The Reckless Bride by Stephanie Laurens

spun.
    Whirled as his tongue slipped between her lips and stroked, touched, caressed.
    Waltzed as he found her tongue and tempted, and she returned the pleasure, followed, and tasted him as he tasted her.
    Never had Rafe walked an edge so fine, so fraught with the danger of taking too much, moving too fast, and sending her running.
    By sheer force of will he kept his hands locked on the rail, denying the almost overpowering urge to seize her instead, to wrap his arms around her and lock her against him, her soft feminine warmth to his much harder heat.
    Not yet.
    But soon.
    That much was now written in stone.
    Even with only her hands on his cheeks and their lips and tongues touching, he could sense her curiosity welling, flaring out of control. Could taste it like honeyed wine on the slicked surface of her luscious lips. Could sense it grow to a steady flame as he pressed further, deeper, slowly but subtly claiming her mouth …
    She pulled back on a gasp, eyes wide. She stared at him for an instant, and he couldn’t read her thoughts.
    “Good God!” She breathed the words more than said them.
    For an instant her hands remained cradling his cheeks, then they dropped to his shoulders, she pushed and he stepped back.
    Still she stared, then she abruptly shook her head, looked away. “No.”
    Without another glance or utterance of any sort, she stepped around him, walked to the stairs and quickly went down.
    Rafe stood where he was and watched her. Only after she’d disappeared did he let his lips curve.
    Her “Good God!” hadn’t been uttered with heat, with horror, not even with shock. Her fascination, her enthrallment, had rung clearly.
    Discovery. Revelation.
    Unbounded interest.
    All had resonated in her stunned voice.
    As for her “no” …
    Smile deepening, he turned to lean on the rail and look out at the night.
    Her “no” hadn’t been directed at him, but at herself.

Four

    November 29, 1822

The
Uray Princep
on the Danube
    T he following morning, Rafe joined Esme and Loretta at the breakfast table in the dining salon. Esme greeted him warmly. Loretta barely glanced his way.
    Although he tried to catch her eye, she refused to meet his. The predictable exchanges between him and Esme about the weather—chilly—and the scenery—increasingly dominated by dark forests—failed to elicit any response from Loretta.
    After that kiss that, contrary to her intention, had demonstrated conclusively that there was indeed a powerful attraction between them—an attraction he was determined to pursue—she appeared to have grown even more repressive, not less.
    Eventually, driven to prod, he asked, “I do hope your walk on the deck last night didn’t leave you with an unexpected chill.”
    Brows rising, Esme glanced at Loretta.
    Meeting Esme’s gaze, Loretta stated, “I couldn’t sleep, so I took a quick turn about the deck.” Without looking at him, she continued, “It was quite mild. The outing didn’t affect me in the least.”
    Too irritated to gawp, he narrowed his eyes at her—at herprofile, since she still refused to look his way. “I had thought the change in temperature during the time you spent on deck would have registered—indeed, would have made some impression.”
    She cast him a sharp glance. “Clearly it did not.”
    He trapped her gaze. “You seemed very aware of the change when you left the deck so precipitously.”
    “I can’t recall anything noteworthy.”
    “You can’t be that forgetful.” He arched a brow. “Or is it intentionally forgetful?”
    Her eyes had narrowed to bright blue slits. Setting down her teacup, she pushed back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m sure there’s something else I should be doing.” She rose; annoyed, he got to his feet, too. To Esme, she said, “I’ll be in the stateroom if you need me.”
    With that, she turned and marched away, around to the stairs; he heard her slippers pattering as she went down to the cabins.
    Irritated and