The air seemed to thin. Where did the kiss at the altar fit into his menu of temptations? An aperitif, perhaps, for the touch of his mouth had only whetted her appetite.
“You’ve studied me closely. What do you think I’d like best?”
“I imagine you’d want to savour every sensation. Tender might be the best place to start. But if your inquisitive mind insists on comparison,”—his mouth curved, a slow hint of amusement—“then I’ll oblige you.”
She steeled herself and rose. Something told her she might not get another chance to catch him so unguarded, and she refused to spend her life ignorant of her husband’s charms. There was a reason women wanted him, and she had a strange compulsion to know why.
“Then I would like to sample the tender dish now.”
Chapter Ten
The lesson should be simple. A taste of desire to sate her curiosity. But the moment she spoke, command in her voice and colour in her cheeks, Gabriel knew he was the fool in this arrangement.
The sooner he got it over with, the better. “Come here.”
He stood rigid, determined to keep a firm hold on his control, to make this no more than a demonstration. But devil take it, his blood surged like a fast-flowing river, pounding against every barrier he’d built.
Temptation approached, teeth sinking into her plump lower lip, each hesitant step stirring that same maddening urge to play her knight-errant. “I shall follow your lead, as I did at the altar.”
At the altar, he’d been one breath away from deepening the kiss, one step from wrapping his arms around her and summoning lust from its fathomless prison.
“A tender kiss should speak of restraint.” He would hold the reins tight enough to leave no room for manoeuvre. “It’s the promise, not the act, that kindles desire.”
“The promise? The promise of what, exactly?”
He stifled a curse. “The promise of coitus.”
“The prospect of making love?”
“Of indulging in carnal pleasure.”
She tilted her head like a curious scholar. “There’s a difference?”
He frowned. “Surely a woman as well-read as you understands the distinction between lust and love.”
“Not necessarily. I’ve read about a pleasure-dome in Xanadu, but that doesn’t mean I’ve been there.”
The minx. Her wit was every bit as enticing as her mouth. “Then brace yourself. You’re about to pay it a visit.”
He didn’t give her time to answer. One step closed the space between them, his hand rising to cradle her jaw as his mouth found hers. Her lips were warm and sweet, the nectar of the gods, and they stilled the storm within him.
Saints and sinners, he could do this every hour of the day: touch her, lose himself in her until nothing else existed. The thought alone was enough to make him break the kiss.
Their eyes met, and the faint disappointment in hers made him wish he’d plundered her lips like London’s worst libertine.
Then she said the one thing guaranteed to wound his masculine pride. “The poets are known to exaggerate. Perhaps one must be addicted to opium to appreciate pleasure.”
He wanted to remind her that friends did not mate with their mouths, but he knew the next time they crossed paths with Miss Bourne, his wife would look at her and wonder how things might have been different.
“Could we try again?” she asked softly. “The tender kiss,but this time with me as a participant? After all, one needs flint and steel to create a spark.”
The need to prove a point outweighed the need for caution, though he feared one more taste and he would combust.
“Certainly.”
Before he drew a breath, she reached out, her hand gliding over the smooth silk of his waistcoat as if touching him was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re much warmer than you let people believe.”
