stroll through the orchard?” Mrs. Faraday. She allows the girl to wander about while Morgan combs the area searching for her. “Foolish damn woman!”
“There is no need to be insulting,” Rachael admonished. She tugged against his grip.
“You are to stay inside,” he instructed.
“Inside,”
he repeated, shaking her for emphasis when she continued to struggle. Her mouth opened then closed. “Test me on this, and you will find your door bolted from the outside.”
“Then I will have exchanged one form of imprisonment for another. Perhaps I should depart in the morning and leave you to give my regrets to Tarry.”
Rachael tried to shake free of his hold, but his grip on her arms only tightened. He shifted his stance and swept her up against his solid strength, her back braced by his powerful arm. She felt every hard line of him from chest to thigh. Her breasts were crushed against his broad expanse. A pleasant warmth emanated from him, and the suggestion of lithe power, leashed, but deadly.
Staring at the elaborate brocade coat, Rachael was appalled by the unexpected flash of pleasure she felt at being held by him. She breathed in his scent, an aromatic mixture of exotic spices as mysterious as the man himself, and could feel the drumming of her heart when his hand brushed her cheek, smoothing the hair back from her face. Though he had seemed angry, his touch was exquisite in its gentleness.
This was madness. She barely knew him, and yet her heart leapt in reaction to his touch. She felt the tumult of her blood coursing through her veins, and was filled with a sharp, blind ache that begged to be eased. She could not blame her reaction on the wine; she hadn’t drunk any.
“How can you leave?” Rachael heard him ask. She looked up at him in bewilderment when he whispered, “How can I let you leave?”
She did not need to see his face to know he was going to kiss her. She felt the rough grasp of his fingers when he cupped her chin, and she lifted her head, driven to meet the hungry passion of his kiss with a sweet fervor of her own.
Who would condemn her for seeking protection or even love? There were enemies on all sides of her. She had felt helpless and without hope, but Wyatt made her feel safeguarded and desirable in ways she had never known.
Sebastién touched the sensitive area in the hollow of Rachael’s throat, his fingers gliding over her skin. She shuddered and moaned at the sensation as a fulsome yearning grew within her, a nameless intensity that quickened her pulse and chased away all thought of caution or propriety.
Sighing as his kiss grew demanding and possessive, her lips burned from the heat and depth of the kiss as he tested the resistance of her teeth and urged her lips to part for a fuller invasion. Her arms were locked between their bodies, but she yearned to touch him as he was touching her, with a slow appreciation that was ascending into urgency. Gently born and reared, she was unaccustomed to the riotous tumult of the senses.
Inflamed beyond all manner of thought or calculation, Sebastién moved in to kiss her hungrily, savoring her honeyed taste. It was a treacherous, damned inconvenient desire. The moonlight on her hair, the glowing promise in her dark blue eyes, and her pale, cool beauty had all conspired against him.
He felt her tongue touch his in an unexpected, curiously inexperienced graze that nearly undid him. He nuzzled her neck, lips tracing a trail along her creamy white skin as he moved on a downward path, mouth and hands savoring the bounty of her fragrant, silky flesh. His hand slid the gown up her leg as he caressed her silken thigh. Her skin was like porcelain in the candlelight, fragile and delicate, yet smooth and heated to his touch.
Her fierce, almost desperate response made him pause, and he fought to marshal restraint, unwilling to trust either himself or her. Holding her slightly away from him, Sebastién scrutinized her face. He could have her; that
“There is no need to be insulting,” Rachael admonished. She tugged against his grip.
“You are to stay inside,” he instructed.
“Inside,”
he repeated, shaking her for emphasis when she continued to struggle. Her mouth opened then closed. “Test me on this, and you will find your door bolted from the outside.”
“Then I will have exchanged one form of imprisonment for another. Perhaps I should depart in the morning and leave you to give my regrets to Tarry.”
Rachael tried to shake free of his hold, but his grip on her arms only tightened. He shifted his stance and swept her up against his solid strength, her back braced by his powerful arm. She felt every hard line of him from chest to thigh. Her breasts were crushed against his broad expanse. A pleasant warmth emanated from him, and the suggestion of lithe power, leashed, but deadly.
Staring at the elaborate brocade coat, Rachael was appalled by the unexpected flash of pleasure she felt at being held by him. She breathed in his scent, an aromatic mixture of exotic spices as mysterious as the man himself, and could feel the drumming of her heart when his hand brushed her cheek, smoothing the hair back from her face. Though he had seemed angry, his touch was exquisite in its gentleness.
This was madness. She barely knew him, and yet her heart leapt in reaction to his touch. She felt the tumult of her blood coursing through her veins, and was filled with a sharp, blind ache that begged to be eased. She could not blame her reaction on the wine; she hadn’t drunk any.
“How can you leave?” Rachael heard him ask. She looked up at him in bewilderment when he whispered, “How can I let you leave?”
She did not need to see his face to know he was going to kiss her. She felt the rough grasp of his fingers when he cupped her chin, and she lifted her head, driven to meet the hungry passion of his kiss with a sweet fervor of her own.
Who would condemn her for seeking protection or even love? There were enemies on all sides of her. She had felt helpless and without hope, but Wyatt made her feel safeguarded and desirable in ways she had never known.
Sebastién touched the sensitive area in the hollow of Rachael’s throat, his fingers gliding over her skin. She shuddered and moaned at the sensation as a fulsome yearning grew within her, a nameless intensity that quickened her pulse and chased away all thought of caution or propriety.
Sighing as his kiss grew demanding and possessive, her lips burned from the heat and depth of the kiss as he tested the resistance of her teeth and urged her lips to part for a fuller invasion. Her arms were locked between their bodies, but she yearned to touch him as he was touching her, with a slow appreciation that was ascending into urgency. Gently born and reared, she was unaccustomed to the riotous tumult of the senses.
Inflamed beyond all manner of thought or calculation, Sebastién moved in to kiss her hungrily, savoring her honeyed taste. It was a treacherous, damned inconvenient desire. The moonlight on her hair, the glowing promise in her dark blue eyes, and her pale, cool beauty had all conspired against him.
He felt her tongue touch his in an unexpected, curiously inexperienced graze that nearly undid him. He nuzzled her neck, lips tracing a trail along her creamy white skin as he moved on a downward path, mouth and hands savoring the bounty of her fragrant, silky flesh. His hand slid the gown up her leg as he caressed her silken thigh. Her skin was like porcelain in the candlelight, fragile and delicate, yet smooth and heated to his touch.
Her fierce, almost desperate response made him pause, and he fought to marshal restraint, unwilling to trust either himself or her. Holding her slightly away from him, Sebastién scrutinized her face. He could have her; that
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