And so, he’d wallowed in a swampy mix of anger and disdain until Katherine had called him Giles.
Giles, she’d sighed in a purr tinged with supplication.
Giles, as it happened, was the one thing, the only thing, he could freely give. Reflected in her eyes, he was new. Resurrected like Markham’s muddied, weed-choked ship.
He probably shouldn’t have teased about becoming her lover, but he couldn’t muster regret. Katherine appeared transfixed. Breathless. With a quick glance to the blank windows, each one possibly concealing an overcurious gaze, he led her by the hand toward cover.
“Giles!” She laughed in protest.
He segued into the hedge lining the formal garden. There, in the shadow of the brush, he drew her into his arms. Her eyes remained laughing as her body came to his, pliant…trusting. A heady feeling entered his being. Keeping her clasped with one arm, he brushed the strands of hair away from her face.
…desire.
The strange song simmering beneath his skin had to be desire—even if the verse accompanying the heat was sung in wholly unfamiliar incantations. Hold her. Protect her. Keep her safe.
Her lips drew him like a beacon. They parted and he accepted their invitation. She was succulent. Ripe. And her lingering laughter tasted sweet.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Giving you,” he said with another kiss, “exactly what you need.”
“You’ve gone mad.” Her breasts pressed into his chest as she panted.
“Mad, perhaps,” he said, “or suddenly possessed of singular purpose.”
He used that singular purpose to plunder her mouth. She opened beautifully. Lusciously—a winged creature fluttering fearlessly next to flame. Still, he coaxed, his lips trailing from her mouth to her neck. As he nipped at the smooth skin of her shoulder, she threw back her head.
“I may be,” she heaved, “going a little mad myself.”
He secured her with his arms and lifted his head. “Just a little?”
She glanced down beneath her lashes. “Bedlam-bound, I’m afraid.”
“Mmmm,” he hummed. He cupped her neck, entwining fingers into her hair. “Am I in danger?”
“You?” she cooed against his ear. “I am the one in danger.”
“You are beyond danger.” He brushed the small of her spine in comforting waves, encouraging her ever so gently to give him the rest of her weight. “You, my dear hellion, are in absolute peril.”
“Will you save me,” she half laughed with a mix of madness and desire, “if I promise to play billiards only with you?”
“Hellion,” he chuckled against her throat, “don’t you even think of playing with another man’s stick. Not to mention playing with his—”
“Giles!” Her palms framed his cheeks, and she silenced him with her lips.
Her back formed an instinctive, feminine arch as the last of her reserve gave way. The pleasure of her breasts against his chest sent the remainder of his blood to his groin.
He remained upright by sheer will.
His fingers cupped the curve of her ass, her plumpness every bit as delicious as he’d dreamed. He shifted so his hard length pressed into her belly. She whimpered, turning a delightful shade of pink, ardor innate with the promise of complete surrender.
He could have fallen to his knees and nestled between her legs with greedy thanks.
He learned her mouth, listening for the soft moans and quickened breath that betrayed her body’s preference.
She liked when he tilted back her head. She liked when he slid his tongue along the edge of her ear. She loved to kiss with passion. He slid his hand into the cleft between her thighs; she offered no resistance. Her shield had fallen. She’d gone beyond flame; she danced in open fire.
He shivered. She answered with a full-body shiver of her own.
