near. Well, I’ve realized I’m sick of it, and sick of being alone.”
She broke off, stunned to hear the words that tumbled out of her mouth. Stunned to realize those words were true.
The disapproving line of his sensual mouth eased fractionally. “Go on.”
With a terrifying plunge, she finally voiced what she had been denying to herself since that day in the park. “I want you, Christian,” she whispered. “I don’t understand it, but I do.”
He stared down at her, a warrior with a hard, predatory gaze—a gaze that sought to bare all the secrets of her soul. Her heart kicked into a racing gallop and she shrank away, knowing in a brutal flash of clarity that she couldn’t go through with her scheme. Not when he looked at her like that.
But then, as if by magic, the angry warrior disappeared and Christian came back to her. A gentle hand cupped her cheek, and his lips curled into a rueful smile.
“Believe me, Ladybird, I’m not complaining. I want to be sure, because once we start this—once I touch you again—I’ll be lost. I have no defenses against you.”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat, awash with guilt and an astonished, almost fearful, tenderness. Christian was everything that Jeremy wasn’t: confident, sometimes reckless, and full of energy and health.
And yet, he was much like Jeremy, too. He had the same kind and loving demeanor, the same devotion to family and friends, combined with the courage of a man of honor. That’swhat terrified her. Not that Christian was so different from her husband, but that he was so much the same.
Wretchedly, she stared back at him, conflicting emotions swirling about inside her. But in all the chaos, she was able to grasp one essential truth. In this moment she wanted to be with Christian, no matter the consequences.
Gently, he held her face as his mouth covered hers in a soft, sweet kiss. She clutched at him with trembling arms, telling herself to push him away. How could she betray him like this? Betray herself, and everything she knew to be right? She had to tell him the truth, had to let him make the decision for himself.
But when his tongue parted her lips, taking hot possession of her mouth, all her guilt and good intentions fell away. Only sensation remained. The tingling feel of his long, muscular thigh flexing against her leg, the exciting roughness of his calloused hands on her cheeks, the wet sweep of his tongue into her mouth. Nothing else mattered but the imprint of his hands on her flesh, the mark of his mouth on her body.
He released her face and lashed his arms around her, crushing her against his chest. Her breasts, spilling over the top of her skimpy bodice, pressed into the soft wool of his coat. The brush of fabric across her sensitized skin made her shiver, and her nipples, barely contained by her stays, contracted into hard little points. He devoured her mouth, licking and nibbling at her lips, sucking on her tongue as if she were a juicy sweet to be consumed. And that’s exactly how she felt—like a hot, honeyed morsel, ready to be eaten.
And, God help her, that’s exactly what she wanted him to do.
She opened up to him, sucking his tongue into her mouth. They tangled, and she relished the taste of him—sweet yet scorching, and powerfully male. His energy streamed into her, filling up the sad, empty places where all had beensilent for so long. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she gripped his shoulders, struggling to get closer, to plaster every inch of her body to his.
He broke the kiss, lifting his head to look at her. She gasped an incoherent protest, then buried her head in his cravat, overwhelmed and mortified, her need for him robbing her of strength.
