Lord of My Heart by Jo Beverley

his neck and she cherished it, her fingers seeking the top of the valley of his spine.
    “Ah, my beautiful wanton . . .” His lips touched hers as softly as a kiss of peace, but this kiss brought turmoil, and her conscience gained control.
    She snatched her hands away and used them to push instead. “I mustn’t!”
    Laughter sparked in his eyes. “Mustn’t you?” He loosened his arms. “Then fly, little bird. I won’t stop you.”
    Contrarily, his words allowed her to muffle the alarm bells in her mind. He wouldn’t hold her against her will, and she wanted to be kissed. No more than that, just a kiss.
    Gathering her courage, she touched her lips to his. He laughed and dropped kisses on her nose, and cheeks, and chin. Madeleine did not want to reveal her ignorance so she copied him. She showered his face with little kisses.
    He murmured approvingly and guided her lips to his, this time with a hand firmly cupping the back of her head. His tongue came out to lick her lips.
    Madeleine was startled, but she resolutely did the same. Her tongue met his, mobile and warm. His mouth opened, her mouth opened, his tongue entered to play.
    Madeleine gave a little moan and stopped thinking. Her body hummed, and she leaned against his wonderful chest, strong as an oak, warm as a fire-stone. His hand on her breast turned her legs to jelly. She collapsed completely against his mighty arm. He moved back and sat on a rock, pulling her onto his lap.
    “Yes, darling, yes,” he murmured in English.
    Madeleine regained a scrap of sense and realized she’d had her kiss. It really was time to stop . . .
    His mouth found her right breast. Madeleine stopped thinking again. His hands and mouth tormented her, and her body developed a mind of its own. Her hips turned to move against him. She closed her eyes.
    Heat. Ache. There was a piercing ache between her legs, covered suddenly by his hand. She moaned and moved against him, then stilled as she realized what was happening.
    “No!” she cried and pulled away.
    His hand clapped over her mouth. An arm like iron imprisoned her. She squirmed and kicked. “For Christ’s sake, stay still!” he hissed.
    She obeyed because she was helpless against his strength. She was panting and shivering as if with an ague. He wasn’t in a much better state.
    His hand eased off her mouth. “Let me go,” she whispered. “Please let me go.”
    She felt a shudder pass through him. “By the Virgin’s milk, what’s the matter?”
    A fine sheen of sweat covered his skin, and his eyes were more black than green. He shifted slightly, and she felt his hard member against her thigh and jumped with fright. She pushed on his chest. “Let me up! Let me up! This is wickedness!”
    He stared at her and muttered something hot and angry in English. Then in French he asked tightly, “Are you by any chance a virgin?”
    Feeling as if she were accused of the blackest sin, Madeleine nodded.
    Slowly he released her and stood. His breathing was deep and unsteady. “How,” he said, “did a bold armful like you remain a virgin at your age? What are you? Eighteen?”
    “Seventeen.” Madeleine pulled her skirts down and tugged at her bodice. He’d had her half naked. She ventured a glance at him. Lord, he was angry. He looked as if he were going to beat her, and for being a virgin still. “I’m sorry,” she said, then giggled nervously at the absurdity of it.
    If he was angry, so was her body, screaming that it had been deprived of something it had been promised. She hurt. She wrapped her arms around herself.
    He sighed and shook his head. “It was a hard day when I met you, Dorothy. Go on back to your friends and take a lesson from this.”
    She didn’t like to part from him in anger. “I only wanted a kiss,” she said wistfully.
    He gave a laugh that sounded almost genuine. “Well you certainly had that. Go on. Go, or I might think better of my noble impulse.”
    Madeleine took a step away, and then came back