“Do you?” he prodded, feeling ugly.
Ugly and vulnerable and randy as a stag in rut. What the hell was the matter with him?
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Yes?” he repeated, incredulous.
She nodded, nibbling on the bow of her upper lip just as she did whenever she was nervous. “I do, Shelbourne. I want to know.”
“Kiss you,” he rasped. “But I will not stop there tonight. I will kiss you and kiss you until neither of us can think. And then I will take you to my bed and fuck you all night long. That is what I will do if you remain here another minute longer.”
She said nothing. She knelt by him, still as a statue and yet made of sweetly scented, warm, desirable flesh.Good God, he felt her presence like a touch. Like an ache. A visceral need. He had to feel her.
“Julianna.” He reached for her, cupping her face.
“Your toe,” she whispered, eyes going wide.
But she did not move.
“To the devil with my toe.” Her skin was soft and smooth. He could not stop his thumb from tracing her cheekbone. Could not stay his head from tipping toward hers.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and her forehead dipped, touching his.
But he was having none of that. He wanted her gaze on him. “Open your eyes, Julianna. Look at the man you married.”
Her lashes lifted. Brilliant blue stung him.
That was how it felt when her gaze burned into his, like the sting of a bee. A jolt, pain, and then, inexplicably,more.
Not so much like an angry insect hell-bent on protecting itself; no bite, no sting, no ache. Instead, he felt only that same sense of rightness that had been there since the first moment their paths had crossed. So long ago now. A lifetime ago, it seemed.
“What if…”
She began, only to allow her words to trail away.
Maddening.
“What if?” he nudged her.
“What if I want you to kiss me?”
Her husky query stole the breath from his lungs. But the rest of him was violently alive. He was doused in flame. His cock was making a tent of his dressing gown, no doubt about it. And the desire deep within could not be denied.
Her breath coasted over his lips in the prelude to everything he wanted. Everything he needed. God, and how. He needed her more than whisky. More than wine. More than anything or anyone.
“You are certain?” he asked.
“Shelbourne.” Her hand fisted in the lapels of his dressing gown, pulling him even nearer.
“Say it.”
He wanted the word. Wanted heryes. Her surrender, full stop.
Her tongue slid over her bottom lip. “Yes,” she whispered.
Thank Christ.
His mouth was on hers in the next moment. The kiss was incendiary. Her lips were supple and giving. She clutched his shoulders. Slid closer. Kissed him back. He kissed her harder in response, angling his head, licking the seam of her lips until she opened for him. Until her tongue tangled with his. She tasted of the sweetness of biscuits, the tartness of blackberries, and tea.
