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“Ah, but I think there is.”

He clasped her chin, but as he lowered his mouth to hers, she laid her small hand on his chest. “We agreed to no kissing.”

“You agreed. I agreed only to let you slap me. And so you may. After we’re done.” Then giving her no more time to protest, he covered her mouth with his.

He kept the kiss gentle at first, savoring the taste and scent of her…until he realized she wasn’t responding. Her stiff posture and clenched teeth were a measure of her determination to resist, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. His experience with women might be “limited,” but it was quality experience, and he’d be damned if he’d let her think otherwise.

He tried to deepen the kiss, but she wouldn’t let him. Only her fragile throat trembling beneath his splayed fingers gave any indication that he affected her. So he caressed it slowly, enjoying a moment’s triumph when she swallowed hard.

But that was all she gave him, standing there rigid in his arms, refusing to unbend. His arousal thrummed heavily between his thighs as he pressed closer, hardening into her softness, seeking the essence of woman that had tantalized him for hours. Yet still she remained immobile, unmoved. It drove him insane.

He needed to distract her from whatever was making her determined not to respond. Because he was fairly sure it was a foolish reason, easily gotten over.

He drew back to find her gazing at him with an expression of false nonchalance. He knew it was false, because her chin quivered and her breath came decidedly faster than before. Besides which, she hadn’t slapped him.

“Are you…quite done?” she murmured shakily.

That was worse than any slap. By thunder, he’d breach her defenses if it took him all afternoon. “Not yet.” Reaching around her to the chess table, he grabbed three of the heavy silver pieces, then closed her hand around them. “Hold these. If you can.”

“Why?” she asked, even as her fingers automatically clutched them.

He smiled and seized three of the onyx pieces to press into her other hand. “Because I intend to prove that I can make your heart race and your bones melt.”

Chapter 8

Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!

No glory lives behind the back of such.

William Shakespeare’s Much Ado about Nothing, embroidered onto a handkerchief by seventeen-year-old Juliet and given as a Christmas gift to her sister Rosalind, who loved the handkerchief and ignored the quotation

My bones melt? Juliet thought in a panic, as Sebastian lowered his head again. Then God help me.

His first kiss had sent her reeling. She’d tried blotting him out, thinking of complicated embroidery patterns and chess maneuvers. That had provided only a little relief. When he’d drawn back, she’d congratulated herself on her success.

She should have known he wouldn’t let it drop. His mouth was now even more of a temptation, despite his veering away from her lips to lavish kisses over other parts of her—her pounding temples, her heated cheeks, her vulnerable neck. That he felt free to kiss every bare inch while she held his silly chess pieces made the whole thing seem indefinably more seductive. She should just drop them. She really should.

Yet she didn’t. For one thing, she refused to give him the satisfaction. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? To make her react? So if she stood here acting unaffected, surely he’d grow humiliated and give up.

Unfortunately, it was very hard to act unaffected when a handsome, virile man feathered kisses along one’s throat…trailed openmouthed caresses up one’s jaw line to one’s ears…then laved one’s ears with his tongue in a most outrageous manner.

Dear me, it was hot in here. And the room was spinning.

“You have the tastiest earlobes, Juliet.” When he actually nibbled at them with his teeth, it sent a surprising jolt right down her spine. His warm breath in her hapless ear spiked her pulse up a notch.

“Thinking with your st-stomach again?” she stammered as he kissed a path from her ear across her cheek and down.

“Not exactly.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Though your lips are tasty, too. They’re so plump and tender, they make me very, very hungry.” He proceeded to outline them with slow, gentle kisses, never fully kissing her. It drove her mad.

“For a man who excels at firing pistols, your aim is very bad.” She’d meant it to be a dry, witty insult of his kissing that would stop the torture. Instead, it came out all husky and sensual, like an invitation.

And he took it that way, for he chuckled. “Then I’ll have to improve my trajectory,” he said, and moved the necessary inch to seal her mouth with his.

He wasn’t gentle this time, or sweet. Hungry was the word, so hungry it roused her hunger, too. This kiss demanded respect, no doubt about it. His mouth took, and she gave, as simple as that. Already primed by his other tempting kisses, she fell into this one with ridiculous ease. And when he sought again to deepen it, she could no more stop him than she could stop snow from falling.

That’s when it got interesting. He seduced her mouth so expertly, he had her uttering sounds she didn’t know she could make, going soft in parts of her body that had never done so. The longer he kissed her, with those deep, stunning kisses that stole her will, the more she craved them. Sebastian had certainly perfected this intimate kissing business. He mightn’t be a rake like his father, but he was still his father’s son.

Suddenly, his hand slipped up to gauge the madly beating pulse at her neck. “I believe your heart is racing, sweeting,” he murmured against her mouth. “Check.”