leaned closer. “Really and truly?”
She nodded again.
“And you're determined to prove it to me?”
She nodded yet again, but this time her movements lacked conviction.
“I'm not going to stomp on your foot,” he whispered.
She blinked.
Blake touched her cheek, knowing he was insane, but unable to help himself. His fingers trailed down to her throat, reveling in the warmth of her skin. “You're going to have to make it up to me a different way.”
She tried to take a step back, but his hand had snaked around to the back of her head, and he was holding her firmly.
“A kiss, I think,” he murmured. “Just one. Just one kiss.”
Her lips parted in surprise, and she looked so damned startled and innocent that he was able to delude himself, if only for this one moment, that she wasn't Carlotta De Leon. She wasn't a traitor or a spy. She was just a woman—a rather fetching woman—and she was here in his home, in his arms.
He closed the distance between them and brushed his mouth gently against hers. She didn't move, but he heard a soft gasp of surprise pass across her lips. The little noise—the first she'd made all day save for a cough—enchanted him, and he deepened the kiss, tracing the soft skin of her lips with his tongue.
She tasted sweet and salty and just like a woman ought, and Blake was so overcome that he didn't even realize that she wasn't kissing him back. But soon he noticed that she was completely still in his arms. For some reason, that infuriated him. He hated that he desired her this way, and he wanted her to be feeling the same torture.
“Kiss me back,” he growled, the words hot against her mouth. “I know you want to. I saw it in your eyes.”
For a second she made no response, but then he felt her small hand moving slowly along the length of his back. She pulled herself closer to him, and when Blake felt the heat of her body pressing gently against his he thought he might explode.
Her mouth wasn't moving with the same fervor as his, but her lips parted, tacitly encouraging him to deepen the kiss.
“Good Christ,” he murmured, only speaking when he had to come up for air. “Carlotta.”
She stiffened in his arms and tried to pull away.
“Not yet,” Blake moaned. He knew he had to end this, knew he couldn't let it go where his body was begging it to, but he wasn't ready to release her. He still needed to feel her heat, to touch her skin, to use her warmth to remind himself that he was alive. And he—
She wrenched herself away and skidded several steps backward until she was pressed up against the wall.
Blake swore under his breath and planted his hands on his hips as he fought to regain his breath. When he looked up at her, her eyes were almost frantic, and she was shaking her head urgently.
“I was that distasteful?” he bit out.
She shook her head again, the movement tiny but quick. I can't , she mouthed.
“Well, neither can I,” he said, self-loathing evident in his voice. “But I did, anyway. So what the hell does that mean?”
Her eyes widened, but other than that, she made no response.
Blake stared at her for a long minute before saying, “I'll leave you alone then.”
She nodded slowly.
He wondered why he was so reluctant to leave. Finally, with a few muttered epithets, he strode across the room to the door. “I'll see you in the morning.”
The door slammed, and Caroline stared at the space where he'd been for several seconds before whispering, “Oh, my God.”
The next morning Blake made his way downstairs before heading up to see his “guest.” He was going to get her to talk today if it killed him. This nonsense had gone on long enough.
When he reached the kitchen Mrs. Mickle, his housekeeper and cook, was busy stirring something in a soup pot.
“Good morning, sir,” she said.
“So that's what a female voice sounds like,” Blake muttered. “I had nearly forgotten.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No matter. Would you please boil
She nodded again.
“And you're determined to prove it to me?”
She nodded yet again, but this time her movements lacked conviction.
“I'm not going to stomp on your foot,” he whispered.
She blinked.
Blake touched her cheek, knowing he was insane, but unable to help himself. His fingers trailed down to her throat, reveling in the warmth of her skin. “You're going to have to make it up to me a different way.”
She tried to take a step back, but his hand had snaked around to the back of her head, and he was holding her firmly.
“A kiss, I think,” he murmured. “Just one. Just one kiss.”
Her lips parted in surprise, and she looked so damned startled and innocent that he was able to delude himself, if only for this one moment, that she wasn't Carlotta De Leon. She wasn't a traitor or a spy. She was just a woman—a rather fetching woman—and she was here in his home, in his arms.
He closed the distance between them and brushed his mouth gently against hers. She didn't move, but he heard a soft gasp of surprise pass across her lips. The little noise—the first she'd made all day save for a cough—enchanted him, and he deepened the kiss, tracing the soft skin of her lips with his tongue.
She tasted sweet and salty and just like a woman ought, and Blake was so overcome that he didn't even realize that she wasn't kissing him back. But soon he noticed that she was completely still in his arms. For some reason, that infuriated him. He hated that he desired her this way, and he wanted her to be feeling the same torture.
“Kiss me back,” he growled, the words hot against her mouth. “I know you want to. I saw it in your eyes.”
For a second she made no response, but then he felt her small hand moving slowly along the length of his back. She pulled herself closer to him, and when Blake felt the heat of her body pressing gently against his he thought he might explode.
Her mouth wasn't moving with the same fervor as his, but her lips parted, tacitly encouraging him to deepen the kiss.
“Good Christ,” he murmured, only speaking when he had to come up for air. “Carlotta.”
She stiffened in his arms and tried to pull away.
“Not yet,” Blake moaned. He knew he had to end this, knew he couldn't let it go where his body was begging it to, but he wasn't ready to release her. He still needed to feel her heat, to touch her skin, to use her warmth to remind himself that he was alive. And he—
She wrenched herself away and skidded several steps backward until she was pressed up against the wall.
Blake swore under his breath and planted his hands on his hips as he fought to regain his breath. When he looked up at her, her eyes were almost frantic, and she was shaking her head urgently.
“I was that distasteful?” he bit out.
She shook her head again, the movement tiny but quick. I can't , she mouthed.
“Well, neither can I,” he said, self-loathing evident in his voice. “But I did, anyway. So what the hell does that mean?”
Her eyes widened, but other than that, she made no response.
Blake stared at her for a long minute before saying, “I'll leave you alone then.”
She nodded slowly.
He wondered why he was so reluctant to leave. Finally, with a few muttered epithets, he strode across the room to the door. “I'll see you in the morning.”
The door slammed, and Caroline stared at the space where he'd been for several seconds before whispering, “Oh, my God.”
The next morning Blake made his way downstairs before heading up to see his “guest.” He was going to get her to talk today if it killed him. This nonsense had gone on long enough.
When he reached the kitchen Mrs. Mickle, his housekeeper and cook, was busy stirring something in a soup pot.
“Good morning, sir,” she said.
“So that's what a female voice sounds like,” Blake muttered. “I had nearly forgotten.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No matter. Would you please boil
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