Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

By some strange alchemy, the current between them suddenly seemed to draw him closer.

Closer.

Her lips parted ever so slightly and he was lost.

Caro met his kiss eagerly. Wantonly. Wickedly.

Was it wicked to feel such an elemental connection to Alec?

She should care, but she didn’t. All that mattered was the jolt of fiery awareness sparked by the first touch of his mouth. His touch, his taste—somehow she was sure it was right, not wrong.

Her palms slid urgently over his shoulders, longing to imprint every nuanced contour of his shape to memory. They had maybe a moment or two, no more, before reason must reassert itself.

And Caro intended to savor every sweet second. She hugged him closer, feeling the starched folds of his cravat yield with a whispery crush to the pressure of her ardor. Through the layers of fabric—linen tangling with wool, muslin, and lacey petticoats—his heart was beating so hard that its thud was loud as cannonfire in her ears.

She shifted, sure the sparks were scorching her skin.

A fresh wave of pleasure shot through her as Alec’s kiss became hotter, hungrier. The deep, masculine sound rumbling in his throat—a growl or a groan, it didn’t matter—was reassurance that his tightly wound self-control had given way to passion.

Passion. Oh, yes, he was capable of passion, though it seemed to frighten the devil out of him.

His hands framed her face. Big, strong capable hands, with calloused palms that felt gentle as velvet against her skin.

He shifted, and the scrape of his boots on the gravel seemed to break the madness of the moment.

The fire, so quick to ignite, seemed to die away just as fast.

“What are you afraid of?”

“You. Me. Everything.”

“Oh, is that all?” quipped Caro with a tentative smile. “That shouldn’t be very hard to overcome.”

His lips gave a reluctant twitch. “Are you always such an optimist?”

“But of course! As you no doubt recall from the interlude at Dunbar Castle, my sister writes romance novels, and they always have a happily ever after.”

His expression hardened. “Well, real life rarely has the hero and heroine riding off in perfect bliss to a castle in the clouds. If you think otherwise, you are doomed to be disappointed.”

“Does that mean one shouldn’t dare to dream?”

He didn’t answer.

“What a bleak existence that would be,” she went on. “Of course there are disappointments in life. But if you are too frightened to pick yourself up off your arse when they knock you down and try again, why, then you deserve to be miserable.”

“I’m not miserable,” he protested.

“Yes,” she countered, “you are. You just refuse to admit it.”

He seemed to be searching for some reply when the crunch of steps on the graveled path announced that someone was approaching.

“Forgive me.” Thayer stopped short, “Am I interrupting a private tête-à-tête?”

“Not at all,” said Alec brusquely. “We were just leaving. This particular path is a dead end.”

“Ah.” Thayer remained where he was, blocking the way out. “A wrong turn is hardly surprising.”

It was said lightly and with a smile, but Alec’s already dark expression turned even blacker. Suppressed rage pulsed from every pore.