Temptation and Surrender by Stephanie Laurens Page B

didn’t know what to do with them; they hovered in the air between them, level with his chest. As he watched, her gaze dropped to his lips.
    He sucked in a slow, impossibly tight breath, conscious of the debilitating effect, not just her telltale fascination with his lips, but the combined impact of having her so close, all but against him, and the more subtle allure of the scent of her hair—of her—was having on his control.
    Mentally gritting his teeth, he hung on. Waited.
    Mentally pleaded that she answer, soon, and save them both.
    Managed to say, low and deep, his voice a rough murmur, “Emily…tell me all and I’ll let you go.”
    Em heard, but found it impossible to concentrate. To focus on his words rather than the fascinating movement of his lips as he said them.
    She watched his lips tighten, then soften as he again said her name, his tone one step removed from a plea…and suddenly she knew.
    Two could play at his game, the game he’d started, the game he’d been playing last night at the inn.
    One part of her mind insisted that she should be struggling, that she should plant her hands firmly on his chest and shove.
    Most of her mind was on a different track.
    Lifting her hands, she placed them on his shoulders, used the contact to steady her as she stretched up—and pressed her lips to his.
    Kissed him. Just a kiss, a light one—enough to shock him and stop him from pursuing the question of what she was doing.
    Just a quick kiss—because she knew, now, that he was as affected by her as she was by him—and she’d never been so tempted in her life.
    Never been interested, never wanted to know, to understand why a man wanted her. But Jonas Tallent was different; with him, she had to know.
    Distracting him from her search was her excuse, but just like all Colytons, discovery and exploration—plunging into the unknown with reckless abandon—were her true motives.
    Discovery and exploration were uppermost in her mind. His lips were cool, firm, less soft than her own. Sheer shock had frozen him, his lips immobile, unresisting as with her own, she tested them.
    Briefly. She knew she had to draw back. Reluctantly she started to lower her heels.
    At her back, his hands moved. And then he was holding her, strong fingers spreading over her back, palms gripping her sides as he kept her where she was.
    And took over the kiss.
    Bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. Tested her lips as she had his.
    But the result was quite different. Sensations washed through her, warm and enticing. A thrill, quite novel, played along her nerves. Seeped into her brain and seeded a suggestion, a thought, a want.
    A desire.
    To know more—to discover more.
    The pressure of his lips on hers increased, subtly tempting. They shifted on hers, openly luring…
    He drew back a fraction, then with the tip of his tongue swept her lower lip, gently coaxing, beckoning…
    And she followed. For the first time in her life she wanted to know, to feel, to experience a kiss, all a kiss could be.
    She parted her lips, and let him in.
    Jonas all but shuddered. Felt ridiculously giddy as he accepted her invitation, felt immeasurably honored to have gained it. Her mouth was all sweetness, lusciously tempting; he took, pressed further, carefully claimed.
    Carefully learned. Her innocence was transparent, at least to him; fresh and alluring—not the innocence of ignorance, not passive or shy, but alive and eager and elementally untouched.
    She’d been kissed before, but not willingly. He was the first man she’d ever welcomed; that knowledge was certain, undisputed in his mind, and brought with it a responsibility, of which, as he found her tongue with his and gently stroked, he was acutely aware.
    He hadn’t expected her to kiss him, hadn’t imagined she would—hadn’t thought of it, hadn’t been prepared—had no plan in place—to deal with the eventuality. He’d wanted to kiss her—had since he’d first laid eyes on her—but he