“So long,” he said between kisses, panting against her cheek. “I had no idea.”
“Unfashionably long,” she said. “My mother has made me swear never to cut it.”
“Beautiful.”
“Youare beautiful,” she said, rising up to gaze at his chest. She spread her hands on his pectorals, fanning her fingers over the muscle. He shouldn’t be so hard and strong—he was a duke, after all; he should be soft and fragile. But he was also a spy, and although he claimed to waft about, tricking people into revealing secrets, she saw how he moved, how he stood. He was a man of action, and his body was a testament to his work. She dropped her mouth to the warm skin of his clavicle and kissed her way to his nipple.
He let out a groan and clasped her waist with both hands, squeezing, and then slid his hands up her rib cage. When he reached the hollow beneath her arm, she trembled, feeling the tickle. His fingers danced there a delicious moment before sliding around to cup her breasts.
Isobel sucked in a breath and rocked against him. He found the neckline of her dress and tucked two fingertips beneath the ribbon, sweeping downward. She rocked again and returned to his mouth.
“I want you,” he said. “I want all of you.”
She shook her head to deny him but did not break the kiss.
“You want this too,” he said. “Your eagerness has set me on fire. I’ve never wanted anyone more.”
“Kiss me,” she said, and she gave him a sensual, feather-soft kiss. “And feel me.” She found his hands and intertwined their fingers. “Enjoy this moment because I cannot risk more. I cannot risk—” She couldn’t finish. She shook her head.
“But what of—”
She kissed him, hoping for silence. Why would he squander one moment of this stolen... stolenheavento discuss what they mustn’t do or what would not happen?
“I will not misuse you, Isobel,” he said, pulling back.
When she tried to kiss him again, he untangled their hands and flipped them. One moment she was leaning over him, the next he cupped her head and braced her back and rolled left. He settled her gently on the stone, protecting her spine with his hand. Now he hovered above her, staring down.
Her hair spilled across the rock. Her feet hung in the warm, rushing water. He settled on her and the hard weight was a delirious pleasure. She surged up, making a whimpering sound.
He dipped his head. “I will not misuse you,” he repeated, speaking next to her ear.
She closed her eyes to stop the tears. “You misuse me now by talking instead of kissing.”
“I cannot fully enjoy this for wanting more.”
She opened her eyes. “You can’t?”
“Well...” he kissed her again, “...I can enjoy it, but I’m terrified of making a wrong move. You are... uncharted.”
“Oh, I’m charted,” she teased, pulling him to her lips.
“The risk of hurting you is very high, Isobel, and I won’t do it. You must tell me what is possible.”
“I’m better equipped to tell you what isimpossible.”
“What does that mean?”
His frustration was mounting; she could hear it in hisvoice. Instead of caressing her, he held her at the waist. His grip was tight and possessive. She loved it; who had ever held her like this? He held her as if she might, at any moment, be ripped away.
But possession was never meant to be part of this encounter.
“Kiss me again,” she said, “one more time, and I will tell you what is impossible.”
He moved his hands to her face, cupping it. He teased soft circles at her temples with his thumbs. “Why don’t I kiss you again, and thenI’lltellyou?”
She snaked her arms around his neck, pulling him down.
North resisted—his expression was bent on challenging her—but she licked her lips. His eyes were drawn to her mouth, and he dipped down, kissing her once, twice, and then lowering himself, muscle by muscle against her.
