You were just about to kiss me.
She had not been. Of course, she had not.
“As I remember it, I was about to shoo you from my chamber like a bothersome fly,” she retorted.
But her words were soft instead of sharp. And her heart was thumping. And deep inside her, unfurled a weighty, delicious coil of desire. The truth was, she did not want Aylesford to leave. She wanted him to stay.
“A bothersome fly, am I?” He was grinning that wicked grin of his that never failed to make her ache for him.
How did he do it?
“Yes.”Be strong, Grace. Be firm. Stand your ground.
He took her in his arms, and she went willingly, because her body was a traitor to her mind.
“Would a fly do this?” He kissed the tip of her nose.
It was not what she had expected after the passionate kisses of the night before. Her hands were on his shoulders. Try as she might, she could not think of a single reason why she ought to push him away. The surprising tenderness of the gesture had robbed her of all ability to protest.
“I can honestly say I have never experienced a fly landing on the tip of my nose,” she managed to say.
“What of this?” He kissed her cheek.
“No.” He smelled so good. And beneath her tentative touch, he felt so good as well.
He stayed close, his lips grazing over her ear. “This?”
“No,” she admitted.
The heat turned into a roaring fire, scorching her. Need burst open like a blossom.
His wicked lips found her throat, kissing a patch of skin she had never even known was so sensitive before. “Would a fly do this?”
“Aylesford,” she protested, flustered. Flushed and longing.
How he undid her, and with such tremendous ease.
“Rand.” He nuzzled her cheek. “You smell so damned good, Grace. Like summer. I want to eat you up.”
“Rand,” she echoed.
There, she had done it. She had given in and spoken his given name aloud. It felt wicked and wonderful on her tongue. It felt wrong and right all at once, much like being in his arms did.
“Brava, my dear.” His voice was low, laden with seductive approval. “Was that so difficult?”
She shivered. Not because she was cold, but because his lips were lingering near her ear once more, and it was filling her with sensations the likes of which she had never before experienced.
The last of her resistance melted.
“Rand,” she said again.
“Mmm,” he said, and it was just as before, a delicious rumble from deep in his chest.
She thought of the way he had stroked himself in his sleep and said her name.
And then she grew bold. Bold and reckless.
“Kiss me,” she told him.
