Page 5

CHAPTER 5

R easons not to kiss Rourke:

1. He would believe it was a surrender.

2. She would believe it was a surrender.

3. Truly it would be a surrender.

Reasons to kiss Rourke:

1. He was still handsome, charming, enjoyable, handsome, well-spoken, intelligent, handsome, polite, muscular, masculine, handsome, tempting, witty, and handsome.

2. See above.

The earl tasted like chocolate, cinnamon and just a hint of brandy. His lips were firm and moist, as he took immediate control of the kiss. She sighed as she pressed closer, as his tongue dipped between her lips, eliciting glorious sensation. Her breaths came in a series of gasps, as he held her even nearer.

The world was frigid, but he was fiery warmth. He rubbed her shoulders, her back, lower still.

Laughter sounded in the distance.

They broke apart, or at least as far as he allowed. Their eyes locked, and the sound of the children’s laughter faded into the distance. What had just happened? Why had she allowed him to kiss her?

Could they do it again?

The first two questions were answered by a temporary bout of senselessness, the last a resounding no. She couldn’t allow this to happen again, not now, not ever. She was here temporarily, with a man who’d all but claimed her. She couldn’t allow her feelings for him to overtake her. It would make her yearn for dangerous things. She’d actually been jealous when a woman complimented his strong hair.

“We should return now,” she said quietly.

He gazed at her for a moment more, before nodding. Yet he never let her go, not as they turned towards the manor, not as they walked through the glistening lane. The question sparkled as brilliantly as the icicles:

Would he ever let her go?

Unbalanced.

There was no other word for what this man did to her. When she was unbalanced, she worked on her writing. After her earlier failed attempts, she had tried again in her room, yet a pile of artistically crumpled papers was all she could show for the effort. Sometimes, when she couldn’t write, she would find someplace interesting to be. Which was why she was currently traversing the snowy ground at an hour highly inappropriate for any creature not nocturnal.

Of course, it was mightily frowned upon for a woman to go walking alone, which somehow made it all the more tempting. After donning her warm gift from Damien, and absolutely not thinking of him a hundred and eight-two times while doing so, she made it into the frost-filled night. It was a wonderland of shadows and secrets, and even more chilled with the sun safely tucked in bed. Clutching her supplies under her pelisse with one hand and a lantern with the other, she moved forward.

In moments, her destination came into view. The orangery, a rare indulgence, holding precious contents for this time of year. She had just reached the glass walls, when tingles slid down her neck. It was freezing, and yet somehow heat sparked.

“Going somewhere?”

She jumped at the baritone voice, spinning around to face the intruder of her past, present and future. Her foot slipped on an icy patch, and she pitched forward – straight into Damien.

Pure heat. A tiny spark beget a firestorm, in a world far less frosty. She pressed against a wall of solid heat, her hands splayed on an expansive chest as his arms came around her. They were to steady her, to support and secure, and yet in a moment, it turned to so much more. She sucked in a breath of air.

It pressed her even closer to him.

“Are you all right?” he murmured, not making any move to release her.

“Quite well,” she replied, not making any attempt to be released.

It was ridiculously comfortable and wonderful and somehow just right in his arms. A second passed. Then another, and another, and another.

She should lean closer to him. Should do what she’d been dreaming for an inordinate amount of time. Should kiss him. Instead, she backed up, or at least tried to, and her foot slipped again. Her ankle twisted precariously, causing her to wince as pain shot up her leg.

His expression transformed in an instant, bemusement melting into genuine concern. “Are you all right?” He reached out, brushing her cheek with the back of his knuckles? “Are you unwell?”

Does fighting the urge to lean into his touch and purr like a kitten count as unwell? She managed to neither purr, nor meow, or even sigh or moan as he rubbed her cheek again. She hadn’t been particularly well before, and now she was positively unraveled. She should move back, out of his touch. She commanded her body to do exactly that.

Instead she moved closer.

“Perhaps we should get you to bed.”

“That sounds lovely.”

He froze, and she blinked. What had she said? She’d been so busy leaning into his touch and contemplating just how inappropriate it would be to start purring when he’d spoken. Yet now she could only think of the massive bed that was the centerpiece of her room, with its soft-silky sheets that seemed a blank canvas just waiting for a subject.

He cleared his throat.

“Did I say lovely? I didn’t mean lovely. How could you suggest such a thing? Don’t you realize how impertinent that is?”

His brow furrowed. “What exactly do you think I was suggesting–” He stopped, and his eyes widened. “I didn’t mean it as a proposition. I was just suggesting you may want to lay for a spell – alone.”

“Oh.”

After that most eloquent response, she tried again.

“Oh.”

Unfortunately, her mouth was working no better. She tried again.

“Oh.”

Definitely broken.

“Of course, I knew what you meant!” Her mouth started functioning in a rush of words, far too quick. “Of course, what else would I have meant? It’s not like I thought it would be lovely if you… you…” She stopped. There was nothing in the world that would make her finish that sentence.

His eyes dilated, darkening with power. Oh, yes, he knew exactly what she’d assumed.

“I am quite fine.” She cleared her throat. “And I know what you are trying to do.”

“Do you?” he said mildly, leaning back. “And what is that, pray tell?”

“Trying to take control. Why else would you be here?”

“I saw a figure outside my window. I thought it may be you, and I was worried. That was all.”

“So you didn’t come to… to…”

His eyes reflected the moonlight. He edged closer. “What is it that you want me to do, Sarah? This time, you will have to be perfectly clear.”

Leave. Depart. Stay Away. She forced thoughts she didn’t mean. And then she said, “Kiss me.”

He did.

Sensation surged at the sudden kiss, desire streaking through her blood, as he surrounded her. Suddenly he was everywhere, as she pressed against his hardness. As always, he took control, as he softly gripped her cheek, angling her just right for his administrations. When she parted her lips on a sigh, he slipped his tongue in.

Oh my.

It was too intimate and yet not intimate enough. Intoxicating, scandalous, and yet somehow igniting even greater need. He traced her curves, spanning her waist with his large hands. He was forbidden pleasure, heated hardness, sensual strength. She pressed closer, but he pulled back.

She leaned forward, and hair loosened from pins fell like a waterfall over her eyes, blocking her vision. Yet other senses shared what the shield stole, his heady scent, the feel of his muscular arms supporting her, his heat. Each and every time they kissed, the willpower to pull away eroded just a little more.

Would there be a day she couldn’t – wouldn’t – want to leave?

“That was delicious,” he murmured.

He was delicious. She barely kept the words from existence, as they both breathed like they’d run a foot race. Only no one had won the sensual battle, or perhaps no one had lost. They were equally affected and afflicted by this madness between them.

Yet suddenly she jerked back. What was she doing? It was entirely possible someone heard her yelp when he’d startled her and would come to investigate. If they caught them together like this…

Her future would be set, no matter what she wanted.

He watched her warily. Thankfully, he said nothing about their transgression. Somehow, he knew she couldn’t discuss the kiss right now. “What are you doing out here? You know there is no escape until the thaw, if that’s what you’re thinking. It is dangerous to be out by yourself, roaming the gardens.” Now he seemed quite miffed, different than his normal bemused, amicable, serious, powerful self. More displeased than she’d ever seen him.

But this was her life, and she would do what she wanted. “I can do as I wish. You are not my guardian.”

“Your guardian left you in my care.”

“I do not need to be in anyone’s care,” she hissed. “Lords want to lock ladies in towers.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed.

“Is it?” She breathed deeper, her heart still racing from their kiss. “Some men keep their wives locked away, in conditions barely better than a tower. Women should be permitted to buy towers, as well. It would serve you right to be placed in one after trapping me here.”

“You wish to place me in a tower?” he drawled. “Whatever for?”

So she could have him at her disposal. So she could visit him whenever she wished. So she could–

“So you could leave me there and never come back?”

“Exactly,” she lied.

His grin widened, as if he knew her thoughts had nothing to do with leaving him and everything about having him right where she wanted him. “Perhaps we could be locked in the tower together.”

Fantastic idea. A real winner. Ding, ding, the man deserves a prize.

But she said none of that, instead tapping her chin. “Do you know the current rates for building a tower? Am I better renting a tower or buying one? Perhaps you could inquire about investment opportunities.”

“Perhaps, I will.” His eyes flashed. “With so many independent women, towers could be a great investment.”

The sides of her lips quirked up. Why couldn’t she stay serious with this man? “Domineering lords, you mean.”

He just shook his head. “You were about to explain your late night stroll.”

No, she wasn’t. She couldn’t tell him she’d been looking for a location to write. It was a private endeavor. “What does anyone do in the gardens?” she said breezily. “I came to admire the flora of your orangery, of course. I am a huge fan of plants, and I wanted to view them in the privacy of the night.”

He stopped, folded his arms across his chest. “Did you now?”

She stood up tall, straightening her dress. “Absolutely.”

“All right then.” He gestured to the structure before them. “Pray tell then – describe what you see.”

Clearly, he saw that he couldn’t argue with that. With a curt nod and a smile, she turned to the orangery and pointed to the… darkness.

Woops.

The orangery was a sea of shadows, lit only by distant streams of candlelight. Of course, she hadn’t actually looked at the plants, or whatever they were. In the shadow-drenched world, little could be distinguished, save for blobs and lumps. Why hadn’t she said she simply wanted some fresh air? “I see many lovely and fair plants.”

His lips twitched. “Do you indeed? Could you describe them?”

Most certainly not. “Certainly.” She lifted her nose. “They are… green.”

“Are they?” His chest shook slightly. “How intriguing.”

“I think so, yes.”

“I did not know you were such a connoisseur of plants.”

That he knew she was lying was as obvious as the fact that most plants were green. Would she admit it? Never.

“Please tell me more. I’d love to hear your expertise on these plants.” He walked further along the side of the orangery, where the shadows grew longer, and moonlight replaced candlelight. The scent of gardenia swirled in the air, intoxicating and beautiful.

“What about that plant?” He pointed at an amorphous blob through the glassy pane.

“That’s quite rare,” she quickly said.

“Indeed?” He cocked his head to the side. “Is it also green?”

“Quite,” she informed him most regally. “It also has leaves.”

“You don’t say.” Feigned shock heightened every word. “How rare. Don’t tell me it also has a stem.”

Didn’t plants have stems by definition? “Quite right.”

“And that one?” He pointed to a plant in the distance, beyond the perfectly manicured rows to where a little bit of disarray had been permitted. No doubt it was beautiful in the daytime. “Do you know what it is?”

Its name? She stopped, peered at it. Of course, she could pretend not to know in what was clearly a useless exercise. He knew she hadn’t come to admire a garden she couldn’t see. Yet as long as he was distracted enough not to realize her true motives, she would have accomplished her aim. “That is also a rare plant. Also green and with leaves and… um… a stem. It is extremely rare and beautiful. In fact, brides often use it for their weddings.”

“Does it have a name?”

“Of course.”

He smiled. “Do you know its name?”

“Um… dweedledoof.”

He stopped, stared.

What. Had. She. Just. Said?

Really the first thing that came to her mind, a jumble of letters that sounded more like court jester than a plant. Yet what were the chances he knew the actual name? “Are you certain?” His gaze was hooded. “Because I know it by a different name.”

“Ah, yes it does go by many names. Some call it a–”

“Weed.”

Oops. “A weed?”

“That’s right.” We let that section be more natural, and thus weeds have filled in between some of the plants.”

“Well, of course, it’s a weed.” She bobbed her head like some sort of possessed child’s toy. “Everyone knows that dweedledoof is a weed.”

“Do they?” He leaned in. “And you’re sure you’re not making this up?”

“Would I do something like that?”

“Absolutely.”

His chest now shook header, and he chuckled. She let a giggle escape, yet even as she held a hand to her lips, she could not contain it. Her soft chortles perfectly complimented his deep rumbles. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his expression soft and warm.

By the time her giggles calmed to an occasional laugh, her eyes were watery. Yet she felt alive in a way she hadn’t in a very long time, here in the cool, brisk night, under a velvet star-studded sky. And for once, it didn’t feel as if it were her against society, against the world. For once, she didn’t feel alone.

“We shall have to explore the orangery together during the day so you can show me more.”

“I would like that.” The reply came without thought, the instinctive and yet dangerous answer. “I mean, I would have liked that, if only there was time.”

The humor had left his eyes. “I’ll make time.”

She should protest, should argue. Yet instead she only nodded. He took her hand, leading her away from the plants he had asked her about. She should demand he let go, retreat to the safety of her quarters. Yet when he squeezed her hand, somehow she squeezed him back, and when he edged a little closer, she did as well. Their sides brushed.

“If you cannot sleep, why don’t we get to know each other better?”

Her breath hitched, at images of “getting to know each other better.” More kisses would most certainly be involved. Possibly touches. Maybe even– She lifted her nose. “You are highly inappropriate, my lord.”

“Am I?” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you not want to get to know each other better?”

“Of course, I want to get to know you better.” She cringed. “I didn’t mean that.”

Perfect. Now she was imagining how to get to know him better.

“We should definitely, most assuredly, positively, not do anything to get to know each other better,” she said primly. No matter how much she wanted it.

“You do understand I meant we could learn more about each other. By talking.”

Talking?

Assorted body parts rebelled.

“Of course!” she rushed out. “Well, obviously, I knew that’s what you meant. What else would you have meant?”

As his eyes darkened once more, every assorted body part reminded her.

“Ah, yes.”

“Indeed.”

She cleared her throat. Time to distract him – and herself – before she did something to truly get to know him better. “I really should get back.”

“I have another idea.” He squeezed her hand slightly, reminding her that he held her captive, in more than one way. “Come with me.”

She shouldn’t.

But she did.