“We both know this—whateverthisis—can lead nowhere,” she said.
Did she believe her words? Last night told a different story of precisely wherethiscould lead.
“Why are you asking me to stay?” she asked, the question racing along the serrated edge of a rising panic that he heard in her voice.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Her teeth bit down on her plump bottom lip for the space of one . . . two . . . three heartbeats. At last, she released it and relented. “Perhaps.”
Chapter 20
To Milk the Pidgeon: To endeavor at impossibilities.
A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue
Francis Grose
Perhaps. Located on the periphery of that word was an open door Nick could slip inside.
“This is happening too fast,” Mariana said, her words a protest at odds with the new light that had entered her eyes—a light that hinted at not only possibility, but also hunger.
“Is it?” He pushed the door of opportunity wider. “Or perhaps it was ten years in the making.”
A dozen rapid heartbeats sped by, and she remained silent. She cleared her throat in a decisive manner, and the air froze in Nick’s chest.
“Last year, I attended a lecture,” she began, and his hope sank, possibility dimmed. The woman did manage to attend a good number of lectures. “The topic was religions of Asia. Do you know the subject?”
He shook his head, feeling at once foolish and not a little despondent.
“Take Buddhism, for example,” she said. “At the core of this belief is the idea that one shouldn’t dwell on the past or dream of the future. Instead, one lives solely in the present moment. No other moments matter.”
“And?”
A canny light sparked in her amber eyes. “And in certain circumstances such a philosophy can be useful.”
Understanding dawned on Nick. “No past. No future.”
She nodded once, a slow up and down motion. The subtext of her words rising to the surface, nearly a tangible thing.
She wanted him. Now. The past and the future had no bearing on this present want.
And if his mind suggested that he could wrest a better deal from her, one that would last beyond the present into the future, his body decided to focus on having her now. The future could wait.
He pressed forward on this unexpected wave of possibility. “Perhaps I could demonstrate for you how such a philosophy might be of use to you,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.
He braced himself on one forearm against the sturdy elm, just to the side of her head, and leaned in without touching her. She had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. Her scent reached out and encircled him in its warm jasmine and neroli cocoon. He touched his lips to her ear. “But let’s not be hasty and let go of the past entirely.”
“Oh?” she asked, the monosyllable a breathless exhalation, the distancing sarcasm of minutes ago forgotten. Short, warm bursts of her breath on his neck sent shivers tingling down his spine.
He took her delicate earlobe between his teeth and nipped, eliciting another breathless, “Oh,” but this time it didn’t question. It conveyed release and permission.
He held his body at a determined remove from hers. If he pressed into her, his intent would be lost to his own desires. The very thought made his cock jump against the constraining fabric of his trousers. And that wasn’t whatthiswas about. This was about Mariana and her pleasure.
He allowed his fingers to touch her body, beginning at the soft indent of her waist, tracing upward until they reached the ripe flare of her breasts. His palms forming a cup beneath, his thumbs moved over taut nipples, teasing them through gossamer layers of silk and muslin. Unable to help himself, he tugged at her short bodice until her breasts fell free. With their plump fullness and matching dusky peaks, they were the embodiment of temptation.
“Even better than I remembered,” he murmured before inclining his head, and taking one tight bud into his mouth and the other between thumb and forefinger, squeezing.
A soft moan escaped her, and her head arched back. Her breath now came in shallow pants, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from ravishing her.
