She’d been occupying his thoughts since that first meeting at Shepheard’s. Each time they crossed paths, his conviction grew—that she was something rare and precious, and thathe’d be a fool to walk away. He might spend a lifetime and never meet someone like Onora Montague.
She was one of a kind: infuriating, stubborn, but strong-willed in the best way, and resilient. More than that, he liked the way her mind worked and how she expressed herself. She had a spiritual side that had nothing to do with religion or dogma. And, he could hardly forget, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes upon.
Tell her, or you’ll regret it always.
She was moving back towards the entrance, bending low to inspect the faces of the children.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Montague, you must know, I haven’t brought you here solely to look at wall paintings.”
“Haven’t you?” She jerked upright. “Is there something else? I thought these tombs had been emptied of artefacts.”
A deep breath was required. “It’s always seemed to me that people have layers. I mean to say, you may have a wrong impression of me which is entirely my fault, but I’d like to remedy that—for you to know mebetter.” He was making a total sow’s ear of this. “And for me to know you better.”
“I see.” She cocked her head. “And how are we to do that, Mr. Balfour? Through conversation, as we have been doing, or some more drastic approach?” She took a step closer. “You’ve brought me here, unchaperoned and very much out of sight. Now you plan to strip away my defenses. That being the case, perhaps I should start calling you Jack.”
He couldn’t move. The way she was gazing at him! Not at all like an innocent young woman who knew nothing of the ways of men. The melting look in her eyes was positively seductive.
Raising the mirror, she breathed onto it then took the lacy muslin neckerchief from her throat, applying the gauzy fabric to the surface. Rubbing it clear, she slipped it into the pocket of her skirt, then stepped closer still.
Her head was tilted back, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted. Rising upon her toes, she brushedher mouth to his, so gently he expected her to whisper to him. However, when she pressed forward again, there could be no mistake. She tugged upon his lower lip, teasing, and gave the softest of sighs, relaxing against him.
Joy took hold such as he’d never known before—warmth and contentment, and a sense of ‘rightness’. Without him saying much at all, she understood how he felt. She wanted him, in the same way he did her.
It seemed natural to hold her waist and, as he did so, she invited his tongue to meet hers.
He’d imagined their kiss so many times, but this was better. She was lush in his arms, soft and yielding. Her hands snaked around him, tugging at his shirt. Soon her fingers were stroking the bare skin of his lower back.
Jack moved to her neck, wanting to lick and taste every part of her, to kiss her throat and claim her earlobe between his teeth.
“Touch me. I want you to.” Onora was breathing heavily.
She was unbuttoning her jacket, then herblouse, exposing the camisole beneath. To his surprise she wore no corset, though the slenderness of her torso hardly made one necessary. High and round, her breasts were visible through the fine cambric.
His mouth was dry. He wanted to do as she asked.
Hell! He’d dreamt of nothing but this!
Even so, he hesitated.
She isn’t yours. Not really.
Impatiently, she grabbed his hand, so that he cupped her. “Please!”
Unable to help himself, he felt for the tautness of her nipple, straining against the garment. He took it between thumb and finger, and she gasped.
The last remnants of his reserve left him.
“Onora.” Her name emerged as a groan.
His cock had been aching since the first brush of her kiss. Now he was rock hard.
Her fingers threaded through his hair as he pushed down the camisole, nuzzling her breasts, wanting to pull the shape of her into his mouth. She held him while he suckled, then grewimpatient, pushing him away. Her eyes, so blue, looked almost black in the half-light of the cave, her pupils near covering each iris. “There’s nothing to stop us. Show me what it is to be loved. Show me everything.”
CHAPTER 17
She tugged out the last of his shirt. Curious fingers stroked through the hair that trailed Jack’s lower abdomen. His muscles tightened as she reached within the waistband, unfastening, releasing him, encompassing him with her questing touch.
What came next was as much her doing as his.
