With awe. With nervousness.
And, with unspoken longing.
"Are you cold?"
"Yes," she lied.
"I will remedy that," he said.
And, pulling her into his arms, he kissed her.
Chapter 6
The night was frigid, the air as brittle as glass, but when Blackheath's lips came down on hers, Eva felt nothing but a searing, sweeping warmth.
His hands slipped beneath the velvet coat and down, cupping her figure, the thumbs grazing her silk-clad breasts, the palms following her rib cage, snugging into the curve of her waist and out over her hips, her bottom. He pulled her close, right up against the unforgivably hard wall of his body, trapping her there even as his mouth covered hers. Eva had no desire to reclaim the space he had stolen. She spread her palms against his chest, feeling the taut, coiled muscle just beneath, the steady beat of his heart. How delicious it was to be in such powerful arms! How dangerously heady, this unexpected abandonment of her senses, her convictions! She forgot her anger; forgot regret, indignation, outrage. There was only his mouth against hers, demanding and impatient, cool and hard and wonderful.
And now his tongue, tracing the swell of her lower lip, painting it with warm, tingling heat. With a sigh of defeat, she opened to him. Clung to him. Let him touch and taste and explore even as she returned the intimate caress. Her blood caught on fire, engulfing her in flames, a heretic burning at the stake.
There was no denying it. She wanted him. God help her, she wanted him, and if she was any sort of a woman she would have him — on her terms, of course, not his, never his — and she would have him tonight. It was a seductive thought. A delicious thought. One that flared to life on the kindling of her own rising desire . . .
His hands pressed against the small of her back now, molding her, holding her, drawing her right up against the rock-hard length of him, pelvis to pelvis, until her head tipped back under the onslaught of his kiss. Her arms came up to encircle his neck, the heavy velvet coat now sliding from her shoulders, tumbling off her back, and landing in a crumpled heap at her feet. But she never felt the cold. There was only his lips against hers, his breath mingling with her own, her hands roving across his shirt and tracing the fascinating interplay of muscle, ribs, and hard, flat abdomen just beneath the fine lawn.
Eva pulled back, resting her hot forehead against his chest and breathing hard.
"If you do that again I shall have to kill you," she said without conviction, trying to catch her breath as she stared somewhat dazedly down at their feet.
"And you think that threat will deter me?"
"You know I feel nothing for you."
"Then you are a magnificent actress."
"I loath you. I've loathed you ever since I found that you were the one who was sabotaging our spying efforts here in France . . . The matter of the aphrodisiac was just the frosting on the cake."
"Hmm, yes . . ." His hand, so warm despite the night air, stroked her nape, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin just behind her ear. "I wish I could make the same denial, but I fear I've been fascinated with you from the moment I first saw you, when your cousin brought you to my brother's wedding."
"Lust, nothing more. Ignore it and it will go away."
"I have tried to ignore it. It has not gone away."
"Find another woman, then."
"I don't want another woman." His voice dropped to a husky murmur, and she felt his breath against the side of her neck. His lips. The whisper of a kiss — dark, forbidden, dangerous. "I want you ."
Hot tremors shook her body. He could break her heart. Take it apart, stomp on it, and walk away without a backward glance. Fear almost paralyzed her — but Eva had no use for fear. If this was frightening her, it was all the more reason to confront it head on.
"What do you say, my lady? You are an adult, a widow, no blushing
And, with unspoken longing.
"Are you cold?"
"Yes," she lied.
"I will remedy that," he said.
And, pulling her into his arms, he kissed her.
Chapter 6
The night was frigid, the air as brittle as glass, but when Blackheath's lips came down on hers, Eva felt nothing but a searing, sweeping warmth.
His hands slipped beneath the velvet coat and down, cupping her figure, the thumbs grazing her silk-clad breasts, the palms following her rib cage, snugging into the curve of her waist and out over her hips, her bottom. He pulled her close, right up against the unforgivably hard wall of his body, trapping her there even as his mouth covered hers. Eva had no desire to reclaim the space he had stolen. She spread her palms against his chest, feeling the taut, coiled muscle just beneath, the steady beat of his heart. How delicious it was to be in such powerful arms! How dangerously heady, this unexpected abandonment of her senses, her convictions! She forgot her anger; forgot regret, indignation, outrage. There was only his mouth against hers, demanding and impatient, cool and hard and wonderful.
And now his tongue, tracing the swell of her lower lip, painting it with warm, tingling heat. With a sigh of defeat, she opened to him. Clung to him. Let him touch and taste and explore even as she returned the intimate caress. Her blood caught on fire, engulfing her in flames, a heretic burning at the stake.
There was no denying it. She wanted him. God help her, she wanted him, and if she was any sort of a woman she would have him — on her terms, of course, not his, never his — and she would have him tonight. It was a seductive thought. A delicious thought. One that flared to life on the kindling of her own rising desire . . .
His hands pressed against the small of her back now, molding her, holding her, drawing her right up against the rock-hard length of him, pelvis to pelvis, until her head tipped back under the onslaught of his kiss. Her arms came up to encircle his neck, the heavy velvet coat now sliding from her shoulders, tumbling off her back, and landing in a crumpled heap at her feet. But she never felt the cold. There was only his lips against hers, his breath mingling with her own, her hands roving across his shirt and tracing the fascinating interplay of muscle, ribs, and hard, flat abdomen just beneath the fine lawn.
Eva pulled back, resting her hot forehead against his chest and breathing hard.
"If you do that again I shall have to kill you," she said without conviction, trying to catch her breath as she stared somewhat dazedly down at their feet.
"And you think that threat will deter me?"
"You know I feel nothing for you."
"Then you are a magnificent actress."
"I loath you. I've loathed you ever since I found that you were the one who was sabotaging our spying efforts here in France . . . The matter of the aphrodisiac was just the frosting on the cake."
"Hmm, yes . . ." His hand, so warm despite the night air, stroked her nape, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin just behind her ear. "I wish I could make the same denial, but I fear I've been fascinated with you from the moment I first saw you, when your cousin brought you to my brother's wedding."
"Lust, nothing more. Ignore it and it will go away."
"I have tried to ignore it. It has not gone away."
"Find another woman, then."
"I don't want another woman." His voice dropped to a husky murmur, and she felt his breath against the side of her neck. His lips. The whisper of a kiss — dark, forbidden, dangerous. "I want you ."
Hot tremors shook her body. He could break her heart. Take it apart, stomp on it, and walk away without a backward glance. Fear almost paralyzed her — but Eva had no use for fear. If this was frightening her, it was all the more reason to confront it head on.
"What do you say, my lady? You are an adult, a widow, no blushing
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