But now, she understood. Now, she felt the rabid hunger, the driving need, and the clawing desperation that rose and claimed her.
She didn’t know what came next but was certain he did. Through the melding of their mouths, she urged him on.
Then he shifted, his head angling over hers as his tongue stroked hers in heated temptation. Between them, his hand rose, and he cupped her breast, then closed his strong fingers about the aching mound.
Her senses leapt, then his fingers kneaded, and a soft, yearning sound purled in her throat.
Heat welled and washed through her while lightning danced down her nerves, flashing and sparking.
Never had her body felt like this—as if her senses had risen and claimed it as their territory. Never had her nerves felt so alive, awake to every nuance of the shifting caresses he pressed on her. Her breasts seemed to have swollen and now felt too constrained behind her light stays. She wanted...
She wanted...
Tightening her grip on his face, holding him in place, she poured all that wild, undirected wanting into their kiss.
For a split second, she sensed she’d surprised him, then his response roared through her—in the fire of his scorching kiss, in the possessive pressure of his hand at her breast, and in the steely clamp of his arm about her waist.
But then, just as suddenly as his heated desire had risen to her siren call and swamped her, he reined it in. Pulled it and himself back.
On a gasp, Kit broke the kiss. With a mental wrench, he forced his lips from hers and hauled desperately hard on his—on their—reins. He hadn’t expected her to filch them.
Breathing far too rapidly, he rested his forehead against hers and tried to remind himself of what was right. Of what, in this instance, had to be.
Her hands about his face gentled. One fell away, while she trailed the fingers of her other hand lightly down his cheek.
He raised his heavy lids as she shifted her head back, just enough to look at and study his face. He barely needed the moonlight to read the question in her eyes—one that compelled him to find his voice, gravelly and gruff as it was, and declare, “I want you—never doubt that for even an instant—but if we don’t stop now...”
Hoping she wouldn’t ask for further clarification, he shifted awkwardly on the bench, fleetingly wincing as restraint cut where he would much rather it didn’t.
Sylvia blinked, then the reason for his shift and wince and what else he’d said and implied impinged.
Heat claimed her cheeks, but perversely, an inner confidence—her sensual confidence—welled. No—she couldn’t doubt that he wanted her.
Trying to suppress or at least mute a rather smug smile, she turned to sit more properly on the bench.
He shifted again, rearranging his long limbs, then settled beside her.
She seized the moment to ask, “I know I should thank you for your restraint—and I do—but can I ask why?”
He softly grunted. “You’re a clergyman’s daughter.” He paused as if collecting his thoughts, then offered, “Being that is an intrinsic part of you. I expect you have beliefs about indulging before our wedding, and in the same way that I respect you, I feel I should respect and honor any deep beliefs you hold.”
Without looking at him, she reached for his hand and lightly squeezed. “Thank you. And yes, I do hold those beliefs and sincerely thank you for calling a halt.”
If he hadn’t, she was perfectly certain she wouldn’t have, although she might well have regretted that later.
She felt him lightly shrug.
“We can wait until after the ceremony to go any further.”
She noted that declaration didn’t preclude them continuing to indulge at least as far as they had. Was it possible to go further without quite tipping over that forbidden edge? It was, she suspected, a point to ponder—and, possibly, explore.
Somewhat to his surprise, Kit didn’t feel as grumpy over the situation as he’d expected. Sylvia’s confirmation that she adhered to a more strait-laced code than ladies of his class generally favored made him feel vindicated in taking what was, for a gentleman of his ilk, a definitely unusual stance.
The knowledge that, in four weeks’ time, she would be his, declared before God and man as such, was all the assurance his inner self needed to be patient. And while he’d said his decision had been taken to honor her beliefs—and it had—and, indeed, having met her father, Kit felt compelled to honor the reverend’s expectations as well, his principal motivation had been even simpler. He would always do whatever it took to make her ha
ppy.
That had already become his touchstone—his guiding principle with respect to her.