The Marrying Season
Page 32
Would he be tender or forceful? His hands rough and impatient or slowly stoking the heat in her? It would be easier, perhaps, to still be a maiden, she thought, to have no idea of what lay between a man and a woman. If she had never known a man’s kiss, she would not wonder now how Alec’s mouth might taste or how soft his lips would be against hers. She would have no hint of the way fingertips brushed over her bare flesh could make her shiver. But she did know, and she could well imagine . . .
Alec reached out, brushing his thumb along the line of her cheek. Damaris looked up into his face. She knew she should protest, should move away, but she could not.
“Your eyes are so beautiful,” he murmured. “Their color . . .” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “No doubt hundreds of men have written poetry to your eyes.”
“Hardly hundreds.”
“I have no way with words. But when I look into your eyes, I feel as if . . . I am drowning and I have no wish to be saved.”
“I think,” Damaris breathed, “that you are doing quite well with your words.”
His eyes widened just a fraction, his lips pulling back in a flash of a smile, and he bent and kissed her.
Damaris stiffened, her hands coming up to his chest, but instead of pushing him away, her fingers curled into his jacket, holding on as he pulled her into him. His mouth lingered on hers, answering all questions of how he would kiss her. He tasted her as one might a fine wine, his lips and tongue teasing and exploring, slowly savoring her.
A long shiver ran down Damaris. She felt as if her whole body was opening up to him as surely and completely as her mouth. Her hands relaxed and moved up his chest to loop around his neck. She stretched upward, her body sliding up his, until she stood on her tiptoes, her lips locked with his. She was washed with heat, intensified by the furnace of his body.
Rawdon was flush against her all the way up and down, his arms wrapped around her, enveloping her. His kiss deepened, his mouth consuming her, and his hands glided down to her hips, pressing her up into him so that she felt the length of his desire digging into her. She was dizzy with the taste and scent and feel of him, and she thought that she might fall into a limp, trembling mass on the floor were it not for the hard strength of his arms clasping her to him.
His hand came up to curve around her breast, and her gasp was swallowed by his kiss. He caressed her, his fingertips burning through the material and arousing her nipples to hard points of yearning. A liquid warmth pooled between her legs, spurred by the delicious ache forming there.
With a groan, he pulled his lips from hers and buried his face in her hair. She could feel the stir of his breath upon her hair, hear the thunder of his heart. She felt strangely will-less, loath to move away or to pull herself back under control.
He released a long breath, a faint shudder of a laugh at the end, and pressed his lips once, softly, to her hair. “Sweet God.” His voice trembled slightly. Then he released her and stepped back, tugging his jacket into place. “I should apologize.” He hesitated, then added, “But I fear that I cannot. I enjoyed kissing you far too much, and I am not at all sorry for it.”
Damaris glanced up at him, a laugh gurgling up in her throat. “My lord!”
“Do not ‘my lord!’ me.” He grinned at her, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her up for a hard, quick kiss upon her lips. “My name is Alec, and I should like to hear it on your lips.”
“Alec,” she whispered, and he kissed her again, this time neither as hard nor as fast.
His hands dropped away from her arms and he stepped back reluctantly. “Good night, Damaris.”
“Good night.” She watched him walk out of the house. Her legs folded beneath her and she sank down onto the bench in the entry, landing with a small thud.
What had she just done?
CANDACE CAMP is the New York Times bestselling author of more than sixty novels, including her Willowmere series—A Lady Never Tells, A Gentleman Always Remembers, and An Affair Without End—and the Legend of St. Dwynwen trilogy—A Winter Scandal, A Summer Seduction, and The Marrying Season. Her other bestselling Regency romances include The Courtship Dance, The Wedding Challenge, and The Bridal Quest. She lives in Austin, Texas, with her husband, and is the mother of young adult author Anastasia Hopcus. Visit Candace and learn more about her books at www.candace-camp.com.
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ILLUSTRATION BY GENE MOLLICA
HAND LETTERING BY RON ZINN
AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH BY ANASTASIA HOPCUS
Also by Candace Camp
A Summer Seduction
A Winter Scandal
An Affair Without End
A Gentleman Always Remembers
A Lady Never Tells
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Candace Camp
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First Pocket Books paperback edition May 2013
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ISBN 978-1-4516-3952-0
ISBN 978-1-4516-3955-1 (ebook)