Reckless Viscount by Amy Sandas Page A

warm.
    “That’s all right. The answer is plain enough.”
    The light arrogance in his tone increased the sense that she was out of her element here. She did not like being the object of amusement for anyone.
    “Are you making sport of me, Lord Riley?”
    “Not at all. I find you startlingly delightful.”
    She crossed her arms over her chest. “I wish I could say the same for you.”
    “Oh?” His voice lifted on the word. “Do you want me to charm you, Irish?”
    “No!” she replied sharply.
    If she could have the sort of visceral response she was experiencing now when he was simply being a nuisance, she didn’t want to know what would happen to her if he intentionally tried to seduce her.
    He pushed away from his post at the door and stepped in front of her. A rush of anticipation flew through her from head to tingling toes. She didn’t back away, even when he came close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body. She should have stepped back, kept her distance, resisted his advance. But she felt challenged by his boldness, as if retreat would only give him more advantage.
    “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
    The low vibration of his voice invaded her blood, speeding her pulse.
    “I don’t know,” Abbigael answered in earnest. The tension permeating her body made it difficult to speak above a quiet murmur. “I feel I should be.”
    “Hmm,” he responded thoughtfully, “perhaps.”
    He lifted his hand toward her face and brushed his thumb across the crest of her cheekbone in a light caress. Sensitive goose bumps rose up on her skin. She caught her lower lip between her teeth to stop a gasp from escaping. She didn’t want him to know how acutely his touch pierced her composure. At least she could be grateful that in the darkened hallway, he could not possibly see her moonstruck expression.
    He swept the back of his knuckles down the side of her throat.
    “What is your name, Miss Granger?”
    Abbigael frowned. His question distracted her from the sensations he was sparking along the surface of her flesh.
    “We are not well enough acquainted for you to ask me that.”
    His laugh was a warm rumble and amusement was thick in his voice. “Have it your way.”
    He slid his warm hand around her nape, gently delved his fingers into her hair as his palm cupped the base of her skull. At the same time, he slid his other hand around the curve of her waist until his fingers splayed wide against her lower spine.
    “What are you doing?” she gasped. Her heart jumped against her ribs and her breath caught helplessly in her lungs as she became overwhelmed by a sense of expectancy so acute it was almost painful. His body was warm but unyielding against hers, and she flattened her hands against his chest, trying to create a semblance of distance between them.
    “Irish, I’m going to kiss you now.” His words were uttered with deliberate promise. His mouth was close, so close that as he spoke his gentle breath disturbed the wisps of hair that fell against her temple. Chills of heightened sensitivity raced across her skin and a wild fluttering erupted in her belly.
    “No, you’re n—”
    His mouth swiftly closed on hers, stopping her protest, as if he had been waiting for her to speak to find her lips. He pulled her more deeply into the curve of his body, taking advantage of the subtle yielding that accompanied her surprise.
    In that brief and shuddering moment when his lips laid claim to hers, Abbigael realized she had been anticipating this almost from the very first second she had met his inquisitive gaze in the Silverly library. Even so, it was nothing like she had expected.
    Though he held her securely, he made very little demand in the possession of his kiss. His gentleness amazed her. Very softly, he brushed back and forth against the surface of her lips. Such a delicate friction that teased her into wondering what it would feel like to have his lips pressed more firmly to hers. She lifted her