“But I never properly apologized,” Mr. Parker-Roth said. Harry sat calmly at his feet. Why wouldn’t that dog behave for her?
“No apology is necessary. Now, please—”
He touched her lips with his gloveless fingers. She froze.
Oh.
His skin was slightly rough—he clearly used his hands for more than raising a quizzing glass or shuffling cards—and warm.
All of a sudden, she didn’t care about the windows overlooking the square.
“I don’t want you to think you aren’t beautiful.” His fingers slipped sideways to cradle her jaw; his thumb moved back and forth over her bottom lip. “You are.”
He was an enchanter, that was it, weaving a spell around her. Faintly, very faintly, she heard the voice of reason warning her about gossip and Lady Dunlee, but for the first time in a decade, she ignored it. Her hands crept up to rest on his broad, solid chest.
She smelled the brandy on his breath again. “You’re drunk.” She spoke to him, but she was reminding herself.
“Yes.” His words whispered past her cheek. “But I’m not blind.”
His mouth brushed hers. Her lips tingled, feeling suddenly swollen. This kiss—if you could call it a kiss—was nothing like the hot, wet, slobbery affairs she’d endured from Brentwood. Being kissed by Brentwood had been an attack—this was something else entirely.
Comfort, not lust. An invitation, not a command.
“Anne.”
She loved the sound of her name in his voice. A little shiver slithered through her and she sighed, tilting her head more, like a sunflower seeking the sun.
He made a small, satisfied sound and nibbled on her bottom lip while his free hand, the one not grasping Harry’s leash, slid to the back of her head.
An odd warmth gathered in her belly. Something hard and frozen began to melt. She leaned into Mr. Parker-Roth’s strong body, wanting—needing—more of his heat.
And then she heard the hiss of an angry cat and Harry’s answering bark. Mr. Parker-Roth jerked backward. She felt herself wobble and grabbed his coat.
“Hold tight,” he muttered. His arm locked around her waist as they lost their battle with gravity and tumbled toward the pavement.
“Oof!” He flinched as he took the brunt of the impact.
She was not a featherweight. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll live.” His voice had an edge of pain.
“I’m so sorry!” She relaxed against him for a moment. His body was so hard under hers. Pleasantly hard. And something else of his was getting hard as well…
Her face burned. What had she been thinking? Here she was, sprawled across a man’s body in a public square and from the feel of the sun on the back of her legs, her skirt was up around her knees. And from the feel of the man below her, he was having the expected reaction. How mortifying. And if anyone saw them…
She started to scramble off him. He grabbed her and held her still.
“Let me go.” She tried to twist free. “Think of the scandal if we are observed.”
He flinched again and tightened his hold on her back…well, a bit lower than her back.
“Mind your knee, love.”
“Oh.” Her leg was now between his. Her knee was indeed very close to—“I’m so sorry.”
“That’s all right. No permanent harm done.” He smiled a little tightly. “I hope. Now, we’ll just have—”
That’s when she heard the sharp intake of a breath.
“Trouble,” Mr. Parker-Roth muttered.
Anne looked up. Lady Dunlee stood ten feet from them, a look of delighted horror on her face.
“Lady Anne—and Mr. Parker-Roth! What in the world are you doing?”
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
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New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2010 by Sally MacKenzie
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-1907-7
The Naked Viscount Page 31