Page 41 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

F or far too many long, empty months, Jon had hungered for this moment. Now, the woman he had craved with every cell in his body was in his arms. And he was holding her. Kissing her. Savoring every moment. Every touch.

How could he have ever thought he’d want to live without her? How could he have been such a bloody fool?

I want to kiss you . He’d murmured the words like a plea, and the sweet honesty of her response drove him wild.

I’d like that too . She wanted him. Just as he wanted her.

How had he gotten so blasted lucky?

Tenderly, he pressed his mouth to hers. Lightly at first. Gently. Testing the waters of her desire.

Deepening the kiss, he drank in the sweetness of her plump mouth.

God above, how he’d missed this. And then, as she melted her body into his, a quiet little moan escaped her.

Whisper-soft, the sound was one of pleasure and desire and innate hunger.

Bloody hell, had he ever heard anything as blasted erotic?

As he kissed her, she reached for him, lightly sweeping her fingertips over his cheek. The simple, nearly chaste touch struck him with the force of a lightning bolt. A primal hunger pulsed through his body. But he held back.

Easing from the kiss, he pressed soft caresses to the curve of her face, to her throat, to the tender spot just below her ear that always brought a little sigh of delight.

Longing he’d ruthlessly suppressed broke free, unleashing a heated need. But he had to tamp down his desire. He knew she wanted him. He sensed her passion would match his own.

But it was too soon.

He could not fully pursue this moment. Their bond was still tenuous. Perhaps even fragile. He would not—could not—take a chance that might well drive her away.

He dragged in air, as if that might clear his head. Instead, he breathed in a subtle blend of rose water and lemon infusing the long strands of her honey blond hair. Jon searched her face, seeking the answer he needed in her eyes.

And so, he kissed her again. Tasting her sweetness. Drinking in the subtle scent of lavender that perfumed her skin. Savoring the tenderness in her caress.

She is bloody perfect . And for this moment in time, she was his.

Gently, he led her to the settee. When the backs of her legs bumped against the upholstery, he slowly eased her down upon the plump cushions.

Propping an elbow against the back of the settee, he indulged his desire to simply look at her lovely face, to drink in her beauty.

Golden rays of lamplight cast a soft glow over her high cheekbones.

With a feather-light touch, he traced the slightly heart-shaped contours of her face.

By thunder, the very sight of her took his breath away.

She gazed up at him, studying his features as though she’d found something she’d been seeking, something she wished to treasure until the end of her days. How bloody wonderful .

With Belle, everything was different. Utterly, completely, different.

No other woman could compare to her. Never had he felt like this, the gentle thrill in his heart when he looked into her eyes.

From their first glance across a crowded ballroom, she’d intrigued him.

When Belle’s gaze met his, he’d been drawn to her—to her utter lack of guile.

He’d seen honesty and a radiant beauty all her own.

One look into those gorgeous eyes that gleamed like rare sapphires, and he was hers. No other woman would do.

Only his beautiful Belle.

He leaned over her and cradled her head beneath one arm.

Her honey-hued tresses flowed unbound against the upholstered cushions like spun gold.

Relaxing in the moment, he traced his finger over the curve of her face.

Down the pert slope of her nose. Along the curves of her tempting mouth—a mouth slightly rosy from his attentions.

Perfection.

The woman was sheer perfection. And tonight, he would savor every moment while he held her. Every moment while he kissed her. Every moment while he made her sigh against his mouth with delight and pleasure.

“Oh, Jon.” When she murmured his name, Belle’s voice was husky and low. Yet smooth as silk. “I love it when you kiss me.”

“And when I touch you, darling?” he whispered against her mouth.

“Ah, sweetheart, you drive me wild.” She pulled in a breath. “I do love it when you’re a bit wicked.”

“Only a bit?” he teased.

“Perhaps I do prefer you to be very wicked.” She pressed a kiss to his mouth, a caress that was quite far from chaste.

Wicked. Ah, the word seemed a delicious challenge. What he wouldn’t give to bring her pleasure, to take her to the very edge of reason. And beyond.

The mere thought of it unleashed a powerful hunger within him. He pulled in a breath. Then another. No matter how badly he wanted this—how badly he wanted her—he had to control his instincts.

Raw hunger coursed through his body. His passion for her transcended the physical. But he could not deny that his male body longed for her with a fierce need that went beyond ordinary desire. One night would never be enough.

No, he wanted Belle tonight. And every night.

But was it too bloody soon?

Blast the meddling voice within him that urged restraint, that asked too many blasted questions at a moment like this. But still, he could not ignore the inner warnings that told him he should not move too quickly. He had to think of Belle—of the pace that was right for her.

He couldn’t allow his own need to run roughshod over what he knew was right.

Belle was a born romantic. He knew that. He always had. She wore her heart on her sleeve. She couldn’t hide it. Didn’t try, really. And in this moment, she was vulnerable.

She still had faith in him. And no matter the cost, he would not—could not—betray that trust. God knew he already had. He was damned if he would do anything to hurt her again.

He brushed a kiss over her brow, a feathery caress. He knew what he had to do. Anything else might well lead them down a path from which there would be no return.

Forcing himself to keep his rational thoughts in control, he eased back, putting distance between them. To his surprise, her forehead furrowed. A little worry line formed between her brows as she looked at him with a bit of confusion.

“Is something wrong?” she whispered. “Do you hear someone coming?”

“No,” he said truthfully. “But the very fact that we have to consider that tells me we’ve taken this as far as we should. For tonight, at least.”

“I suppose that is a rational consideration.” A slight frown played on her full mouth. “But at the moment, I truly do not care for rational considerations.” She glided her fingertips over the edge of his jaw, tracing a path along his throat to the vee of skin exposed at his collar.

“Is that so?” He pulled in a low breath, determined to rein in his hunger.

She toyed with the top button, releasing it. A tempting little grin played on her lips as her fingers went to the next fastening, working it free. “I’d much rather think about... this.” She grazed her fingers over the newly bared skin. “I like the way you feel, Jon. Very, very much.”

“Do you, now?” he said, hearing the husky strain in his own voice.

A hint of a smile curved her lovely, plump mouth, and she freed another button. Slipping her fingers beneath the linen of his shirt, she teased him with a butterfly touch. “I want to feel you, Jon.” A seductive heat warmed her gaze. “I want to make you wild for me.”

“Oh, love, you already do,” he said, his voice sounding like a growl to his own ears.

“I want to feel the texture of your hair beneath my fingers,” she murmured and pressed her lips softly to his. “Oh, Jon, I want to hear your voice grow rough with passion.”

God above, she was intent on driving him to the edge of madness. The words on her lips. Her delicious kiss. The satin of her touch. Each drove him further toward the brink of restraint.

The subtle smile on her face told him the minx knew exactly what she was doing. And she was loving every moment.

He caught her hands in his, stilling them. “You know I want you, Belle. I always have.”

Passion surged through him as his lips caressed her sweet mouth, releasing the restraint that had held him back. The sensuous touch left them both breathless, both hungry for more. Any doubt as to the depth of his hunger for her had fallen away.

A delicious smile curved her lips as she stared up at him. Her eyes filled with a dreamy expression that warmed his heart. Despite her temptingly bold words and her subtle touches, pure desire was still rather new to her.

Her voice was a throaty whisper. “I don’t want anyone else, Jon. Only you.”

Her words plowed into him. Framing her face in his hands, he drank in her loveliness for a long moment. And then, he kissed her again. And again.

But then, he stopped himself. “I need you, Arabelle. More than you could ever know.” He let out a breath. “But you deserve more than stolen moments.”

“And if I believe that what I truly need is you? Under any circumstances... no matter how scandalous?”

“We will have those moments.” He drew his thumb over her bottom lip, slightly puffy from his kiss. “But not now. Not here. You deserve more than a quick tumble in my study.”

She veiled her gaze with her lashes, seeming to ponder his words.

“I agree,” she said, meeting his eyes. “This is not the time. And certainly not the place. I do understand you won’t press this moment to what you believe would be your benefit.

You possess a sense of honor, Jon. I do love that about you. ”

“So, finally, we are in agreement,” he said, if only to lighten the intensity of the mood.

“Definitely.” Her top teeth grazed her bottom lip, driving him ever so slightly mad. “But I still want you. I still want this. ”

He took her hand in his. “And we will have it.”

“I will return to my chamber.” Once again, her teeth grazed her lower lip. “But if I dare to come to you, as a willing woman who wants a man with all her heart, promise me that you will not hold back.”

Her words stirred a fresh rush of desire. Bloody hell. He dragged in air, forcing himself to rein in his need. And she sensed it. He could see it in her sapphire eyes.

“If you come to me tonight, or any night, for that matter, I shall endeavor to be wicked. On that, you have my word.”

“How delicious,” she said. “Perhaps only a bit wicked?”

“A bit? I think not.” Slowly, he shook his head. Perhaps, just perhaps, he would shock her away from even considering her bold—and maddeningly seductive—plan. “Ah, my Arabelle—rest assured, I shall be exceedingly wicked.”