Silent Revenge by Laura Landon Page B

cupped her cheek with his other hand. His thumb rubbed against her flesh, and she burned like he’d set her on fire.
    “Is gaining a title worth the cost you would have had to pay?”
    Her denial died in her throat.
    His hands moved to her shoulders, his hold on her solid and firm. One roughened fingertip rubbed lazy little circles against the hollow spot at the base of her throat and then moved upward, stroking the callused pad of his thumb back and forth over her lips.
    Jessica grasped his forearm and pushed at his arm to release his hold on her.
    She needed to be free. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. His harsh, demanding touch confused her.
    His fingers moved over her skin, creating a heat she could not understand. It wasn’t right for him to touch her with such familiarity, and yet, a part of her wanted to keep his warmth and strength next to her.
    She wasn’t nearly as frightened as she should be. She wasn’t nearly as embarrassed as she should be.
    His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin at the back of her neck, then purposefully slid across her shoulders, then lower to her waist, and lower to the small of her back, and lower to—
    She was on fire.
    “Please, stop.”
    Jessica thought she’d spoken the words out loud, but she wasn’t sure. She was sure of nothing right now. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion that roared in her head until she couldn’t think.
    He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand and lowered his head until he was inches from her face. “Surely you don’t want me to stop, Miss Stanton. After all, didn’t you come here tonight—alone, at this hour—to offer yourself to me? Isn’t this what you really came here for?”
    She shook her head and gasped for air. “No. I came to offer you the money you need to save your inheritance. I want your name.”
    “That’s all, Miss Stanton? You want nothing more?”
    “I…I…”
    “You’re not sure?”
    He brought his face closer until his lips almost touched hers. Jessica could no longer see his lips to tell if he was talking. She did not want him to talk. She wanted him to…
    He touched his lips to hers with such desperation it weakened her. His touch was not soft and gentle, but harsh and unyielding.
    A thousand spikes of molten heat surged to every part of her body, then spiraled to one spot low in her stomach and swirled as a whirlpool even lower.
    Never had she felt more afraid. Or confused.
    Or as safe.
     

     
    The last thing Simon had intended was to kiss her. Even as he reached for her, he had no idea why he was doing something so stupid. But when his lips touched hers, he could no more stop himself than he could stop the wind from blowing or the sun from rising. He was obviously drunker than he thought.
    At first his only intent had been to frighten her into admitting she’d been following James’s order to offer him the money he needed to save Ravenscroft. To admit she’d seen marriage to him as an opportunity to gain a title, and she’d made up her own rules as she went along.
    That was before he’d kissed her.
    Their first kiss had been short and harsh and unemotional. He’d hauled her up against him and ground his lips against her as if she were an overused doxy he’d found at a wayside inn. He’d wanted to make a point. Nothing more.
    But when she looked up at him, her gaze portrayed such pleading and confusion that everything about her surpassed the realm of his understanding. She’d trembled at his touch as if she truly was an innocent. From that moment on he’d wanted nothing more than to believe that she was.
    The rush of air that slammed against his chest was a hundred times more violent than he’d ever felt when he’d kissed a woman before. The heat where her delicate form pressed against him seared his flesh a thousand times hotter than he ever remembered being burned by a woman before. The need to deepen his kisses became an unconquerable force, a million times greater than