He was thinking of it, too. The incredible softness of her lips, the hitch of her breath when he’d stroked his tongue against hers, her warm fingers sifting gently through the hair at the back of his neck.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He hadn’t planned it. All the while his lips had been devouring hers he’d kept telling himself to stop, that they were friends only, and he had to release her.…
But he hadn’t done it. He hadn’t been able to let her go. Now they were alone in a quiet bedchamber, the fire crackling and a large, soft bed only a few paces away.
There was nothing to stop them—nothing but his honor, which was giving way to desire with every rasping breath into his lungs.
He had to get out of this room,now.
Ciaran dropped his hand and stepped away from her. He’d sit up all night in the hallway, or at the top of the stairwell—anything, anywhere—to keep himself from touching her.
She wasn’t his. She would never be his. He had no right to take anything from her.
He cleared his throat. “I, ah…it’s late, Lucy. You need to rest.” He kissed her forehead, then set her away from him with unsteady hands. “Sleep well.”
He’d already opened the bedchamber door when she caught his hand in hers.
“Don’t go, Ciaran.”
Ciaran closed his eyes as that soft, inviting voice brushed over him, firing his blood and igniting sparks over every inch of his skin. “I have to, sweetheart.”
Lucy reached around him, still holding his hand, and eased the door closed. She took a step toward him, then another, until the hard wood met his back, and warm, soft, fragrant woman filled his arms. “No, you don’t. You don’t have to go anywhere, Ciaran.”
He swallowed. “I—I should—”
“No, you shouldn’t,” she whispered, her lips right next to his ear. Her breath drifted over his heated skin, and then she was kissing him, those soft, red lips teasing gently across his jaw and down his neck.
He’d dreamed of her lips…
Ciaran never made a conscious decision to touch her. The moment her lips touched his skin, he couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything but feel. Everything went hazy around him until there was only Lucy and her soft, coaxing kisses, the seductive slide of her fingers into his hair.
Someone groaned, low and breathless and desperate.
Him. It was him.
Lucy caught one end of his cravat. He arched his neck for her as she loosened it, the smooth fabric sliding across his throat as she tore it free. His head hit the back of the door, but he hardly noticed, he was so desperate to feel the maddening slide of her mouth against his bared throat.
Her kisses were sweet, hot, the lightest caress against his skin until he could stand her teasing no longer, and he took her lips hard. She opened for him at once, her tongue darting eagerly into his mouth to stroke against his. Ciaran kissed her and kissed her, until her lips were plump and swollen and the only sound in the room were her soft whimpers and their ragged, panting breaths.
“Is this what you want, Lucy?” He took her earlobe into his mouth, tickling it with his tongue before scoring it lightly with his teeth. She let out a soft cry, so he did it again, nibbling at her delicate flesh until she was shivering against him. “Do you want me?”
“Yes. Please, Ciaran.” She slid her hands under his shirt, her fingernails grazing the skin of his back as she frantically tore the linen from his breeches.
Her tender scratch against his skin ripped an urgent moan from his throat. God, he couldn’t get his clothes off quickly enough. He dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
“Oh,” Lucy breathed, and Ciaran had to close his eyes against the hot tease of her breath drifting across his bare chest. Her soft sighs and whimpers made him wild, driving him right to the edge of his control. He wanted to drag his mouth over every inch of her, devour her.
Did she even know what it meant, to want a man? To have him? She’d been sheltered her whole life. If ever a woman was innocent, it was Lucy—
“Warm.” She dragged her hands from the base of his throat down his chest, pausing to sift those maddening fingers through the smattering of dark hair. “I like this.” She leaned forward and pressed her mouth where her fingers had been, her lips stroking the center of his chest.
“Ah.” Ciaran sucked in a sharp breath, his head falling back. She was innocent, yes, but naturally passionate, a red-haired seductress in the making.
And now, at last, she washis.
“More, sweetheart. Kiss me there again.”
Lucy looked up, her gaze finding his. What she saw there made her lips curve in a smile of such pure, feminine triumph he groaned again. He cupped the back of her head and gently urged her face toward his chest.
