Absolute Surrender by Jenn LeBlanc

off. He shouldn ’ t be handling her so roughly. He shouldn ’ t be handling her at all. But Charles couldn ’ t make the effort to turn away as her mouth began to move and her lips reminded him again that he would be second.
    “No.” Her breath hitched. “But I am recently determined that yours be my last.”
    Charles watched her mouth form the words. The sound floated toward him on her breath, and he could not stop his advance. There were warnings in the back of his mind, his conscience throwing him a line to catch—he rather slammed the door on it.
    Charles’s hand left the door and took her neck, bracing her jaw as he tilted her slowly to him, holding her steady as he descended, watchful, then kissed the very edge of her upturned mouth. He saw her close her eyes, and she relaxed into him, all of her tension concentrated in those two small hands clutching his coat. He traced her lips with his tongue, decided she ’ d had honey with her toast at breakfast, reined in everything in him that screamed TAKE, then kissed her sweetly, gently.
    A promise.
    She leaned further into him, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist, holding her against his body, attempting to be ever so gentle, ever so sweet. An apology for his untoward behavior. He ministered to those lips, left no crease untouched, and she relaxed incrementally. His hand expanded at the small of her back, as though to hold as much of her as possible, and he noticed a new sort of movement—the tension like a living thing traveling her spine as he held on to her. He opened his eyes.
    Amelia ’ s very life breathed into him as he tasted her, the fresh honey with an underlying flavor of lilac. He broke away when he heard voices outside.
    Good God, what have I now done?
    Charles’s breathing was unsteady, a prelude to what his body wished to come next. His eyes shot to the door of the parlor, and he backed up a pace, with much difficulty. She nearly fell to the floor, her body left without his support, and he reached for her, but her hand shot out and caught the edge of a table. As the table shook, a vase crashed to the floor, certainly alerting the household.
    “I beg your pardon, Amelia. That was entirely uncalled for. I—” He needed to beg forgiveness. He should have been on his knees. Damn the consequences, the audience that made its way to them now.
    She held up a hand to stay him. “No, please don ’ t apologize for something so...something.” Her hand moved to hover at her chin, as if she debated whether to touch her lips or retreat. “Thank you.”
    Charles winced at the formality of the phrase. “I understand you have the very best intentions. I ’ m just not entirely sure that he has those same intentions.” He wasn ’ t sure why he was talking about this. He had just kissed her. Thoroughly. In the parlor. Why had he brought to mind the man who was still between them?
    “No, that he does not.” Her admission was unexpected.
    Charles looked at her, shocked she ’ d followed his line of conversation, or chose to continue it. “Did he tell you as much?” he asked.
    He saw her falter, her eyes sweep the room, the way her lids fell but didn ’ t rise as quickly as a blink. The way her hands shook. His soul called to hold her. To take all that force and fission into himself, to will her to calm. Instead, his hands held at the ready, not at his sides, but prepared, staid.
    “He did. Hugh intended to say good-bye this morning, but then he didn ’ t, and then he did and then—” She lifted her hand to her lips again, and he knew.
    “Just this morning then. I was a mere hour late to being your first.”
    Her nod was so small it was nearly imperceptible. She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Of course I understand completely should you decide I ’ m not worthy,” she whispered.
    “Your worth, Amelia, was decided years ago. The decision to be made now is whether our life together can survive a man who may be determined to ruin