Woo'd in Haste by Sabrina Darby Page A

she turned the corner, and then followed her into the library.
    He was only a few seconds behind her, but she was bent over a side table next to her favorite chair, placing a cup down.
    Her favorite chair. Her favorite cup. And he spied the spine of the leather-bound tome in her arm, her favorite book.
    He could have listed her preferences even without Thomas’s help. She looked so lovely, so domestic, so . . . comfortable, that he had a sudden image of their life in the future, in his home, side by side, their children about them.
    “Bianca,” he said, but no sound actually came. He was so filled with emotion, with the beauty of that vision, that he could hardly speak. Yet in his head he was saying everything. Come here, my sweet lady. Come here, let me kiss you. Let me love you.
    “B ea.” She whirled around. There was Luc, calling her by that intimate name. He’d watched her so carefully. Knew her habits. Now here they were, alone, quite improperly. Her breath came shallow and fast. Her heart raced in her chest. Yet what she felt was not quite fear.
    She opened her mouth to say something, to say anything that would make sense of this senseless moment. She noticed little things, like his hand that clenched and unclenched as he took a step closer. A step that started to crowd out the air between them, that made her gasp.
    “Bianca, you must know—”
    She’d taken a step forward, too, and the realization made her pause. She needed to think, reason, remember who she was and where she was, but all that seemed to matter was the line of his jaw, the warmth of his gaze, and the shape of his mouth.
    “What must I know, Luc?” The husky timbre of her voice surprised her, but then there was no more room for surprise. No more room for anything but a strong, male embrace, for being enveloped by his warmth, for the touch of his lips on hers.
    Lips.
    Stunned, she parted her own and then all conscious thought was gone.
    Instead, she felt. Felt the sweep of his tongue, the rasp of his teeth. It was hot and all-consuming, and the sensation radiated straight down to the tips of her fingers and toes. There was a rhythm to his movements, and after a moment she followed, matched him, danced with him, even though their feet were still.
    She stumbled back a step, the rush of air between them cooling her heated skin. Still dizzy from the embrace, reeling from pleasure, she stared up at his face. At first glance she had thought his features broad and plain, but now the angles and shadows were clearer to her, even if nothing else was.
    Except the understanding that this kiss had been forbidden, should never have happened. That Luc had taken an enormous impropriety. She lifted her hand before she even consciously knew what she was doing. The slap resounded in the air.
    She took another step back, aghast at the violence of her actions, even if it were the proper response for such effrontery.
    He, too, seemed shocked.
    “I shouldn’t have . . .”
    “No, you shouldn’t.” But she couldn’t imbue her tone with the same severity as that slap. Her lips tingled and her mouth wanted desperately. He’d awoken a physical hunger inside of her, one that had little to do with the romances of her favorite books. This then was the passion that poets lauded and men fought wars over.
    “Will you forgive me?”
    “No.” She shook her head at the words, wishing he hadn’t asked them, that he had simply taken her in his arms again, that she could feel once more.
    He looked stricken. He wasn’t some devil-may-care seducer. She’d known that from the start.
    “For I’m glad you did. Even if it should never happen again.”
    He looked confused, and well he might for she, too, was confused.
    “Now I know,” she continued, “what I am missing, and what this should be like.”
    His brows furrowed but she didn’t want to explain more, talk about the future husband she’d likely have, who would not be him. Not that he was even suggesting such