She tried to break from the kiss, but he wouldn’t let her; his hand framing her face, he held her captive. Once again lavished delight and sheer sensual pleasure on her through the play of his lips and tongue, and the even more expert play of his fingers.
He captured her totally. Not just with the heat, with the sudden flare of hot desire, but with something simpler, more fundamental.
His hunger—and hers.
He didn’t try to hide his want, his wish to have, to know, to take, to explore, to experience; it was there, laid before her, stated more clearly than in words. A hunger of her own rose in reply, not mere curiosity but something more definite—a need she hadn’t known she had.
He angled his head, ravaged her mouth, and she consciously met him. Flagrantly urged him on. His fingers closed again and she shuddered, no longer trying to disguise her response. Her hands rose, of their own volition found his shoulders, then pushed on, around, back, then she speared her fingers into his black hair.
The silken touch of the heavy locks didn’t distract, but only added to the tactile experience; her greedy senses, awakened and starved, welcomed and wallowed. His hand shifted on her breast, blatantly possessive; his fingers tightened again—hers clenched in response.
He moved closer, into her, deepening the kiss—and suddenly they were somewhere else, in some place they hadn’t been before. Somewhere hotter, more fiery, where their needs escalated and their senses grew ravenous. Clamorous.
Urgent.
It was he who broke the kiss, lifted his head and hauled them free of the fire. Drew them back to earth, back to themselves, to their bodies locked close in the parlor.
To their breaths fast and shallow, to their pulses hammering in their veins. Lids lifting, their gazes locked; in his, the flames still smoldered. Her lips throbbed, appeased yet still hungry.
His gaze fell to them, then lower. To where his hand lay over her breast. He closed that hand, slowly, deliberately. Desire welled and washed down her spine; something inside her clenched tight.
His eyes lifted to hers. “Not here, not now.” He bent his head and kissed her, slowly, deeply, intimately, then drew back. “But soon.”
His hand left her aching flesh, yet he didn’t step back. Instead, his gaze returning to her eyes, trapping her, holding her, he deftly rebuttoned her bodice.
Her head was whirling, but some part of her no longer cared. That part of her that seemed new, different— changed. Or perhaps revealed, called forth. That part of her that thrilled to that decisive “But soon.”
She might have thought she was mad, but knew she wasn’t. This was a facet of life she’d yet to experience, yet to explore.
As a widow, she couldn’t pretend not to understand. T
he look in his eyes convinced her she’d never succeed in denying what she’d felt, in pretending her hunger didn’t exist. He’d seen it, felt it, understood it—almost certainly better than she did.
There was nothing she could say—that she could think of that was safe to say—so she merely held his gaze and, her pulse still thundering, waited to follow his lead.
That seemed an acceptable response. When, stepping back, he quizzed her with his eyes, she merely arched a brow, and saw his lips quirk.
He took her hand, raised it to his lips. “I’ll leave you. I’m afraid I won’t be attending the Waverleys’ ball tonight.” He turned to the door; she walked beside him. “I need to consult with some others about the investigation.”
He opened the door; she led him into the front hall.
“The rumors concerning you and Ruskin should be fading.”
She glanced at him, saw a frown in his eyes. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”
Her even reply didn’t reassure him. “Lady Amery will be attending, and Lady Osbaldestone, too, should you need any support.”
Opening the front door, she held it, and looked at him. “I doubt that will be necessary, but I’ll bear it in mind.”
Pausing by her side, he looked into her eyes. She got the distinct impression he wanted to say something more, something other, but couldn’t find the words.
Then he reached out, with the pad of his thumb caressed her lower lip.
It throbbed.
Swiftly, he bent his head, pressed a kiss, hard and definite, to the spot, then he straightened. “I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
With a nod, he went down the steps.