“You’re not wrong for that,” he acknowledged, his gaze dipping to her full lips. “I’m not generally known for my noble sentiments.”
Particularly where she was concerned.
He couldn’t wait to debauch her. Thoroughly.
Her lips parted. “You delight in your wicked reputation.”
Perhaps he ought to warn her. Nando grinned.
“I delight in wickedness, full stop.”
And still, she didn’t move away. Nor did she rescind her hand, which remained over his thudding heart. The air between them hung heavy with sensuality. He didn’t want to frighten her away, but he also wanted to take her mouth more than he wanted another breath.
In the next moment, she solved the conundrum for him by rising on her toes and suddenly pressing her lips to his.
And it was a miracle.
A revelation.
It was incendiary.
He wrapped his arms around her, not giving a damn about his wounded arm or the way the action pulled at his stitches or the pain shooting through him at the abrupt movement. He’d happily bleed for the chance to hold her.
She twined her arms around his neck, her lush lips open and hungry and demanding a response from him. There was precious little mastery in her artless kisses, and yet they were more rousing than even the most practiced seductress’s. He couldn’t get enough of her.
Nando kissed her with all the pent-up passion and yearning burning inside him. He held her against him, their bodies straining together, her supple breasts crushing into his chest, her soft belly cradling his rigid length, thanks to the disparity in their heights. He didn’t bother to restrain himself but allowed her to feel him—allof him. To feel how badly he wanted her.
She made a sound low in her throat, a husky half moan, and then she was boldly taking control of the kiss, a new finesse replacing the awkward exuberance she’d initially shown. With his lower lip, he urged her to open for him, sliding his tongue into her honeyed depths when she did. She tasted sweet, so sweet. Like tea and refinement and Eleanora, and there had never, in the entirety of his years on this earth, been a finer taste or a better kiss.
Because it washer.
There was simply something about Eleanora Brett. He didn’t know what it was. But it was consuming him.Shewas consuming him—thoughts of her chasing him through each hour of the day and every second of the night. Nando had to touch her, to learn her curves. He moved his hands, pain accompanying each caress, molding to her lower back, to her determined spine, burrowing in the soft hair at her nape and knocking her dreadful cap askew. He wanted to undress her. To worship every inch of her. To make love to her so thoroughly and please her so well that she would forget her own name, let alone propriety.
Her tongue glided against his, and he nearly lost control.
Just as abruptly as it had begun, the kiss ended as she tore her lips away with a shocked gasp, clapping a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Desire roared through him. He hadn’t released her just yet; she was still in his arms. He never wanted to let go.
“Forgive me,” she said, her voice shaken and breathless, so unlike the cool, unflappable Miss Brett she oft pretended to be. “I don’t know what came over me.”
Nando licked his bottom lip, still tasting her. “I do. Lust. You want me, Eleanora. You may as well admit it.”
He wasn’t going to allow her to deny the passion so obvious and potent, burning between them with the force of a thousand suns. To do so would be a sacrilege.
“Admitting any such thing would be nothing short of absolute folly.” She flattened her hands on his chest and pushed. “Please, release me.”
He did as she asked, mourning the loss of contact with her, his frustration soaring to rival his need.
“What are you so afraid of?” he asked softly.
“Myself,” she answered instantly.
“You needn’t. I’ll take care of you, Eleanora. I can promise you that.”
“And I’ve already told you I’ll not be a kept woman. I’m no man’s mistress.”
“Then be my lover instead.”
She shook her head. “One is not different from the other, and both would cause me to lose everything.”
