Engaged in Sin by Sharon Page

in the hopes of seducing him. He’d rejected the kiss, and after that, she hadn’t tried. She’d never dreamed the gentle touch of his mouth to hers would root her to the ground, would make all sound vanish, rain disappear, time cease. She’d thought the stroke of his thumb over her palm was electric—this was like being struck by lightning. This was dazzling. Heat washed over her. Dizzying heat, as if she hadwalked too close to a raging fire. She was … 
steaming
, even in the cold rain.
    His kiss deepened. His arms tightened around her, pulling her so close that her breasts crushed to his chest and she could barely draw breath. She’d never been held like this. She twined her arms around his neck to hold him, in case he changed his mind. Men rarely kissed, she knew that. They always wanted to move on to sex. Eventually the duke would want to stop. She didn’t want to let him—
    He stopped. Anne’s heart dropped to her toes, until she realized he still held her. He wasn’t letting go, and his ragged breaths mingled with hers. “Thank you,” he growled, and his mouth slanted over hers once more.
    Once more, she melted. The sensuality of this—the lush eroticism of it—made her feel like chocolate bubbling in a pot. She closed her eyes and threw herself into it with all her heart. And when she made a sound of pleasure, his tongue slid into her mouth.
    At once she understood. He wanted to hear her respond before he gave her more, before he took the kiss deeper into an intoxicating place she didn’t know existed.
    She moaned again, and this time his tongue tangled with hers in response. He groaned in pleasure into her mouth. In the shimmer of fireworks that flashed behind her closed lids and thundered in her heart, she knew one thing. This wasn’t a hasty mashing of lips before he got to business. He
wanted
to keep kissing her.
    She ran her fingers up into his wet hair. She’d done an excellent job—it was so smooth and clean and smelled wonderfully of sandalwood soap, and she felt a foolish burst of pride. In that heady moment, Anne answered his tempting play by sliding her tongue into his mouth.
    Lovely. Hot. Erotic. She loved tasting him so intimately,tasting the fresh bite of his tooth powder, the delectable heat of his mouth.
    His hand stroked down and clutched her bottom through her cloak. He pulled her closer. Instinctively, she lifted her leg, wrapped it around his hip. Now she was utterly off balance, and if he moved or let her go, she’d fall. Yet she didn’t care.
    She wanted to kiss him forever. Here. Outside. With the rain streaming down on top of them. She wanted to kiss him until the gray daylight faded away and nighttime fell upon them. Until the rain stopped and the sun rose again. Until summer turned to fall.
    He drew back and she surged forward, wanting more. This time, though, he didn’t bow his head to her and seek her mouth again. He cradled her to his chest and pressed his lips to her hair.
    How could just a kiss do this? Leave her hands shaking, her legs trembling, and her heart spinning like a top in her chest?
    It should be frightening—she’d touched him in the most intimate ways possible, but she’d never felt more weak and quivery than she did now. She desperately tried to force her dazed mind to think back over the last few minutes. Had she moaned for him enough? Kissed him as passionately as she should? Had she pleased him?
    Had she shown him she could be a skillful mistress?
    Anne had to make herself care, but she simply couldn’t. She couldn’t care less about her performance. All she could think about was how it
felt
. She was sagging against him, and her lips were tingling.
    “Look up, love,” he murmured.
    She did, and he kissed her cheek. Her nose. She couldn’t help but giggle. Then he found her lips again and kissed her once more.
    An entirely different kiss to add to her new repertoire of kisses. He kept his lips wide, forcing her to open hermouth just as