Page 20 of To Heist and to Hold

Ethan hadn’t meant to kiss Heloise’s neck.

What he had meant to do when he had decided to guide her through his club and bring her here to the quiet, intimate privacy of his office was give her a chance to seduce him properly.

If Teagan hadn’t been playing him for a complete fool, that was.

Which Ethan wouldn’t put past him; truly, the man had the most perverse sense of humor.

But then he had removed her wrap and seen her in that dress—that dress , dear God—and had been thoroughly entranced by the mesmerizing curve of her neck.

Before he knew what he was about, he had bent his head and pressed his lips to the deliciously smooth skin where her neck met her shoulder.

Even with that light touch, even though his lips barely came into contact with her, it was like a drug to his senses.

Her own sweet scent of violets filled him up, the warmth under his lips a heady aphrodisiac, making his mouth water.

He’d ached to pull her back against him so the strong curves of her body melted into him, to open his mouth on her neck, to drag his tongue over her skin. To taste her.

Her reaction, however, had not been what he would have hoped for.

Even in his passion-dazed frame of mind, he could feel her flinch, then become utterly still, the shock that permeated every inch of her a tangible thing.

Perhaps Teagan truly had been playing him for a fool, he’d thought in the one portion of his brain still coherent.

Mayhap the arsehole had been angling for Ethan to make an utter idiot of himself.

Doubts began to flood him: Why the hell would she want an ugly bastard like him?

How could he hope to attract the attentions of someone as beautiful as she?

Never mind that the whole reason he was consenting to her seduction was that he didn’t trust her intentions, and acquiescing to her plans, all while carefully controlling what card in the deck was to be played next, was the best way to protect what was dear to him.

No, in that moment all he could think about was her, and him, and what it would feel like to strip her bare and feel her against him.

And so he had apologized, and pulled back. And everything was turned on its head again a moment later when she spun, grasped his face in her hands, and planted her mouth on his.

It was his turn to freeze now, and not only at the complete unexpectedness of her kiss.

No, the majority of his shock was due to the nature of her kiss.

This was no practiced seduction, each movement orchestrated to drug his senses with desire.

Truthfully, if he didn’t know she was a widow, he would have thought her an inexperienced innocent for the sheer artlessness in her actions.

Her lips were pressed tight against his in a prim, ungiving line, her eyes squeezed even tighter as he stared down in disbelief at her.

Her hands shook against his cheeks, her body separated from his by several inches of charged air.

Truly, it was the most baffling kiss he’d ever experienced in his life.

And yet…

And yet, when she pulled back and looked up at him with a strange swirl of triumph and uncertainty in her eyes, eyes that said she could not quite believe her own daring, molten heat permeated every inch of his body.

How the bloody hell was she, with one strange, innocent kiss, undoing every tightly controlled intention within him?

She stepped back, her hands falling from his face, as if she had done what she’d come to do and was finished with him.

But Ethan was not done with her, not by far.

With a shaky exhalation he snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her up against him.

She gave a small squeak of surprise as their bodies collided, one he quickly swallowed as he claimed her lips with his own.

Ah, God, she tasted sweeter than he could have ever imagined.

Like every beautiful thing he had ever dreamed of in his youth while huddled under a threadbare blanket with an empty stomach and emptier heart.

She was sunshine at the seaside, and ice cream in the summer, and dew on a field of flowers.

She was light and laughter and hope. She shuddered under his onslaught, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders, her fingers curling in the material of his jacket, anchoring her in place.

And then he felt it, the faintest pressure of her lips pressing back against his, the slightest arching of her body into his, the tentative acceptance of his kiss sending a peculiar joy rippling through him.

With a moan of pure need he cradled her cheek in his palm, tilted his head, deepened the kiss.

She gasped, the soft sound like the headiest aphrodisiac, and he took the opportunity to plunge his tongue into her mouth.

Her tongue retreated for a beat before meeting his, tentative at first, then becoming bolder, tangling with his as surely as he wanted their bodies to tangle.

If he’d thought she tasted sweet before, now it was so much sweeter.

He felt in that moment he would never get his fill.

He devoured her, his kisses becoming wilder, less polished, more raw.

She followed, mouth opening hungrily under his as if she had never experienced anything like this in her life and now wanted to make up for it.

Her hands inched up into his hair, fingers gripping handfuls, this proof that she was as affected as he going straight to his groin.

Needing her even closer, he pressed his hand to the small of her back, forming it to the arch of her spine.

The curve of her backside tickled his fingertips, a tantalizing temptation, and he gave in to it, trailing his hand lower until her bottom filled his palm.

He pressed her closer, against his erection, savoring the way her soft belly gave to him.

She gasped, her head falling back, revealing the long, strong column of her throat.

Trailing his mouth down the length of it, he nipped at her skin, reveling in the small sounds escaping from her lips with each gentle bite, with each slow drag of his tongue.

He ached to kiss lower, to pull the edge of her bodice aside, to fill his palm and his mouth with her breasts.

More than that, his body throbbed with the need to wrap her legs about his hips, to plunge himself into her and find blessed release in her body.

But he’d be damned if he would take her for the first time—for he had no doubt in his mind this would be the first of many times—standing up, rutting like some damn animal.

With a low growl, desperate to get her to his bed where he could undress her properly and finally see the glory that was her body, he tore his mouth free and, with one fluid motion, hefted her into his arms, in the next breath striding across the room to the far door and his bedroom beyond.

Heloise was quite used to being the strongest person in any room—her profession assured that—so it was an utterly foreign feeling to be lifted as if she weighed no more than a feather.

Foreign and, if she was being totally honest, delicious.

Mr. Sinclaire—no, Ethan , for she could no longer think of him in such proper terms, not after the way he’d kissed her—hefted her against his chest, his arms cradling her to him.

So transfixed was she by the sensation, she did not immediately understand that he was taking her across the room, through a door, into a… bedroom?

Mind muddled, she could do little but stare wide-eyed around her as he kicked the door closed behind them and continued on his very focused path.

She had just enough time to take in the luxurious fabrics and rich woods, all illuminated by the low glow of the hearth, before she was lowered again.

Not to her feet, though. No, he laid her down, in a strangely gentle manner considering how rough and large he was, to the bed.

But she had no time to wonder at the unbearably soft counterpane that surrounded her like a cloud before he quickly shrugged out of his coat and stretched out beside her. And then there was no time to think at all as his mouth found hers again.

Dear God, the man kissed like he was parched and she was the sweetest wine.

Though he was half on top of her, though the weight of him was making the heat between her legs build to an almost unbearable degree, she felt as if she might float away any moment, fly off through the heavens and never come down again.

She grasped tight to his shoulders to keep herself anchored as he devoured her mouth with his own.

How was it lips and tongue could work such wicked magic?

Gregory’s kisses had been perfunctory, quick, his lovemaking a mirror of that.

There had never been any passion. He had focused on his needs and his needs alone.

It had been a deed to be done and nothing more.

Ethan’s kisses, however, were most definitely not solely for him, his mouth seeming to do its best to draw a response from her.

And his hands… good God, his hands. They roved her body as if he were a sculptor and she were his muse.

His palm was large and hot as it trailed up her rib cage, his fingers wickedly clever as they skimmed the side of her breast. They hooked in the low neckline of her gown, dragging it down with aching slowness, grazing over her breast and exposing it to the night air.

She cried out softly into his mouth as he reached her nipple, one finger trailing across the sensitive tip, and he swallowed the sound eagerly as if it were his reason for living.

He tore his mouth from hers then, and she nearly whimpered from the loss of it.

But what she did not expect, what she could never have expected, was for his lips to close around the peak of her breast.