Page 22 of Dancing With Danger

This was not a moment to conquer.

But to seduce.

He brushed his thumbs to where their lips met, and nudged at the corner of her mouth, drawing it open and slack. He broke the seal, unhooking their tongues. Instead, he dragged his slick lips over hers in languid, gliding motions. Once. And again. Coaxing her to respond.

She reacted just how he’d hoped, her arms more embracing than clutching. Her hands kneading rather than clawing.

God, he could live to make this kitten purr.

Had there ever been a woman so perfectly rendered for kissing?

Her curves were more pronounced next to the hard planes of his own body, her breasts straining against his chest, her hips flaring dramatically when his hands charted the indent of her waist to rest there.

Somewhere in the distance, a lion roared. A child squealed.

The sounds broke her of whatever thrall he might have held.

Small hands flattened against his chest before she gave a mighty shove.

Raphael allowed it, retreating several steps.

Glowering in his direction, she wiped at her lips with the back her gloves, as if scrubbing the taste of him away. “You must stop doing that,” she commanded. “It’s—It’s—”

“Delicious?” he supplied helpfully.

“Disgusting,” she spat.

“You did not seem disgusted to me,” he taunted. “What I think you are, is afraid.”

“I amnotafraid of you.” She circled him like he might be a predator about to attack, inching toward the entrance to their intimate alley.

Raphael tried not to examine why he felt the small distance between them in the very essence of himself. The pads of his fingers, the fine hairs of his body. They seemed tuned to her by some magnetic force, drawing him forward.

“Are you afraid you’ll like me?” he challenged. “That you’ll want more?”

“N-no.” Her eyes darted this way and that as she took two more steps backwards.

“Why are you retreating, then?”

She froze. Blinked. Then squared her shoulders, drawing herself up to her full—if less than impressive—height.

“I’m not retreating, I’m—I’m leaving. There’s a difference.” Spinning on her bootheel, she hurried until she reached the end of the alley, and flounced around the corner.

When Raphael caught up, she was strolling toward the entrance, quite obviously doing her level best to keep her footsteps steady so not to appear as though she fled.

He should let her go.

He should turn around and put her behind him. Focus on the task at hand and not give in to the strange and unmistakable lure.

It was as if she had his heart affixed to a spool of string like a kite, and he trailed after her—above her—in quivering anticipation of the moment she would pull him out of the wind.

No good could come of this. He...should...just...

“I’ll squire you out.” The offer slipped from his lips before he could pull it back.

She rewarded his chivalry with a sharp glare. “I hardly need a squire, and don’t require your company.”

“Evidently not, but in order to quit the zoo, I also need use of the gate.”