Wishes in the Wind (Kingsleys in Love 2)

“Aldridge, let me speak to Nicole alone.” Dustin vaulted to his feet, the demand issued of its own accord. “Please,” he added, gentling his tone in response to the faint narrowing of Nick’s eyes. “Five minutes. That’s all I ask. You can pace the length of the hallway and watch the bloody clock the whole time, for all I care. But I need to talk to Nicole.” He gave Aldridge an exasperated look. “Rest assured, even I have yet to ravish a woman in five minutes, much less with her father standing outside the door.”

Nick’s glance flickered to Nicole. “Elf?”

Head bent, Nicole nodded. “It’s all right, Papa. I have a few things I need to tell the marquis, as well.”

Slowly, Nick stood. “Five minutes.” He stalked across the room, pausing in the doorway. “I’ll be right outside—in case my daughter needs me,” he added with a meaningful glare. As if to further illustrate his point, he crossed the threshold and pulled the door partway shut behind him, leaving enough space to overhear any commotion that might arise.

Dustin wasted not an instant.

“Nicole, about Lanston’s comments …”

“I have no right to judge you,” Nicole murmured, staring at her lap. “I apologize for my outburst.”

“And I apologize for my past.” Dustin took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “How can I convince you those women don’t matter?”

“You shouldn’t have to. The way you conduct your life is none of my concern.” She kept her gaze level with his shirtfront, plainly unwilling to meet his. “I don’t know what possessed me to speak to you like that. I’m not normally ill-mannered.”

“And I’m not normally an awkward schoolboy. Yet with you, I am. And it is your concern.” He gripped her elbows, drawing her closer. “I’m your concern. As you, Derby, are mine.” He glanced from the slightly open door to the clock on the mantel. “We haven’t much time. Your father is like a bloody sentry. So ask me.”

“Ask you?” She peeped questioningly up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Yes. Ask me. To kiss you.”

“To kiss …” She looked utterly dazed—and utterly exquisite. “Dustin, we’re alone here to discuss our differences—why I react so badly to your way of life, your artificial facade.”

He shook his head, tipping up her chin. “No, Derby, we’re alone here to reaffirm what happens when you’re in my arms, which is the very thing that makes you want to run away, to declare us unsuited for each other. Well, we’re not. We’re more perfectly suited than you realize. And I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“I am,” she whispered.

“Nicole.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, savoring the texture he’d ached to explore. “I won’t hurt you. I swear it. Nor am I trying to seduce you. I want more than that from you. But for now, I’ll settle for a kiss, a kiss that I vowed not to initiate until—unless—it was what you wanted. Do you want me to kiss you, Nicole?”

A flush stained her cheeks as she grappled with her decision. “Yes,” she breathed in a tiny voice.

Dustin’s hands were shaking as he gathered her against him, enfolding her in his arms and covering her mouth with his.

He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed her, how desperately he’d wanted to taste her again. Sensations, unknown before Nicole, erupted instantly, submerging him in the same unchartered waters he’d been d

rowning in since the night they’d met.

Her lips trembled under his, soft and hesitant and so sweet Dustin nearly groaned aloud. He didn’t rush her, taking only as much as she offered, contenting himself with damp, chaste kisses that demanded nothing, yet sought more than he could ever explain.

Slowly, like a tentative flower, Nicole’s lips parted, opening to Dustin’s penetration, silently seeking a deeper joining.

He gave it to her—gave it to them both.

“Nicole.” He murmured her name, his tongue sweeping inside to capture hers, to claim every tingling surface before entwining with hers once more. He lifted her closer, melding her against him, possessing her with an urgency that transcended the mere physical, delved down to his very soul. Her taste was heaven, the feel of her—small, delicate, shivering with her own response—more bloody right than even his memories could preserve. He enveloped her in his embrace, thinking that just holding her, kissing her like this, was enough to bring him to his knees. It was magic, as unique as her candor, as intoxicating as her beauty.

“Dustin …” Nicole’s hands slid up his shirtfront, then paused, knotting against him as if deciding whether to continue their path to his shoulders or to propel her to freedom—now, before it was too late.

Unwilling to consider the latter, Dustin snatched the choice away, capturing her arms and bringing them around his neck. “Hold me,” he commanded, his voice rough with emotion. “Feel what I’m feeling. Dammit, Nicole, don’t run away from me.”

Her eyes opened—those drowning smoky amethysts—and she stared up at him, her gaze searching, struggling … losing. In a rush, she relented, whispering his name and leaning into him, her muscles taut with inner turmoil even as she twined her arms about him, kissed him back with all the fervor he longed to awaken.

For one perfect moment they remained as such—locked together, breathing each other’s needs, sharing each other’s wants.

Then, abruptly, Nicole wrenched herself away.

“This can’t happen.” She backed off, scarcely able to speak.