She had to stifle her laughter at his bewildered tone. “Have you ever seen a mouse, Your Grace?”
His jaw tensed beneath her touch. “Of course not. Nor have I any wish to.”
“If you saw one, you would know how right I am,” she whispered, stroking his jaw again. “And I am not petting you at all. I am caressing you. Shall I stop?”
He swallowed. “No.”
Ah, His Grace approved.
Excellent, because so did she. Touching him was making the ache between her thighs blossom and grow. It was also making her nipples tighten into hard little buds beneath her stays. His citrus and bay scent, coupled with his nearness, were doing strange things to her senses.
“Shall we use our tongues when we kiss?” she asked him next.
She had been pondering the question in preparation of their meeting.
“Miss Winter,” he bit out.
She had shocked him, she supposed. “Apparently the use of tongues can be quite delightful. Tongues are wet, of course. It does seem an odd thing to put one’s tongue in the mouth of another. But I am willing to try it if you are.”
“You need to stop saying that in my presence,” he rasped.
“Stop saying what?” She frowned, trailing her touch down his throat, over his cravat, to rest her hand over his thumping heart.
“Tongue,” he clarified succinctly.
And then, he dipped his head and sealed their lips in one quick motion.
Her mouth waseven softer than he had imagined.
That was Gill’s first coherent thought.
The second thought was that her breasts crushed against his chest was the purest form of heaven he had ever experienced. Or torment, considering he could do nothing more than hold her in his arms and kiss her.
But that was quickly becoming everything as sensations buffeted him. Her scent teased him: rose and lily of the valley. Her lips were warm. Her body was giving and supple, curving to his as if she were made for him. He cupped her face with his hands, relishing the smoothness of her skin.
He moved his lips over hers, lightly at first, until she made a sweet sound of need, and he lost control. He pressed his mouth harder, and it became apparent that she was right. There was nothing he wanted more than to taste her. His tongue explored as he deepened the kiss instinctively.
All the worries fogging his mind and hindering his actions fell away. He had been fretting over his decision to meet her. Half-convinced he ought to leave her in the salon, awaiting him. To never again find himself alone with the beautifully wild Christabella Winter.
But as he had paced his chamber, the minutes ticking by, he had not been able to stay away. His body, ever having a mind of its own, had reigned supreme, forcing him to the red salon. He had been moved by his need for her as much as his curiosity. Both were overwhelming.
As overwhelming as the sensation of her tongue meeting his. A sudden rush of desire hit him. He wanted to consume her. To kiss her until their mouths ached. To fill her with his cock. All the pent-up lust within him was unleashed. It raged. It roared.
He kissed her as if his life depended upon the union of their mouths. Somehow, they were moving. Dimly, he realized he was the one doing the moving, just as he had been the one to initiate the kissing. Because Miss Winter was moving backward and he was striding forward. His body was leaps ahead of his mind. Taking control. There was a bare expanse of wall where no pictures hung. And that was where he wanted her.
In four more strides, her back was pressed against the scarlet wallcovering. He broke the kiss and stared down at her, his chest heaving. He felt as if he had just run across a field. As if he had clambered to the top of a mountain, only to look out at the majesty of his height and wonder how the hell he would ever get back down.
Her lips were dark and swollen, parted. Her eyes were wide, glazed. She was clutching his biceps as if he were keeping her from slipping off a cliff. But if she thought he could save her from anything, including himself, she was bloody well wrong.
After eight-and-twenty years, he had finally kissed a woman.
And now that he had done so, he could not conceive of ever wanting to kiss another.
“I was right,” said the maddening woman.
He was still not sure he could speak. But as usual, she had no difficulty holding up both ends of the exchange.
“About the use of tongues,” she elaborated, her voice breathless. “I quite enjoyed your tongue in my mouth.”
