“Very well. You may have me. But no kissing.”
“What if I want to kiss you?” Starling said, reaching up and tracing the curve of her lower lip with his thumb, pressing down on the dent in the centre so that she felt it brush the tip of her tongue.
Oh, he was good. Wicked in fact.
It suited her just fine, she found with surprise.
If she was to take a lover, he would do nicely.
“You may fuck me, or you may kiss me. Take your pick.” She knew not where the words came from, but they tumbled boldly from her lips nonetheless.
“Very well,” he growled, stepping close, placing the glass down carelessly on the low wall beside them and ducking his head to hover his mouth over hers for a brief, heart-stopping moment, then pressing his lips just to the side, to her cheek.
His scent washed over her, the masculine heat of him radiating through the thin silk dress to warm her skin as the shawl slipped from her shoulders.
Starling skated his lips along her jaw, tantalisingly slow, then down over her throat as Helen fought to draw breath against the rush of want that flared in the wake of his almost caress.
A large palm cupped the nape of her neck, drawing her head back for him as her hands rose of their own accord and dug themselves into his shoulders.
His mouth continued its sinful journey, kissing her pulse points with hot, open-mouthed kisses, the flick of his tongue against her skin sending a lick of heat straight to the place between her thighs.
Then he moved to her jaw again, teasing his mouth tantalisingly close to the corner of her lips, before retreating again.
It was maddening, how much she wanted to feel his mouth on hers,against all reason.
She didn’t want to be kissed, did not want anything remotely close to tenderness.
Helen realised she wanted to be taken, ravished, and then left alone again.
Just the way she liked it.
His arm curved around her waist, bending her back against it as his mouth dipped to the bare skin of her shoulder, the length of her collarbone, his fingers splayed beneath the swell of her breasts.
So close, she could imagine how good it would feel to have him touch her there.
He pulled back, staring down at her for one charged moment, their chests heaving together, matching flames of desire flaring in their shared gaze.
“I want to kiss you,”he said finally, even as she frowned in confusion, his lips wasting no time as they crashed into hers, stealing her breath with the passion of his mouth as it devoured with hot, sensual sips, his tongue tangling with hers with a raw sensuality that stole her breath and had her leaning in for more.
When their lips finally parted, she drew back, flustered and confused.
This was not how it was supposed to be.
He should be backing her into a shadowy corner, not kissing her as if he would die if he didn’t.
It was too much. And yet, not enough.
Helen pulled away, her pulse hammering madly in her veins, and, without thought, she felt her palm connect with his cheek in a stinging slap.
“There. You have had your kiss,” she hissed, angry beyond reason, both ashamed and embarrassed as she stumbled back from his arms. Starling sucked in a breath and narrowed his eyes at her.
“Good night, Captain,” she muttered, then turned on her heel and walked away.
CHAPTER THREE
Captain Colin Starlingsipped his drink slowly as he waited for his latest client at the coffee house off Bond Street. As he kicked his heels, he watched the other patrons of the establishment with half an eye, as was his habit.
People fascinated him, and it was amazing what small daily dramas of life one could observe if only one paid attention.
