“But then that’s the way of things, isn’t it?” She whispered the words aloud, but she was talking to herself more than Lachlan. “We lose ourselves along the way. At first it’s just a small thing—a tiny wager, a single coin. But then it becomes another, and then another, and it happens so slowly—just one coin at a time—by the time you realize your danger, it’s too late. You’ve given it all up, and all your coins are gone.”
His fingers tightened on her chin. “Not always. Sometimes a risk pays off, and you get back something you need.”
Something you need…
Gold-flecked hazel eyes. A warm, rough fingertip against her skin. An elusive, surprisingly vulnerable, hide-and-seek smile.
Or something you want.
Hyacinth stared up at him, mesmerized. Did he realize the gold flecks in his eyes glowed when he was agitated? Or that the fall of his dark hair over his brow made him look almost boyish, despite his intimidating size, and the way he vibrated with raw intensity?
Did he know he made her entire body vibrate in response?
Perhaps he did, because as he stared down at her, there was a subtle shift in his expression. It might have been imperceptible to anyone else, but Hyacinth saw it. His mouth softened, and his eyelids grew heavy over eyes gone suddenly dark.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Then, slowly—oh, so agonizingly slowly she wasn’t sure he was moving at all until she felt his touch—he slid his hands over her neck and stroked the rough pads of his thumbs across her jaw.
She sighed softly. His gaze dropped to her parted lips, and then he was moving closer, his mouth descending toward hers, and she was trembling in anticipation, her eyes drifting closed…
Oh, so soft. His lips were so much softer than she’d dreamed they’d be.
Because shehaddreamed of them. Of him, and his kiss. She hadn’t admitted it to herself until the moment his lips met hers, so careful at first, so gentle, just the lightest brush against one corner of her mouth, then the other. They were tiny, restrained kisses, but they deepened when a whimper tore from her throat, and she rose onto her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck.
“Hyacinth…” A hoarse whisper in her ear, her name both a plea and a warning at once, but she didn’t heed it. She held him tightly, stroking her lips over his again and again until at last he let out a tortured moan, and took her mouth harder, teasing the tip of his tongue at the seam of her lips until she opened for him.
A low growl rumbled in his chest as he dragged her closer, his mouth plundering hers. His tongue was hot and demanding as he stroked into all the empty spaces inside her—the ones she knew about, and the ones she didn’t. She clung to him, her knees weak, and her belly quivering with desire.
He dragged his lips over her throat, her neck, across the tops of her breasts. His kisses were desperate, as if he thought she’d be torn from his arms at any moment, and wanted to taste every inch of her skin while he still had the chance. But even as he devoured her, he was whispering to her, his voice strained, breathless, “Hyacinth, we can’t…”
Her heart gave a fierce throb of protest as he began to pull away from her. She buried her hands in his hair, but it did no good. He raised his head, and her eyes popped open just as he took a step back, away from her.
And dear God, she’d never been so disappointed in her entire life. Her heart, bursting with hope only moments before, dropped like a wounded bird into the pit of her stomach.
No, don’t stop. I don’t want a brother, after all.
But Lachlan had already drawn away, so far away even one of his long arms couldn’t stretch across the chasm he’d put between them, and the boldness that had made her demand his kiss curled in on itself, and burned into nothingness.
* * * *
Whatever cold, black remnant of his heart remained, Hyacinth Somerset was breaking it.
He couldn’t bear to see her always hovering on the edges, like a shivering, hungry child standing on a freezing sidewalk, her nose pressed against the window, looking in on a room filled with the warmth and light of a roaring fire—a child who wanted to come inside, but couldn’t quite find her way. What kind of hard-hearted scoundrel could stand about and do nothing while a child froze to death?
Not him. As little as a week ago Lachlan would have said he was just the scoundrel for the job, but she’d made that shriveled organ in his chest creak to life again, shuddering and protesting with every beat.
But Hyacinth Somerset was no child.
She was a woman—a woman with wide blue eyes and soft, plump pink lips, with skin that begged to be touched, and curves that pleaded for the stroke of a man’s hands.
His hands.
How like him, to want to steal all her sweetness for himself. A sweetness he had no right to, and didn’t deserve. He’d done wicked things in his life before—things he regretted, and things he was ashamed of, but to take something so sweet…
It was unforgivable, like ripping the wings off an angel.
An angel who also happened to be his new brother’s sister-in-law. A new brother Lachlan was growing fond of, and one who, apparently, wouldn’t hesitate to thrash him if he laid one finger on Hyacinth.
