He raised her chin gently and her lips tensed, pressing together hard.
‘Relax, I will not kiss you yet.’
Her eyes flickered up to his.
‘You won’t?’
‘I will tell you before I do and, if you wish me not to, you have only to say so. Now close your eyes.’
‘Why?’
He sighed. ‘Just trust me. I promise I will not kiss you without asking first. Now close your eyes.’
She obeyed, frowning, and he touched her cheek, moving his fingers lightly over her cheekbone to where a downy wave of brown hair curled over the tip of her ear. He brushed his thumb over its warmth, easing it back from her temple with soft stroking motions, his hand moulding to the curve of her jaw as he tucked it behind her ear. Her shoulder rose a fraction and he watched the flickering of her lashes, surprisingly dark and long, the shifting of her brows as they moved in and out of a frown as if trying to hear something far away.
He kept his touch light and soothing as his fingers explored the contours of her face, wondered what she was thinking. Whether despite her determination to master her thoughts and reactions she was cringing inside, linking his touch with memories of pain and humiliation.
‘Is it terrible?’ he whispered. ‘Shall I stop?’
Her brows twitched again, but she didn’t open her eyes or speak, just shook her head. It was hardly an accolade to his appeal, but it did quite a bit of damage, relief flowing through him more potently than her brandy, and he couldn’t stop his gaze from settling on her mouth or his head sinking towards hers. So he closed his own eyes and concentrated on touch. On the slide of his fingers over the curve of her ear, her neck, on to the hard ridge of her collarbone and the sweep of her shoulder, then back up again.
Without seeing them there were revelations on the journey. The lobe of her ear was softer than any he had ever felt, so much so he had to feel it again, brushing his palm against it and barely controlling the shudder that rushed up his arms to join the building agony in the rest of his body. Then there was her collarbone. He had noticed it before with the eye of a connoisseur who could appreciate architectural highlights, but under his fingers it was combination of hard lines and velvety skin; it drew his fingers along its definite sweep and made his body imagine her hands touching him in a mirror image of his caresses, sending tingling sensations over his chest to join the rising heat below.
His hands itched to go lower so he made them rise again, rewarding them by touching that impossibly soft skin beneath her ear where her pulse was fluttering as swiftly as his, then moving gently along her jaw and cheeks, resisting the urge to touch her mouth with every ounce of his control. He couldn’t remember the last time he had either touched a woman so innocently or been swamped by such mind-numbing need. He gathered his disintegrating control. It was time to either go forward or retreat.
‘May I kiss you now? I will stop the moment you ask.’
Her lips parted and she nodded slightly, the words sliding out, hardly audible, but they seemed to enter directly into this chest, two spears dipped in molten lead.
‘Yes, please...’
He had never felt such tension at the thought of just kissing a woman. The need to be gentle was in absolute opposition to his desire. But it was imperative that he not scare her, and allowing her to feel one iota of the heat tormenting him would probably send her running.
He touched his mouth to hers. The burn was immediate, like making contact with a live flame under a veil of silk. Her body jerked, her breath hitching, and he fought his own instinctive recoil at the contact. He held himself still, just absorbing the feel of her lips, as her breath, short and shallow, feathered over his lips. It was both torture and exquisite—nothing was happening, but every passing second the sensations shifted, sparking little shivers of pleasure along his lips that danced out through his body like ecstatic messengers preparing the ground for a feast. Her heartbeat thundered where his palms were pressed against her neck and cheek.
Finally, he felt something in the balance of her body shift; a slight quiver ran through her and her lips parted just a little, her lower lip sliding between his, until he felt the perfect point where the pillowy softness was damp, warmer. He concentrated on keeping his movements slight, gentle, sliding one hand into her hair, his thumb brushing over her ear as he pulled her lip slowly between his, tasting it.
His other hand moved over her shoulder, to her waist, holding her as he moved in, trying not to drag her against him as he wanted to, just bringing his body to touch hers. Her own hands, which had hung by her sides, rose languidly, resting for a moment on the lapels of his coat, then with another devastating shiver they slid up and around his nape, her fingers skimming into his hair, moving gently against his scalp. He wanted to arch his head back, force her to go further, to sink her hands into his hair, press her body the length of his, he wanted her to sink her teeth into the stinging need spreading in the wake of the sweep of her lips against his. The disconnect between her languid movements and the raging fire they were feeding finally dragged him to a halt.
He drew back, but he didn’t let her go or do more than manage even an inch of distance between their mouths.
‘That was nice.’ Her breath brushed against his lips, soft and warm as a Mediterranean breeze. But her words were as lacklustre as ditch water and dragged him categorically back to reality.
Nice.
‘For someone who was not certain she would like kissing, you did very well,’ he managed to say.
She moved back, but his hands remained on the soft curve of her waist. She didn’t appear to notice and he wasn’t going to call her attention to it because he wasn’t quite ready to let her go. Her eyes were half-closed and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. It slid out, moist and full, and the tense knot of heat and desire tightened like a ship’s rigging in full gale winds and then her eyes softened in a smile that hit him like a fist to the gut. If he didn’t know better, he could well believe she had conceived of the perfect seduction. It was certainly far too effective.
‘I am glad I tried. This was quite...different,’ she replied.
Different. Almost worse than ‘Nice.’ Before he could respond she stepped back.
‘Do you really believe there is a chance you will find this Mr Eldritch?’
He let her go and moved towards the door.
‘I will do my best. Such a sacrifice on your part shouldn’t go unrewarded.’
He didn’t wait to hear her response. He was damned if he gave her any more opportunities to make a fool out of him.
Olivia went to sit at her desk, staring at the still-open door of the study until the thud of the area door closing brought her a little closer to the surface.
She touched her lower lip. It felt strange, puffy and sensitive like the time Jack accidently bumped his head against hers while struggling for ownership of a croquet mallet, except that it didn’t hurt. Everywhere Lord Sinclair had touched and a few places he hadn’t felt strange—tingly and restless and pulsing, as if he had scoured away layers of sheltering skin. She felt strange.
To think she had worried it would give even more power to those images and memories of Bertram. The moment his fingertips brushed her mouth her mind latched on to the sensation like Twitch on to a stick. By the time he asked if he could kiss her it would have taken a great deal more strength than she possessed to say no.
Now that he was gone she wondered where she had found the temerity to ask him to kiss her. She had told him far too much, revealed much more than she ever revealed to anyone. She had trusted him. She must be quite mad. He certainly must have thought her mad. She winced at