Bewitched by His Kiss (May Day Mischief) by Barbara Monajem Page B

his size and power and heat. Desire rampaged through her, stirring her flesh to flagrant, wanton need.
    And he knew it, his hot hands traveling her, dominating her with ease, one hand cupping her breast, teasing the nipple through the fabric, while the other raised her skirts.
    The rush of cold air sobered her, gave her strength. She tore her mouth from his and pushed again, but he merely laughed and bit her ear.
    Oh, God . Desire stormed her defenses again, and now his clever mouth feathered kisses down her throat and nipped the tender spot where her neck met her shoulder. The scratch of his day-old beard sent quivers through her limbs. He tormented her with kisses and bites and kisses again, and all the while his hands explored and uncovered and made her insane with wanting him.
    This wasn’t magic, as he claimed. It wasn’t a result of their frantic, naked coupling in the dew three years ago. Lord Elderwood had asked—no, demanded to marry her then and several times since, when she’d accompanied Aunt Edna and Peony to London for the Season. He claimed there was an unbreakable bond between them. Sheer nonsense! It was nothing but animal attraction and could be overcome by willpower.
    She had plenty of that, but to get away, she must disarm him. She must , but instead she found herself running her lips over his rough cheeks, nipping his ear in return, burying her nose in his aroma and heat.
    The muscles of his shoulders softened, and he leaned into her, the pressure sensual and insistent but no longer fierce. He was sure of her now.
    And no longer unstoppable, but she must make him think he had succeeded. She let her hands fall, let her breasts sink against his chest, and at the crushing of their bodies, so close and so hot, she almost succumbed again.
    No . She ran one hand up his torso and around to his back, fondling but not really, while the other hand slithered down his hip and into the pocket of her cloak.
    She grasped the pistol and pressed the muzzle against his groin.
    “Let me go, or I will shoot you,” she said.
    * * *
    David stilled. Damn, that certainly felt like a gun. His cock cringed in abject terror. The rest of him was merely annoyed. For the sake of that most important part, he released her. “What in Hades is wrong with you?”
    “I don’t want this.” She backed away. “Can you not get that into your thick head?”
    “Come now. You were enjoying it as much as I was.” He moved toward her.
    Lucasta cocked the pistol and leveled it. “I mean it. If you so much as touch me again, I will shoot.”
    He considered her. She had more resolution than several other women combined, but if it came down to it, would she shoot him? And if she shot, what were the odds she would hit him?
    He shrugged. At this range, she would be hard put to miss. For all he knew, the gun wasn’t even loaded, but he decided not to chance it. “Very well,” he said. “If you’re absolutely sure you weren’t enjoying yourself...”
    She didn’t lower the pistol as any ordinary woman would do at this juncture. “I’ll thank you to remember that I’m engaged to your close friend.”
    “I haven’t forgotten,” he said. “As I’ve told you before, you’re making a mistake. Why ruin poor Alexis’s life?”
    The insult didn’t faze her; she waved his words aside with the cocked pistol and an impatient frown. “You needn’t be concerned for Alexis. I mean him no harm.”
    “You may not mean it, but you’ll do it anyway. Uncock the pistol, woman. It could go off at any second.”
    “No,” she said, striding away.
    “No what?” He followed. “It won’t go off? It’s not loaded, is it?”
    “Of course it’s loaded.” Her voice overflowed with scorn.
    “Dear me. For whom was the bullet intended—originally, that is?”
    Lucasta huffed.
    “Do you usually come out at dawn, half-dressed and carrying a loaded pistol?”
    She kept going.
    “You’re not wearing stays,” he said. “You’re wearing