“I thought you…I thought it nothing more than flirtation.”
It might have been, but beneath it something more had been brewing. He could no longer deny it. “You’ve more power than ye think, lass.”
She liked the thought of it, he could see. But James wanted more than thoughts from her.
“Do you really seduce all the widows then?”
“Nay, lass,” he goaded, willing her to action. “Sometimes I wait for them to seduce me.”
Her beguiling amethyst eyes flared at his words.
Do it,he urged silently.Take what you want.
James was used to acting on his impulses, taking charge in seduction and sex. He’d never imagined what intoxication could be found in the reverse. Braced and strung, lust forged his coiled body. Bugger it, if her lips bore a fraction of the fire burning in her eyes, he’d combust at the merest caress.
“Jamie…”
“Aye, lass…”
Her kiss, when it came, was off target and even a tad sloppy. But the moment her lips met his, James’s blood raged and he fell into it fiercely. Taking pleasure. Giving it. So much more than he’d imagined, it knocked him off kilter once again. Clasping a hand at the nape of her neck, he angled her to deepen the kiss. His tongue touched the seam of her soft lips, tasting her. Champagne and untapped desire. When she parted them, blood rushed to his head, buzzing with primal satisfaction. He swept his tongue across hers, swallowing her heartfelt sigh.
Her small hands slid over his shoulders, tugging him closer, and he happily obliged. His arm dropped around her waist, lifting her against him as he plunged farther into the sweetness of her mouth. He nipped at her lips, sucking lightly on the lower one.
He wanted those sweet sighs to build into cries of passion. Screams of rapture. He wanted them all. Every one. Only for himself.
The thought invaded his lust-fogged mind. Were they only his? Had she given them freely before, however clandestine?
It was a sobering thought. Though he’d never had a monogamous lover before—he’d never even demanded it of Larena, though he was certain she complied anyway—James was fast discovering he didn’t like to share. The idea that some other man, like the blond man from the Gould’s that night, had drowned himself in her luscious lips filled him with unexpected jealousy. To his surprise, his first urge wasn’t to find the fellow and beat him to a pulp, but rather to make sure she forgot there were other men on the planet at all.
Easing away from her, James ended the kiss gradually, until she was gazing up at him with sleepy, desirous eyes. She licked her lips as if trying to finish every last taste of him. The gesture had him hardening all over again, ready to reach for her.
“You are a woman of hidden depths, Mrs. Eames,” he whispered, his voice husky with lingering desire.
Her lashes swept over her cheeks. “Won’t you just call me Prim?”
“After a kiss like that?” he teased, lifting her chin up with the tip of his finger. “Nay, I cannot imagine doing so. You’ll just have to remain Mrs. Eames.” He brushed his lips softly across hers, savoring the slight tremor of her breath as they met. “Mrs. Eames.” Another kiss. “Mrs. Eames.”
* * *
Something about the formality of his address mixed with the suggestion in his tone was intoxicating. Naughty. Prim almost hoped he never chose to call her anything else.
But on the other hand, Eames was the name of another man. One who’d never managed to rouse an iota of the passion in their bedchamber that James just had. She was shaky, needy. A growing part of her—the bold, daring part—wanted to have him slake that need. Beg him to do it. Or as he’d said before, take it herself.
The ever-shrinking minority of her mind was appalled at the very idea. She ignored it but did listen to the voice of reason that told her this wasn’t the time or place for any of this. She should be grateful he’d had the presence of mind to stop, because with every touch, she craved more. Knowing he desired her as well only served to excite her more.
But was she the only woman he desired? Given recent gossip, she doubted it.
CHAPTER 17
It is vain to expect virtue from women till they are in some degree independent of men.
~ Mary Wollstroncraftfrom A Vindication of the Rights of Woman
“Should we try our hand at the waltz again?” James asked as they made their way back to the ballroom.
“I don’t expect you to devote all of your time to me,” she said. “Surely there are other ladies you’d like to dance with?”
“Not a one.”
