neck and pressed a kiss to the base of her throat. She arched her head to the side, and he felt her hum of approval against his lips.
The quiet vibrations passed from her body into his, sending a pleasurable thrill reverberating through him. He pressed lingering kisses up her throat, inhaling the light scents of orange blossoms and soap, and beneath—pure, intoxicating woman. He dragged his mouth along the line of her jaw, letting her feel just the barest touch of teeth. Her breathing, already fitful, became audible. When he flicked his tongue against the velvety patch of flesh hidden behind her ear, she gasped.
That was all the invitation Henry needed. He returned to her mouth, slanted his lips over hers, and began to kiss her in earnest—sweet, slow, and steady. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, flush against his body. She fit him perfectly, all soft and lithe where he was hard and demanding.
Her mouth surpassed all his expectations. He ran his tongue over the soft fullness of her bottom lip, then caught it in his teeth and sucked it into his mouth. She tasted of the ratafia served with dessert, mostly sweet but with a hint of spice. Another taste lurked beneath, luring him in deeper—
her
taste. He wanted more.
Like the rogue she accused him of being, he took it. Taking advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss, he eagerly thrust his tongue inside her mouth. Her taste washed over him, dark, wild, and sensual, and an untamed heat rose up in him in response. He was desperate for more of her taste, more of her touch—more of
her
.
Henry fought to retain some vestiges of control, but he was losing the battle. Unable to help himself, he pressed his body into hers. She shivered in response and clutched at him.
So good.
She felt so good with her body arching into him, pressed to all those places certain to drive a man mad. A primal, male part of his brain bade him to cover her, conquer her… claim her. He wanted to haul her skirts up, unbutton his breeches, and wrap those long, sleek legs of hers around his waist. He would take her right here, the sound of her harsh pants filling his ears like the most glorious music as he surrounded himself, sated himself in her.
When was the last time he’d felt so urgent? Something about her called to him, demanded his response. It was her innocence, he told himself. She was untried, untutored, and that was a novelty for him. The women he played with were well versed in this game.
This wasn’t a game, though, and he couldn’t play with her.
He lost his tenuous grasp on that thought as she began to kiss him back, tentatively at first, and then with increasing daring. A little moan of pleasure rose up in her throat and traveled across their fused mouths into him. It raced through his body, and moved south, straight to his cock.
He skimmed his hand down her back to cup her bottom, fitting her more closely to him. She tore her mouth from his, a breathy cry escaping at the intimate caress, and turned her head to the side. A denial. He’d be damned if he would allow that. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit down just hard enough to punish her for the sensual torment his body was undergoing.
“Henry!” her low cry was loud in the silence. Loud enough to shock him back into some semblance of sanity. Christ, he was kissing (more than strictly kissing, if he wanted to be honest, which he wasn’t sure he did) Diana Merriwether (something, or someone rather, he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about) in the Keltons’ library where anyone might discover them.
And he really,
really
didn’t want to stop.
Diana—no, it would be better for both of them if he thought of her as Miss Merriwether—looked deliciously disheveled and more than a little bewildered. She looked ripe for dalliance. Unfortunately, he could not afford to dally with this particular woman.
He stepped away from her, thinking of cold lakes, curtain studies, the St.
The quiet vibrations passed from her body into his, sending a pleasurable thrill reverberating through him. He pressed lingering kisses up her throat, inhaling the light scents of orange blossoms and soap, and beneath—pure, intoxicating woman. He dragged his mouth along the line of her jaw, letting her feel just the barest touch of teeth. Her breathing, already fitful, became audible. When he flicked his tongue against the velvety patch of flesh hidden behind her ear, she gasped.
That was all the invitation Henry needed. He returned to her mouth, slanted his lips over hers, and began to kiss her in earnest—sweet, slow, and steady. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, flush against his body. She fit him perfectly, all soft and lithe where he was hard and demanding.
Her mouth surpassed all his expectations. He ran his tongue over the soft fullness of her bottom lip, then caught it in his teeth and sucked it into his mouth. She tasted of the ratafia served with dessert, mostly sweet but with a hint of spice. Another taste lurked beneath, luring him in deeper—
her
taste. He wanted more.
Like the rogue she accused him of being, he took it. Taking advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss, he eagerly thrust his tongue inside her mouth. Her taste washed over him, dark, wild, and sensual, and an untamed heat rose up in him in response. He was desperate for more of her taste, more of her touch—more of
her
.
Henry fought to retain some vestiges of control, but he was losing the battle. Unable to help himself, he pressed his body into hers. She shivered in response and clutched at him.
So good.
She felt so good with her body arching into him, pressed to all those places certain to drive a man mad. A primal, male part of his brain bade him to cover her, conquer her… claim her. He wanted to haul her skirts up, unbutton his breeches, and wrap those long, sleek legs of hers around his waist. He would take her right here, the sound of her harsh pants filling his ears like the most glorious music as he surrounded himself, sated himself in her.
When was the last time he’d felt so urgent? Something about her called to him, demanded his response. It was her innocence, he told himself. She was untried, untutored, and that was a novelty for him. The women he played with were well versed in this game.
This wasn’t a game, though, and he couldn’t play with her.
He lost his tenuous grasp on that thought as she began to kiss him back, tentatively at first, and then with increasing daring. A little moan of pleasure rose up in her throat and traveled across their fused mouths into him. It raced through his body, and moved south, straight to his cock.
He skimmed his hand down her back to cup her bottom, fitting her more closely to him. She tore her mouth from his, a breathy cry escaping at the intimate caress, and turned her head to the side. A denial. He’d be damned if he would allow that. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit down just hard enough to punish her for the sensual torment his body was undergoing.
“Henry!” her low cry was loud in the silence. Loud enough to shock him back into some semblance of sanity. Christ, he was kissing (more than strictly kissing, if he wanted to be honest, which he wasn’t sure he did) Diana Merriwether (something, or someone rather, he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about) in the Keltons’ library where anyone might discover them.
And he really,
really
didn’t want to stop.
Diana—no, it would be better for both of them if he thought of her as Miss Merriwether—looked deliciously disheveled and more than a little bewildered. She looked ripe for dalliance. Unfortunately, he could not afford to dally with this particular woman.
He stepped away from her, thinking of cold lakes, curtain studies, the St.
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