He didn’t want to let go of her fingers—not until she drew them away.
She didn’t. Instead, she looked up at him as if trying to read his eyes...
Impulse—instinct—slipped its leash. Slowly, Kit raised his free hand and gently—so gently—cupped her face. Then, slow and smooth, he tipped her face upward as—slowly, slowly—he bent his head.
He fully expected her to retreat—to pull away at the last second.
He held his breath and slowed even more. His gaze had fallen to her luscious lips; he flicked it up to her eyes.
And saw that she’d lowered her gaze to his lips. In reaction, they throbbed and hungered for hers.
Lowering his gaze to her lips again, he was just in time to see the tip of her tongue pass swiftly over her plump lower lip.
On a muted groan, he abandoned restraint and pressed his lips to hers.
Instantly, he sensed her uncertainty, like a bird fluttering anxiously, unsure what it wanted—to escape the net or not.
He kept the contact gentle, light, and made no move to draw her to him even though his entire body ached for the contact. Instead, he devoted himself and his considerable talents to worshipping her lips.
Reverently.
Until he sensed her following his lead, albeit tentatively. Not as if she was totally inexperienced; more as if she was stepping into the unknown, and she was wary.
Wise woman. There was a great deal more he wanted to do, so much more he wanted to explore, but tonight, he reined back his rakish impulses with an iron grip and settled to the challenge of luring her to him simply with the brush of his lips, the subtle sweep of his tongue over her lips, the pressure as he supped and discovered his first taste of her.
Innocence and boldness—a fascinating combination.
Yet he kept the caress simple, very much within bounds.
His reward came when her fingers lightly touched, then traced his cheek, then she kissed him back—no longer tentatively but firmly.
And he got his first sensual glimpse of that passionate, fiery female he knew dwelled inside her.
She was there, close, yet still so contained.
But now it was she who was exploring his lips, moving hers against them, taking her time experimenting...
He mentally gritted his teeth, fisted his hands, and held back from reacting.
As he would have with any other woman.
But not her. She was special, in a class of her own. A lady to be treated with the care lavished on the very finest crystal.
The kiss spun on, and he realized that, despite the fact they were barely touching, he was drowning in her.
In her elusive scent, in the lure of her lips, in the sensual warmth he sensed inside her.
It was he who had to draw back—it was that or go forward, and he was as certain as he could be that she wasn’t yet ready for more.
Moving slowly, he drew his lips from hers, then raised his head. He hauled in a much-needed breath and looked down into her face as she slowly raised her lids and revealed eyes that were deep violet pools of wonder.
They’d eased closer during the exchange; there was barely an inch between his coat and her bodice.
Her cloak had fallen open, and above her neckline, her breasts rose and fell dramatically, the mounds pearlescent in the faint light. He couldn’t help but notice, which didn’t make it any easier to do what he knew he must.
He tensed to step back, but then, instead, asked, “Might I call on you on Sunday afternoon? We could go for a stroll if the weather remains fine.”
Sylvia heard the gruff, gravelly words. Her head was spinning, her wits whirling. It took effort to find her voice and whisper, “Yes.” Given what they’d just shared, that seemed insufficient, and she added, “I would enjoy that.” At the last second, she managed to swallow the word “too.”