She spread her hands, palms up. “Why General Grant and President Lincoln.”
“Extraordinary. I rarely have their ears.”
Pressing her lips to his ear, she whispered, “Now tell me how clever the Saint is.”
“He is very clever if he has Lincoln’s and Grant’s trust. I am glad he is on our side.”
With avid interest, he saw a spark in her eyes and an amusing twitch of her mouth. She was a dazzling vision and like a schoolboy with his first infatuation, she could cut him into little pieces if she had the whim.
“Have you ever had any nightmares, Lucas?”
She was teasing him, and he slid his hand from her cheek to her nape, resting there. “Interesting you ask.”
“What are they?”
“Girls. Always give me nightmares. They always wanted to kiss me…it was a terrible torture growing up, especially as the girls grew up…they frightened me more. Why one time…”
Rachel threw a pillow at him and fell back on the sofa in peals of laughter. Lucas grinned and folded his arms behind his head, enjoying himself enormously. He opened his mouth to reply, but his gaze was drawn to where her shawl dropped, revealing the threadbare cotton nightgown she wore. Perfect, pink nipples protruded. He tried not to look at how the diaphanous garment stuck to her like a second skin, tried not to look at her slender waist leading down to curvy hips and…he imagined, the dark curls of the deep vee between her legs.
His pulse leaped, and he shifted to hide his physical reaction. He gazed out the window at the moon, a silver dollar high in the sky, illuminating a band of clouds that swelled and elongated.
He cursed. How she held the power to stir him. She was what every man dreamed of, a vision of incomparable beauty. What could one more kiss hurt? He had no intention of taking the kiss that far. Perhaps if he kissed her again, he’d eradicate the need he had for her.
Fool. And he could bag the sun and throw the fiery ball across the universe.
When her scent entwined him, his nostrils flared. Her nearness and the sultry look in her eyes unleashed something primal in him, drugged his mind. A pulse beat at the base of her throat. He imagined his tongue exploring that area down to the soft tips of her breasts and beyond.
The thrill of something timeless brushed against them as he circled his arms about her and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss started slow and thoughtful. Her lips softened willingly, her arms trembled as she circled them around his neck. Her warmth and the fierce thudding of her heart sent his own heart racing. Her soft full breasts flattened against his chest nearly undid him.
The latent attraction erupted with such force, and Lucas took full control. He reached down and pulled her tight against him, thrusting his tongue deeper to wield her passion. He breathed her, tasted her, tasted the sweet tea in her mouth and savored her. His kisses, gentle at first, became more forceful. His hunger suddenly released, he thrust his tongue again and again…like a branding iron, searing her, having her.
He cupped the back of her head and she melted against him. He caressed her bottom, and her hands splayed against his chest. He outlined the tips of her breasts with his fingers and her nipples grew taut and she gasped into his mouth.
On her gasp, he drew away from her, his chest heaving.
Cold air smacked against his hot skin, clouted him awake. Breathing hard, they stared at each other. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her hand burned against his chest. He wanted to kiss her again, yet reality seeped in. He’d go back to Washington, resume his career, and then what?
He lowered his arms from her, regretted the confusion reflected in her face. “I will go—”
“Yes, you should,” she whispered, although her tone and demeanor said different. They had a war between them and a great many other things.
“Wait,” she said.
To Lucas, Rachel seemed innocent to the sort of passion he experienced with her. Her behavior seemed incongruous with her strange affair with the Saint, a man who he’d not yet seen.
“I don’t want to be by myself.” Her voice sounded small, helpless, and childlike. “Could you just hold me?”
Lucas stared at her. Her lush golden eyes shone with tears. She’d been alone for years. She’d witnessed her father’s brutal death.
He shouldn’t, but how could he not allow this one small concession?
The air was still and the flame barely flickered. The books on the table around the candle cast shadows that radiated out as hands on a pendulum clock. The wick blackened, and the wax slowly turned to liquid, running down the side and onto the brass plate.
She didn’t move, and she swallowed before wetting her lips. He wouldn’t call his musings dishonorable, more along the order of wicked, with absolutely delicious sensual imaginings. Not altogether wise, considering kissing her senseless had lust exploding through his veins and roaring through his ears.
He pulled her close and wrapped her in his arms.
She laid her head on his shoulder and suddenly all seemed right with the world. She yawned, and soon he felt the soft puffs of her breath against his neck. Did he hear her mutter something ridiculous about him kissing like a prince?
