"So do I."
Ashford tipped up her chin with his forefinger. "Would you prefer to first finish our conversation of the other night?"
"No." Noelle smoothed her palms up his coat, stepping closer as she spoke. "Much as I want to resolve the issue of Baricci, it can wait. We don't know how much time we'll have before we're interrupted. If worse comes to worse, we can finish our conversation in public. We'll simply find a private corner in which to conduct it. But some things cannot be done in public. So let's not lose this opportunity."
"My sentiments exactly." Ashford was already capturing her arms, bringing them around his neck. "Noelle, I can't stop thinking about you," he muttered, lowering his mouth to hers. "About you—and about this."
His kiss was slow and hot and deep, and Noelle shivered beneath its onslaught. Sensations erupted instantly, Ashford's tongue possessing hers with purposeful strokes, his lips moving with blazing intensity as they seared hers. Noelle met his fervor with her own, sharing each hungry caress, each urgent fusion of their mouths. Her lips molded to his, her tongue eagerly receiving his ardent strokes, then gliding forward to initiate her own.
With a husky sound of pleasure, Ashford lifted her up and into him, pressing the contours of their bodies closer even as he deepened the kiss. His hand cupped her breast, caressed it through the fine velvet of her gown, and her nipple responded instantly, budding and swelling beneath his touch.
Noelle whimpered, pressing closer to his fingers, a thousand tiny sunbursts of sensation shimmering inside her. "Don't stop," she whispered. "Please."
"I can't." Ashford was shaking. His hands slid down to cup her bottom, to lift her more fully against him. He made a frustrated sound as he encountered the layers of clothing that prevented the contact he so desperately craved.
A brief, internal struggle ensued—a struggle he lost.
"Only for a minute," he muttered in capitulation, striding across the room, Noelle in his arms. "One unforgettable, unbelievable minute." He lowered her to the sofa, covering her with himself, shuddering with pleasure even as he resumed their kiss.
The sensation of Ashford's weight upon hers was almost too thrilling to bear. Noelle moaned softly, opening her mouth to his, her hands gliding beneath his coat, slipping beneath his waistcoat, eager to get as close to the warmth of his skin as possible.
Ashford tore his mouth away, his kisses blazing down her neck, her throat, her shoulders. His fingers were already dispensing with the top buttons of her gown, and he spread the material wide. Wordlessly, he bent to capture her nipple through the thin silk of her chemise, tugging it between his lips, wetting it with the tip of his tongue.
"Oh…" Noelle wondered if she were dying. Fire shot from her breasts to her loins, and her hips lifted, pushing her against the hardened contours of Ashford's lower body.
He went rigid, currents of desire shooting through him, a self-propelled energy she could actually feel.
"We've … got … to stop." Even as he spoke, Ashford was untying the ribbons of her chemise, so lost to his passion he hardly knew what he was saying.
"We will," Noelle gasped, tossing her head impatiently as she waited for him to complete his task. "But first—touch me."
"Noelle … dammit, I can't let this happen." Her breasts spilled into his hands, and his words died on his lips, his breathing suspended as he gazed down at her. "God, you're so beautiful." He lowered his head, nuzzled her gently, his lips feathering over her warm skin, pausing at one aching peak.
Noelle whimpered his name.
"I know," he muttered. "If I don't taste you, I'll die." His lips closed around her nipple, tugging it into the cavern of his mouth, his tongue lashing across it with heated purpose.
"Oh … God." She cradled his head in her hands, every inch of her on fire, lost to the world, to reality, to everything except Ashford.
He shifted to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attentions as he had the first, his hand taking over where his mouth had just been, his palm cupping her, his thumb circling the damp nipple. "I've got to be inside you," he rasped, grasping handfuls of her gown, his thighs rigid as they pressed hers apart. "Noelle … I've got to…"
Approaching voices intruded, shattering their exquisite moment of nonreality, splashing ice water over their heated senses.
"Dammit." Ashford's head came up, and his eyes narrowed as he regained his wits and assessed the proximity of their visitors all at once.
"Come on." He bolted to his feet, pulling Noelle up beside him. Swiftly, he retied the ribbons of her chemise and rebuttoned her gown, completing his tasks even before she'd managed to form a coherent thought.
Seizing her hand, Ashford strode over to the French doors, pausing only long enough to yank them open and ease Noelle and himself outside.
A blast of cold air slapped Noelle, and she shivered, wrapping her arms about herself and watching numbly as Ashford shut the doors, then grabbed her arm and propelled her away.
He didn't stop until they were out of view.
Then he halted.
"Tempête?" he murmured, tilting up her chin so he could study her face. Whatever he saw there seemed to disturb him. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. So bloody sorry.
" He enfolded her in his arms, holding her close, and Noelle noticed vaguely that he was trembling—but whether it was from the cold or from what had just happened between them, she wasn't certain.