She took his mouth. Kissed him long and slow and deep. Kissed him with intent, letting him know with her lips and tongue just how much she longed for him.
A growl of sensual promise sounded deep in his throat.
At last, his hand moved, skimming over the fabric of her drawers. Unerringly, he found the split between her legs. The first touch of his fingers to the bud of her sex was electric. He teased it with slow and deliberate strokes, circling it. A surge of ecstasy went down her spine. Their tongues tangled.
She was ready, so ready for him.
Perhaps it was because she already knew the pleasure he could bring her. Their bodies seemed unusually attuned to each other. It did not require much for him to work her into a frenzy.
She was already clamoring for more.
Her body was on fire.
At her core, she pulsed and ached and wanted and needed.
His nimble, knowing fingers continued to play over her. And her fingers found the buttons at the fall of his trousers. She undid them. And then, her hand slipped past the barrier of fine fabric to hot, delicious flesh.
Until his hand slid from between her legs and he stayed her with a gentle clutch of her wrist.
He tore his lips from hers. “Not here. Not like this.”
Her cheeks went hot. “Forgive me. I do not know what came over me.”
But when she attempted to scramble from his lap, he held her fast, his gaze intense upon hers.
“When I make love to you for the first time, I want it to be in a bed, Johanna,” he said, his voice a low and decadent rumble, sliding over her like velvet.
For the first time.
She must tell him this would be the only time. But seated as she was, their limbs entangled, her blood coursing with fire, her mouth swollen from his kiss, she recognized such a statement for the inevitable lie it would be.
How could she ever make love to this man just once?
Once would never, ever be enough.
She swallowed, then took a steadying breath. “This was not my intention.”
“Nor was it mine.” He closed the distance between them and kissed her sweetly, chastely on the lips before pressing his forehead to hers. “Go to your chamber, and I will follow as soon as I am able.”
A thrill swept over her, chasing any of the lingering shame. There was only one word she could manage to offer. “Yes.”
With his aid, she stood, shaking out her crushed skirts.
“Johanna?”
The question in his voice had her glancing back up at him. He looked so unlike his ordinary, elegant self in that moment: disheveled and wild, his dark hair mussed, his lips darkened, his green cat’s gaze burning into her.
“What is it, Felix?” she asked softly, her body still humming with awareness, still aflame with thwarted desire.
“If you change your mind before I arrive, I will understand,” he told her, belatedly unfolding his tall, lean form into a standing position.
She held his gaze. “I will not change my mind. Not for you. Not ever.”
Johanna had never meant words she had spoken more than these. It was a confession, an admission. An acknowledgment of how much he meant to her, how greatly he affected her. And it was more than she had ever given another.
Acutely aware of that fact, she gave him one last look before turning to flee the chamber. His words chased her out the door, sweetly rumbled revelations.
“Nor I, Johanna.”
