Page 14

He offered his hand, and she placed hers within it. His palm was warm and dry, his grip firm and gentle. He led her only a few steps, away from the table’s candles and toward the hearth, where the light was softer and the fire’s warmth wrapped around them.

She was grateful for the change. She didn't want to think about the score while he kissed her. Firelight danced over his face, gilding his jawline and the line of his mouth. He turned to face her.

For a moment he simply looked, and without the game between them she felt the full weight of his attention, steady and intent and unhurried. Her first impulse was to make a remark, something clever enough to keep him from noticing that she had grown nervous. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

He brushed his thumb over her fingers, slow and soothing. “I have wanted to do this since you interrupted me last night.”

The admission steadied her, easing the tightness in her chest and replacing it with a slow, warm gladness. “Then you have been remarkably slow to collect.”

He rested his free hand lightly at her waist; heat seeped through the silk. She moved closer, giving him the answer before he could ask again, until she felt the warmth radiating from his body.

When his mouth touched hers, the kiss was so gentle it surprised her. She had expected assurance. Perhaps even a little triumph after his victory at the table. Instead, he kissed her as though he wished to discover how she would answer, soft and questioning, his lips warm and slightly parted against hers. Her eyes fluttered closed.

Amelia answered by lifting her hand to his shoulder and holding him there, her fingers curling into the fine wool of his coat. He made a quiet sound against her mouth, low and aching. His arm settled more firmly around her, and the next kiss was warmer and deeper, without the first's hesitation. She leaned into him, feeling the strength of his body through the layers of clothing, the hard wall of his chest and the thudding of his heart beneath her palm, and found that all her careful plans had become rather less interesting than the next moment.

She had wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She had not imagined how quickly she would want to do it again, or how the wanting would unfurl through her, sweet and dizzying, until her knees weakened.

When he drew back, her fingers remained curled into his coat. His own composure had suffered pleasingly. His breath came faster, his eyes had gone dark and soft, and the hand at her waist was no longer quite steady. “Was that satisfactory?” he asked, his voice husky.

Amelia looked at his mouth before answering, at the slight dampness of his lips. “I believe you have collected rather more than one kiss.”

“I did not want to disappoint you,” he admitted. “And I suspected one kiss would not be enough.”

“You were right,” she said. “It wasn’t.”

He smiled, a slow, crooked, wonderful thing, and she touched the edge of his open collar, her fingertips brushing his skin. This time she did not pretend the movement was part of collecting a prize. “I should like another,” she said.

His expression changed, pleasure giving way to an intentness that made her pulse quicken anew, a hot flutter at the base of her throat. “That,” he murmured, “is a request I am very willing to grant.”

She rose slightly onto her toes and met him halfway. The kiss lasted long enough for her to forget the fire, the cards, and the fact that she had been determined to keep him uncertain. Her loose curl brushed his cheek. His hand slid along her back, drawing her nearer, spreading warm and wide between her shoulder blades, and she felt his breath catch as she slipped her fingers beneath his collar and found the warm skin of his neck.

He stopped kissing her and rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing unevenly in the firelit hush. “Amelia,” he said. “I adore kissing you.”

“I never gave you permission to use my given name,” she teased.

“I admit to taking liberties with the woman I enjoy kissing,” he said huskily. “I refuse to be less intimate with you.” He smiled. “But I will concede to your demands. May I call you Amelia?

She nodded at a loss for words.

“Good, he said, and you will call me Dominic.” He brushed a thumb over her cheek. “Amelia.” Her name sounded different in his voice. She had heard it spoken fondly, impatiently, carelessly. She had not expected those three syllables to make her want to close her eyes and listen, to let the sound wrap around her like a warm shawl.

She did so anyway, her lashes drifting down. “Dominic,” she answered, and felt something in her chest unlock.

His arm tightened briefly around her. Neither spoke for several moments. Amelia let herself remain there, her hand resting against the warm side of his neck where his pulse beat strong and quick, and enjoyed the simple fact that he hadn’t hurried to turn her wanting into anything more. He held her as though she were precious and entirely her own.

She could choose that too. Just then, however, she preferred to take her time. She eased back to look at him, her thumb stroking his jaw once. “You may sit with me for a while.”

“Without another game?” he asked.

“Unless you have become afraid to lose.”

“I am beginning to suspect I shall enjoy losing to you.”

She laughed, light and happy, and took his hand, leading him toward the sofa. He sat beside her, close enough that their knees touched when she turned toward him, the contact sending a small, pleasant jolt through her.

The clock upon the mantel struck one. Amelia glanced at it, surprised, a faint pang of regret stirring beneath her contentment. She had spent the day anticipating his arrival and had scarcely noticed the time passing once he came.

Dominic followed her gaze. “I shall leave whenever you wish.”