She sank into his arms. He closed them around her, aware to his bones of her warmth, of the enticement of her soft flesh. He breathed deep and her scent wreathed through him-his arms locked. He shackled the sudden urge to seize. Instead, he traced her lower lip with his tongue, and waited.
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then parted her lips. He traced their contours, encouraging her further, until, almost giddy with need, with triumph, he could enter and taste her as he wished.
One taste was what he'd promised himself; he savored the moment, then, reining in his rakish impulses, drew back.
Their lips parted, by half an inch. Their breaths mingled; she didn't draw back. Her hands were fisted on his lapels. Her lids were heavy, veiling her eyes. As he watched, they lifted and she met his gaze.
Her eyes were darkened, sultry, yet filled with innocent surprise, and with a womanly wondering…
He kissed her again, not, this time, for his pleasure but for hers. To show her just a little more of what could be, a little more of the wonder.
Phyllida tightened her hold on his lapels and gave herself up to the kiss, to the slow surge of his tongue, the intimate caressing and exploring. Warmth seeped through her; a sharp lick of sensation whipped to her toes and slowly curled them.
His head angled over hers and she clung; he deepened the kiss and she willingly followed. For years, she'd dreamed of being kissed like this, kissed as a woman, a woman desired. It was frightening and enticing. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think. She certainly wasn't in control. Instead of scaring her, that thrilled her. Foolish, certainly, yet she felt no fear. Only a wanton eagerness.
Lips and mouths melded; tongues tangled, sliding, caressing… for one magical instant, the world fell away.
He tasted of heat and wildness, of something primeval, something barely tamed. Male-hard where she was soft, beast to her beauty. She sensed the leashed power simmering beneath his lips, held back behind his experienced facade.
Then he started to draw back, to retreat and end the kiss.
It was a surprise to realize she'd stretched up on her toes, that she'd pressed herself against him. Her knees had weakened, her skin felt too hot, her wits were whirling. His chest was a solid wall supporting her; she spread her fingers and pressed, enthralled by the resilient hardness beneath the crisp layers. His arms had locked, iron bands caging her; she didn't care.
She wanted to hold him, to prolong the precious moment-she knew she couldn't. She didn't know how.
On the instant their lips would have parted, he paused. Then he returned, surging deep, a swift, hard in
vasion that mentally rocked her-the hidden power she'd sensed was no lie.
Then he lifted his head and straightened, and she was standing on her feet, his hands rising to close about hers, clenched again on his lapels. She blinked and released her grip, then drew her hands from under his.
Dazed, she met his eyes, and wasn't at all certain what she saw. Something dark and dangerous prowled behind the blue. "Why did you kiss me?"
That was suddenly very important to know.
He didn't smile, didn't try to turn the awkward question aside with some glib and charming quip. His eyes held hers; they'd widened slightly at her question-she could almost believe he was as dazed as she.
"Because I wanted to." His voice was gravelly; he blinked, drew breath, and added, "And to thank you for your help-yesterday and today." He met her gaze. "Regardless of all else, I sincerely appreciate all that you've done."
Lucifer tried to find a charming smile and couldn't, so he clung to impassivity and gestured, urging her ahead of him along the path.
With one last, wondering glance, she acquiesced. He followed, breathing deeply, thanking his stars that she'd accepted his answer. Walking before him, she couldn't see the effort it took for him to reshackle his demons. He hoped she never guessed how close she'd come to meeting them.
At least he'd answered her truthfully. About that first kiss. There was no need for her to know his reasons behind the second, and even less his reasons for the third. He couldn't remember the last time he'd warned a woman away, but for her own safety, she should keep her distance.
Frowning, he strolled at her heels, through the gathering gloom. He'd taken what he'd wanted, that one simple taste, but what had it cost him?
He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
They'd reached the Grange lawns when he closed his fingers around her elbow and drew her to a halt. She faced him, brows rising, her expression all but blank. The shadows were too dense for him to read her eyes. "I kissed you because I didn't want you seeing me as some ogre, bent on browbeating the truth out of you." Releasing her, he held her gaze. "I'm not the enemy."
She studied his face, then her lips lifted as she turned away. She stepped out, heading for the house. Her cool words drifted back to him. "I didn't think you were."
Chapter 5
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Phyllida knew why he'd kissed her. He wasn't an ogre, he wasn't her enemy, but he was a masterful seducer. She was a novice in that sphere, yet she realized he'd kissed her to rattle her, to weaken her resolve so she'd tell him all she knew. She'd asked him why, but she'd known the answer the instant she'd voiced the question.