Lovers Forever by Shirlee Busbee Page A

thought, and Tess pushed it away. Sending the earl an uncertain smile, she followed his directions and tasted the brandy once more. He was right, she decided happily as the smoky flavor of the brandy coated her tongue and then flowed warmly down her throat. It was much better his way!
    He grinned at her and lifted his snifter in a silent toast. She returned his gesture, and together they each took another swallow, smiling at each other idiotically over the rim of their snifters.
    They sat together for some time, talking aimlessly about very little, a companionable silence falling between them now and then. The storm continued to make itself heard, with the rain lashing against the shutters, the wind tearing at the roof, and rolling booms of thunder. But as Tess and Nicolas sat cozily by the fire, the storm hardly impinged upon their senses at all.
    Eventually Nicolas arose, picked up the brandy decanter, and refilled their glasses. After putting the decanter on the hearth, he seated himself once more. They drank another snifter or two. Tess didn’t keep track, and she wasn’t quite certain when or how it happened, but shortly after the third or fourth snifter, she found herself sitting on his lap, her head nestled snugly against his shoulder, her feet dangling carelessly over his strong thighs, her shoes on the floor next to his boots.
    With the potent liquor spreading its numbing warmth all through her body, Tess suspected that she was drunk. She giggled. Very drunk.
    Looking up at Nicolas owlishly, she asked, “Am I foxed, do you think?”
    He smiled at her lazily, one hand caressing her fiery curls, and slowly nodded his dark head. “We both are, sweetheart—although I believe that you are perhaps a bit more foxed than I am. I still know what we are doing....”
    â€œOh!” Tess returned, a slightly fuzzy expression on her lovely face. “What are we doing?”
    Nicolas set down his brandy snifter carefully, then took her snifter away and set it next to his. Cupping her face between his hands, he brushed his mouth tantalizingly across hers. “We are,” he said thickly against her lips, “going to do what I have wanted to do since the moment I first laid eyes on you. . . .” He bit gently at the corner of her mouth. “In just a few minutes I am going to pick you up and carry you over to that very large, very comfortable bed, and then . . . after I have stripped every scrap of clothing from this delectable body of yours, I am going to make love to you. Very thorough love.”
    Tess’s heart began to thump madly in her breast, her nipples became suddenly hard and aching, and the heat between her legs flared hotter and more intensely than before. She looked up into his dark face, a thousand different emotions rioting through her. Tracing the outline of his sensually curved bottom lip, she asked breathlessly, “But suppose I don’t want to make love with you? What happens then?”
    Nicolas hadn’t lied when he had said he was as foxed as she was. Somewhat foggily he regarded her, trying to form a coherent answer. What the devil would he do if she didn’t want him to make love to her? he wondered dejectedly. He had never forced a woman in his life, and not even to possess this beguiling little siren was he going to start now—even if every instinct cried out to the contrary. “I suppose,” he said heavily, his reluctance obvious, “that you would leave and we wouldn’t make love.”
    The idea of not making love to him, of not knowing what it would be like to lie in his arms and feel his strong body move against hers, was suddenly so painful to Tess that she could not bear it. It was as if she had waited years for him, had hungered for his kiss and possession for such a long time, that to wait one moment longer was unthinkable.
    Astonishing both of them, she flung her arms passionately around his neck. Raining soft, achingly