doubt because everything was going his way. Which irked her further. "Come now, look on the bright side. 'Tis only six meetings. If you hadn't negotiated with me earlier, you'd have rolled both dice and might have wound up having to see me twelve times instead of six."
That much was true. Feeling slightly mollified, she said, "I suppose."
"Now about that kiss ..."
Dash it all, she'd rolled a blasted six, and she still had to endure another kiss from the man? She heaved a sigh of disgust. "It hardly seems fair, but have at it. Just do it quickly," she added ungraciously. "My chaperone believes I am at a sewing circle and expects me back by two."
"Then by all means, let us get on with the business." His lips quirked. "I'll try not to lose track of time."
Lose track of time? What is he talking about? He must be trying to unnerve me. Well, I won't give him that satisfaction. Once and for all, I'll prove I'm not a wicked girl.
She angled her chin upward. "Just so you know, I am no green chit. You're not the only one who has kissed me, you know."
His brows shot up.
Good. Loftily, she went on, "I am familiar with this particular activity and how it's done. I know for a fact that it never takes more than a minute to accomplish—like the last time."
A choked sound left him. Good again. Now he knew she was no inexperienced ninny. With a twinge, she thought of Lord Charles. The man she ought to be kissing and with whom said gesture would likely be heavenly. But it couldn't be helped; she best handle herself with cool aplomb and get the matter over with.
"I'll, er, do my best not to disappoint," Hunt said.
"Just get on with it." Pursing her lips, she shut her eyes.
And nearly jumped when a warm caress slid along her neck.
"Wh-what are you doing?" she stammered. Her skin tingled where he'd touched her; she'd never known that patch beneath her ear to be sensitive. Yet sparks danced over the surface of her skin.
"Untying your bonnet." His eyes gleamed, the golden flecks in them pronounced against his darkened pupils. "'Tis a grand brim, to be sure, but surely you don't expect me to fit under there with you?"
"Oh. I suppose not." Do not overreact. Remain calm and collected. Reaching up, she fumbled with the ribbons; to her consternation, they were hopelessly knotted.
"You're making things worse. Allow me."
Nudging aside her hands, Hunt expertly took hold of the strings. She swallowed as his fingers brushed against her neck, the calloused pads rasping lightly against her skin. A shivering awareness spread over her, raising the fine hairs on her arms and tightening her lower belly. All of her senses chose that moment to come fully awake: Hunt's scent penetrated her nostrils— leather and male spice, familiar yet exotic.
In a rush, the dream of the catacombs came back to her, and she swayed. Suddenly, she remembered she'd forgotten to invoke the no-touching rule. "Mr. Hunt, I—"
He placed a finger to her lips. The brightness of his eyes mesmerized her. "Enough talking. Close your eyes now, Persephone, and take my kiss."
All thought fled as his hands cupped her head, held her in place. She quivered within that strong yet strangely gentle grasp. A breath rushed out, and before she could draw in the next, he kissed her. Firm, warm lips against her own. She tried to think of Lord Charles, to distract herself by recalling his elegantly worded invitation to go for a drive ... to Hyde Park ... her mind grew blurry. The lulling heat of the mouth moving over hers carried her farther and farther away from the shores of rationality.
She began to float, adrift in sensation. In pure and stunning discovery.
Then the kiss deepened, and a mysterious undercurrent stirred within her. What on earth is happening? she wondered foggily. It wasn't like this last time ... She felt her knees give out, but she didn't fall; instead, she was lifted upon something solid, and all she could do was cling to the warm, hard muscle that was anchoring her
That much was true. Feeling slightly mollified, she said, "I suppose."
"Now about that kiss ..."
Dash it all, she'd rolled a blasted six, and she still had to endure another kiss from the man? She heaved a sigh of disgust. "It hardly seems fair, but have at it. Just do it quickly," she added ungraciously. "My chaperone believes I am at a sewing circle and expects me back by two."
"Then by all means, let us get on with the business." His lips quirked. "I'll try not to lose track of time."
Lose track of time? What is he talking about? He must be trying to unnerve me. Well, I won't give him that satisfaction. Once and for all, I'll prove I'm not a wicked girl.
She angled her chin upward. "Just so you know, I am no green chit. You're not the only one who has kissed me, you know."
His brows shot up.
Good. Loftily, she went on, "I am familiar with this particular activity and how it's done. I know for a fact that it never takes more than a minute to accomplish—like the last time."
A choked sound left him. Good again. Now he knew she was no inexperienced ninny. With a twinge, she thought of Lord Charles. The man she ought to be kissing and with whom said gesture would likely be heavenly. But it couldn't be helped; she best handle herself with cool aplomb and get the matter over with.
"I'll, er, do my best not to disappoint," Hunt said.
"Just get on with it." Pursing her lips, she shut her eyes.
And nearly jumped when a warm caress slid along her neck.
"Wh-what are you doing?" she stammered. Her skin tingled where he'd touched her; she'd never known that patch beneath her ear to be sensitive. Yet sparks danced over the surface of her skin.
"Untying your bonnet." His eyes gleamed, the golden flecks in them pronounced against his darkened pupils. "'Tis a grand brim, to be sure, but surely you don't expect me to fit under there with you?"
"Oh. I suppose not." Do not overreact. Remain calm and collected. Reaching up, she fumbled with the ribbons; to her consternation, they were hopelessly knotted.
"You're making things worse. Allow me."
Nudging aside her hands, Hunt expertly took hold of the strings. She swallowed as his fingers brushed against her neck, the calloused pads rasping lightly against her skin. A shivering awareness spread over her, raising the fine hairs on her arms and tightening her lower belly. All of her senses chose that moment to come fully awake: Hunt's scent penetrated her nostrils— leather and male spice, familiar yet exotic.
In a rush, the dream of the catacombs came back to her, and she swayed. Suddenly, she remembered she'd forgotten to invoke the no-touching rule. "Mr. Hunt, I—"
He placed a finger to her lips. The brightness of his eyes mesmerized her. "Enough talking. Close your eyes now, Persephone, and take my kiss."
All thought fled as his hands cupped her head, held her in place. She quivered within that strong yet strangely gentle grasp. A breath rushed out, and before she could draw in the next, he kissed her. Firm, warm lips against her own. She tried to think of Lord Charles, to distract herself by recalling his elegantly worded invitation to go for a drive ... to Hyde Park ... her mind grew blurry. The lulling heat of the mouth moving over hers carried her farther and farther away from the shores of rationality.
She began to float, adrift in sensation. In pure and stunning discovery.
Then the kiss deepened, and a mysterious undercurrent stirred within her. What on earth is happening? she wondered foggily. It wasn't like this last time ... She felt her knees give out, but she didn't fall; instead, she was lifted upon something solid, and all she could do was cling to the warm, hard muscle that was anchoring her
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