closer. There was no resistance, and when his mouth took hers, she twined her arms around his neck. His lips parted over hers, not demanding, but hungry for the taste of her. Everything about her was unfamiliar, her taste, her flavor, her fragrance, the feel of her in his arms, yet he couldn't shake off the impression that she wasn't a stranger. They'd known each other from before.
A shadow of doubt crossed his mind. He could not make up his mind about her. She seemed too innocent to be a woman of the world, and too worldly to be an innocent. Who was she? What was she?
Raising his head, he gazed down at her. Her eyes were closed, her breasts were rising and falling with each labored breath. His body was aching to take her, but he wouldn't seduce her. This had to be what she wanted, too.
She opened her eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. Cupping his neck with one hand, she brought his head down and kissed him slowly, voluptuously, thoroughly.
Everything was going to be all right.
When he cupped her breasts, she responded by pressing herself into his embrace. She was soft and womanly and so sweetly giving. The smallest pressure of his hands on her breasts brought little whimpers of pleasure from her throat. As she became pliant in his hands, he became hard. He gritted his teeth until he had himself under control, then he began to think of logistics.
He couldn't take her here in the chair. He wanted to take his time with her, explore her intimately, thoroughly. Instinctively, he brushed his fingers along her shoulders, her throat, her neck, reassuring her even as he enticed her to accept more.
He said hoarsely, “Aurora, I want to make love to you.”
She sucked in a breath and pulled back a little.
“Aurora?”
She breathed and crooned, “It's what I want, too.” She covered his lips, face, and throat with fiery kisses. Her arms slipped around his waist.
He groaned with pleasure as her hands moved over him. But in the space of a single heartbeat everything changed. In her ardor, her hands pressed against his wound and his body clenched in pain.
Gasping, gritting his teeth, he sank back in the chair.
“I'm sorry,” she cried softly, her hands fluttering to her throat. “I should have remembered your wound. Oh, God, what have I done?”
He unclenched his teeth. “It's all right. I'm fine. It's not your fault.”
She got to her feet and studied him for a moment. “This is hopeless,” she said. She waited until her breathing had evened before going on. “We shouldn't be doing this. It's a doctor you need.”
“I don't need a doctor.” He was pressing his hand to his side, waiting for the pain to ebb. “My manservant can take care of me.”
“You have a manservant?”
He didn't want to talk about menservants or doctors. He wanted them to resume where they'd left off. If she was careful, they could manage.
One look at her convinced him it was too late. Her arms were folded across her breasts; her brows were knit in a frown. He'd missed his chance. But there would be other chances, he promised himself, and next time there would be no more dueling before he came to her.
Resigned, he said, “‘Coates' is his name. Perhaps you'd be good enough to call him. His room is at the end of the hall.”
“Yes,” she said. “I can do that.”
To his great surprise, she kissed him swiftly, then she quit the room.
He heard her knocking on Coates's door. He didn't need a doctor. A wadded towel bound tightly under his arm and across his chest would do the trick. Ash had already taken care of the wound before they went to the café, so there was little chance of infection setting in.
The minutes dragged by and at last Coates appeared. Jack looked over his manservant's shoulder. “Where is the lady?” he asked.
“She left.”
Jack knew that she would not leave without her bag of money and that was in the very chair in which he sat. He felt behind him. There was no bag. He slowly hoisted himself to his feet.
A shadow of doubt crossed his mind. He could not make up his mind about her. She seemed too innocent to be a woman of the world, and too worldly to be an innocent. Who was she? What was she?
Raising his head, he gazed down at her. Her eyes were closed, her breasts were rising and falling with each labored breath. His body was aching to take her, but he wouldn't seduce her. This had to be what she wanted, too.
She opened her eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. Cupping his neck with one hand, she brought his head down and kissed him slowly, voluptuously, thoroughly.
Everything was going to be all right.
When he cupped her breasts, she responded by pressing herself into his embrace. She was soft and womanly and so sweetly giving. The smallest pressure of his hands on her breasts brought little whimpers of pleasure from her throat. As she became pliant in his hands, he became hard. He gritted his teeth until he had himself under control, then he began to think of logistics.
He couldn't take her here in the chair. He wanted to take his time with her, explore her intimately, thoroughly. Instinctively, he brushed his fingers along her shoulders, her throat, her neck, reassuring her even as he enticed her to accept more.
He said hoarsely, “Aurora, I want to make love to you.”
She sucked in a breath and pulled back a little.
“Aurora?”
She breathed and crooned, “It's what I want, too.” She covered his lips, face, and throat with fiery kisses. Her arms slipped around his waist.
He groaned with pleasure as her hands moved over him. But in the space of a single heartbeat everything changed. In her ardor, her hands pressed against his wound and his body clenched in pain.
Gasping, gritting his teeth, he sank back in the chair.
“I'm sorry,” she cried softly, her hands fluttering to her throat. “I should have remembered your wound. Oh, God, what have I done?”
He unclenched his teeth. “It's all right. I'm fine. It's not your fault.”
She got to her feet and studied him for a moment. “This is hopeless,” she said. She waited until her breathing had evened before going on. “We shouldn't be doing this. It's a doctor you need.”
“I don't need a doctor.” He was pressing his hand to his side, waiting for the pain to ebb. “My manservant can take care of me.”
“You have a manservant?”
He didn't want to talk about menservants or doctors. He wanted them to resume where they'd left off. If she was careful, they could manage.
One look at her convinced him it was too late. Her arms were folded across her breasts; her brows were knit in a frown. He'd missed his chance. But there would be other chances, he promised himself, and next time there would be no more dueling before he came to her.
Resigned, he said, “‘Coates' is his name. Perhaps you'd be good enough to call him. His room is at the end of the hall.”
“Yes,” she said. “I can do that.”
To his great surprise, she kissed him swiftly, then she quit the room.
He heard her knocking on Coates's door. He didn't need a doctor. A wadded towel bound tightly under his arm and across his chest would do the trick. Ash had already taken care of the wound before they went to the café, so there was little chance of infection setting in.
The minutes dragged by and at last Coates appeared. Jack looked over his manservant's shoulder. “Where is the lady?” he asked.
“She left.”
Jack knew that she would not leave without her bag of money and that was in the very chair in which he sat. He felt behind him. There was no bag. He slowly hoisted himself to his feet.
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