At the husky note in his voice, her mouth went dry. She absently licked her lips, and when his gaze instantly fixed on her mouth, Eleanor recalled the particular advice in Fanny's book about licking her lips to appear kissable.
She most certainly did not want to appear kissable to Damon!
“I am not about to kiss you,” she stated emphatically.
“If not, you should be prepared for the consequences. I am willing to wait all night if need be.” Damon cocked his head. “What will your aunt say in the morning if she discovers I have spent the entire night with you?”
“You are a complete and utter rake,” Eleanor said feelingly.
“I won't deny it,” Damon replied, unchastened.
Her exasperation rose. She should have known that getting rid of him would be difficult. Damon was the very definition of “trouble”-and the most provoking man alive.
“I believe I have changed my mind,” she muttered. “Your demise might indeed be welcome after all.”
“Now that is the Elle I know and love.”
The amusement in his voice made her ball her hands into fists. “You do not love me! You never have!”
Strangely, his expression sobered… softened even. Yet he didn't relent. “A kiss, Eleanor. That is my price for leaving.”
Still resisting, she refused to budge. “You do realize how shameless it is to insist on kissing a woman against her will?”
Damon's features softened even further. “It isn't shameless of me, merely tactical. I mean to remind you again of the sparks that are missing between you and your prince.”
So that was his purpose, Eleanor thought, torn between frustration and understanding. Damon was still determined to prove how weak her attraction was for her royal suitor. And again, he was giving her no choice but to comply.
What vexed her more, though, was how tempting she found the prospect of kissing him.
Even worse, Damon seemed to know how she felt.
He was watching her, his eyes bright with purpose, while the silence between them suddenly felt charged with magnetic currents.
A tremor ran down Eleanor's spine as she felt the dizzying pull of him.
“I am waiting, Elle,” he murmured.
Hearing that low, sensual, velvet-edged voice only weakened her resistance further.
Eleanor dragged in a breath. When she reluctantly moved forward, Damon took her hand and drew her between his spread legs, flush against his upper body.
She was quiveringly aware of him… the heat of his powerful torso, the feel of her breasts pressed against his hard chest. Her nipples were pebbled and sensitive, and she had difficulty catching her breath as her heart began lurching against her ribs.
Then he cupped her derriere, drawing her even closer, so close that his breath caressed her mouth, brushing sparks across the surface.
But there he stopped. “Well?” Damon asked.
“Well, what?”
“You are to kiss me, remember?”
He tugged her arm with enough pressure to bring her down into his lap so that she sat sideways on his hard thigh.
Knowing he wouldn't give up until she capitulated, Eleanor pressed her lips to Damon's quickly. Even that brief contact fluttered her insides, but he frowned in disappointment.
“As an apology, that tiny peck is hardly adequate. My wounded vanity needs soothing. It still stings something fierce.”
“Then it will continue to sting. I wouldn't have the faintest notion how to soothe your oversized vanity.”