Enchanting Pleasures by Eloisa James Page B

afternoon’s errand. Hoare’s Bank indeed. There was something about Gabby’s eyes that gave her away when she was fibbing. Just now those beautiful eyes were looking at him in a way that made his blood rage in his veins. She couldn’t mean that look. It was not an innocent look.
And then she swayed toward him, and he smelled jasmine again. Without a second’s thought, Quill’s mouth came down on Gabby’s lips as softly as a dandelion clock floats to the ground, as sweetly as a mother’s lips brush the head of her babe.
Gabby closed her eyes and stood stock-still, arms at her sides.
She tasted better than she smelled. Quill pulled her closer. His hands slid down toward the magnificent curve of her bottom.
“Put your arms around my neck, Gabby,” he whispered.
“All right,” Gabby said, sounding surprised. “This is very enjoyable,” she whispered back.
“Be quiet, Gabby.” Quill’s deep voice sent a tremor down her spine. And when she opened her mouth to respond to him, he took advantage of her open lips. Tenderness was replaced by a fierce demand, by a craving, hungry request.
Gabby lost her impulse to speak. Her mind went utterly blank, replaced for the first time in her life by her body’s demands. A sigh passed between them. She wound her arms around Quill’s neck and held on, allowing his ravaging mouth to send flames up her back. She melted against his chest, pressing herself feverishly into the kiss, shamelessly reveling in the feeling of his hard body against hers.
Tenderness was a thing of the past. He crushed her mouth under his. Hips, hands, tongue made demands that sent liquid fire between her legs and stole the breath from her chest.
“Gabby, shall we—” The sounds of his own hoarse voice, strained with longing, woke Quill as if from a deep sleep. “Oh, my God.” He snatched his hands away from Gabby’s body. He lurched backward and then turned around, taking a deep breath. “I’ll summon a carriage.”
Gabby swayed a bit as Quill’s big, warm hands fell away. Her whole body raced with a fiery liquor.
“Need we leave…immediately?”
Gabby’s husky voice was more seductive than that of a practiced coquette. Quill turned around slowly, almost afraid to look at her again. “I should shoot myself.”
“Why? Don’t you enjoy kissing?”
Quill closed his eyes for a moment. Gabby was the only woman he’d ever met whose every emotion spoke in her eyes. Pleasure shot through his groin at what he read there: pure, unadulterated longing. Longing for him, for Quill.
She walked over and stood just before him again. Then she wound her arms around his neck and put her lips against his. She breathed against his lower lip, and Quill felt as if he must— must —bend her backward, sweep her forward, carry her outside. Anything to press that luscious body against his again.
God forgive him, the promise of her cherry-dark lips was too much. Quill pulled Gabby sharply against his body and took her mouth. It was different this time. Gabby knew something of kissing now. She opened those beautiful lips, strained toward him, uttered a little strangled moan in the back of her throat, met his tongue with her own.
And so they danced, a kissing dance. Until Quill realized that he had shaken all the pins out of Gabby’s coiffure, and that he was sliding his hands through the indescribable silk of her hair. Realized that his kisses had become a fierce possession, a sexual dance, and—rather more slowly—that Gabby’s hands were also tangled in his hair and that her body was matching the sinuous movement of his hips.
Worse.
The door handle leading to the hallway moved against his back.
He broke the kiss, pulled her arms from his neck, and barked, “Go away,” at the closed door.
Gabby looked up at him in wonder and smiled a glimmering, shining smile of discovery and pleasure.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“I had no idea that kisses were so…so much fun,” Gabby said, her voice still husky.