“You’re forgiven.” The last of her anger melted away, and she smiled tremulously. “Just don’t lie to me again.”
A spasm of emotion crossed his face, his eyes briefly closing. When they opened, the raw yearning there washed away her doubts. Made her feel confident and beautiful and, most of all,wanted. Made her believe that while she wasn’t perfect, she was the one for him. Just as he was the one for her.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.” His voice was guttural with wonder.
“I don’t know either.” She tipped her head back, whispered saucily, “But I know how you could show your appreciation.”
28
As usual,she had terrible timing.
And, as usual, he was powerless to resist her.
He cupped her face with both hands, feeling how soft and delicate she was. How sweetly trusting. And the ever-present guilt pounded along with desire.
Looking at her heavy-lidded eyes, her parted lips, he burned with wanting…and the urge to unburden himself. To confess his identity, the fact that he was a policeman on a quest to stop the hellfire. What were the chances that she could forgive him, trust him?
I’d trust anyone before a policeman…. Spies, mercenaries, and brutes, the lot of them….
Just don’t lie to me again.
Harry’s gut knotted. He didn’twantto lie to her. Yet, if he told her the truth, she would likely cast him from her life. Now, when she was in danger and needed his protection. Losing her love would be devastating…but putting her life at risk?
He couldn’t do it.
“Bennett?”
The uncertainty in her voice undid him. While he could not express the truth in words, he could show her how he felt. His longing for her which was real and raw and beyond anything he’d felt before. Holding her precious face in his palms, he lowered his mouth to hers.
He wanted her to know that no one, least of all Celeste, could hold a candle to her. He intended the kiss to be a tender worship. An expression of yearning that had no specific destination, nowhere to rush, that was wanting and gratitude rolled into one.
Yet the instant she parted her lips for him, beckoning him inside, the flavor of the kiss changed. He sank deeper, lured by Tessa’s essence so sweet, tart, and fresh. Suddenly, her arms were looped around his neck, and he was pressing her up against a bookshelf, the gentle spark fanned into a blazing hunger. A hunger fueled by all he wanted to say and could not, by the fact that he shouldn’t be doing this. But mostly by pureneed.
He nuzzled her earlobe, drawing that plump morsel between his lips. She urged him on with breathy pleas, her honest passion as arousing as any aphrodisiac. He trailed kisses down her neck, the soft slope of her collarbones, over the inviting expanse of her décolletage. She didn’t usually favor low-cut gowns, and while he hadn’t appreciated the way other gentlemen had eyed her bosom, he couldn’t argue with the convenience.
He hooked his middle finger under the line of ermine, finding the skin beneath even softer, silkier than the fur. Her stays restricted access, however, and he couldn’t reach very far.
“I never thought I’d say this,” he murmured, “but I think I prefer you in shirt and trousers.”
The dimness couldn’t conceal the playful twinkle in her eyes. “I’ve received many complements on this costume, you know.”
“I know. I wanted to strangle the bastards who were ogling you.”
“You noticed?” she asked happily.
In the past, he might have mistrusted a woman who expressed delight over his jealousy, but Tessa was different. He knew that she wasn’t playing games. She was honestly happy that he’d noticed her success, that she had someone to share it with.
A fact proved when she went on to say, “It didn’t start off well, but I recalled what you said and held my head high. I ignored Hyacinth and the others like her, and then I met some perfectly charming ladies. They were so nice that you wouldn’t even believe that they’re duchesses.”
Harry did believe it—because they were his sisters. He’d asked Emma and Polly to look out for Tessa, and the pair had been good to their word. “You don’t say.”
Tessa nodded eagerly. “They introduced me to others and my dance card filled and—oh.”
He’d managed to find her nipple, strumming the straining, velvety bud. “You were saying?”
“I can’t talk when you do that,” she said in that breathy voice he adored.
“Shall I stop?”
