What’s more, he was the most virile, attractive man she knew.
“Eleanor,” he warned. “What are you doing?”
What was she doing?
“I’m leaning in so you can kiss me. Only if you wish, of course,” she added, not wanting to be deemed pushy.
He said nothing, looking into her eyes, then his gaze dropped to her lips, and a thrill of excitement sizzled through her. He was considering it, she could tell.
After a pause, during which she wondered if she looked ridiculous waiting for him, her lips slightly parted, she began to feel anxious.
Should she grab hold of him or wrap her arms around his neck?
Before she could fathom what to do next, he asked, “Have you been kissed before?”
Thank goodness she could answer truthfully. If she’d had to say no, she would have sounded like the greenest ninny who ever reached the age of nineteen.
“Yes, naturally. After all, I’ve had a couple Seasons in London.” Eleanor tossed her head, making her curls flow over her shoulder as she’d seen Maggie do.
Grayson fell silent again, still considering.
“And did you find a young spark who caught your fancy this Season?”
They were all boys compared to the man who stood before her.
“No,” she admitted.
He smiled and shook his head. “You were supposed to say yes and try to make me jealous. That’s how the game is played.”
“Is it? How silly of me not to know that.” She was the one staring at his lips now, knowing if he kissed her, it would be very good. However, apparently, she wasn’t playing the game of flirtation correctly.
Eleanor sighed, wishing he would simply—
His large hands suddenly clasped her shoulders and held her still. She gasped softly, looking up at him again, just as he lowered his head, and placed his mouth upon hers.
Her first thought wasbrandy, followed quickly by a far more impossibly wonderful one:Grayson O’Connor was kissing her!
Then, she couldn’t think at all, as he tilted his head and seemed to fit his mouth to hers even more tightly. She felt hot all over and even a little lightheaded. Maybe Maggie wasn’t sick. Maybe she’d simply been kissing John too much.
When she heard—and felt—him groan against her lips, it caused her heartbeat to speed up even more. Eleanor realized she’d taken hold of his lightweight jacket and was scrunching his lapels with her fingers.
Then he opened his mouth against hers and, as the intensity of their kiss deepened, the sizzling sensations of desire trickled through her body like heated brandy. Mimicking him, she parted her lips beneath his.
His hands slipped from her shoulders to stroke down her back and rest just above the swell of her moderate bustle. To her amazement, he drew her in tightly against his body, and she could feel the strength of him from chest to hips and down his long muscular thighs.
Deep inside her own body, she tingled, and without meaning to, without thinking about it, she tilted her hips against him.
And then it was over. Grayson released her suddenly, letting her go so quickly, she had to keep her grasp on his coat or risk falling over. But in a moment, he had hold of her hands and was prying them loose and pushing her away.
“I’m sorry,” were his first words.
Not lover’s words, not anything she wanted to hear.
“Why ever for?”
He ran a hand distractedly through his coal-black hair. “I was wrong to kiss you.”
Again, she asked, “Why? I didn’t protest, and I liked it.”
