A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin 2)

“Men have wanted to kiss me,” she said defensively, moving from one foot to the other but unable to convince those feet to remove her from this discomfiting conversation.

“I’m sure,” he said softly.

She expected mockery but detected none. “I haven’t wanted to kiss them.”

“That may change once you discover how good a kiss can be.”

“With you?” She wanted to sound sarcastic, but the words emerged as barely contained curiosity.

He shrugged, looking irritatingly at ease with himself as he folded his arms across his powerful chest. “Why not? I profess some skill and you’re quite safe.”

“Said the spider to the fly.”

She shifted restlessly, only stopping when she noticed his close attention. His expression indicated that he knew more than she did. Of course he knew more than she did. He was a rake and she was a scholarly spinster who had never been kissed.

Which suddenly seemed cause for regret.

His voice deepened to velvet enticement. “Doesn’t some part of you long for a man to touch you in desire?”

His voice possessed magic. That soft drawl made her think of all the wonderful, unprecedented things he’d do to her if she let him. She might be inexperienced, but some instinct insisted that when he claimed to be a skillful kisser, he wasn’t boasting.

Goodness, likely he could fling her to heaven and back without trying. It was both exciting and terrifying. She began to wish she’d encouraged those callow young men who had shown an interest in the vicar’s intimidating daughter. Mr. Evans had never found her intimidating. She suspected that Mr. Evans found very little intimidating.

She prepared to tell this encroaching charmer to leave her alone. Instead different words emerged. “This is purely an intellectual exercise. I’m not attracted to you.”

His lips quirked. “Understood.”

She stepped into the moonlight. In her loose, light frock with nothing beneath it, she must look completely brazen. Part of her howled protest at her intentions. But fascination and, yes, unwilling attraction kept her here.

After a couple of attempts to clear her throat, her voice emerged with gratifying firmness. “Show me.”

Chapter Eight

God forgive him, he was such a devil. Richard played games with Genevieve, games he knew he’d win. An appeal to her curiosity never failed.

A gentleman would let her go on her way unmolested. A gentleman wouldn’t spy on her in the first place.

As she’d pointed out, he was no gentleman.

Nor was he blind. He counted himself a jaded fellow, accustomed to female beauty. But Genevieve rising from rippling water clad only in moonlight set his heart leaping like a landed trout. She was the most glorious thing he’d ever seen. He couldn’t relinquish this astonishing chance to explore the awareness simmering between them.

Even more astonishing, nobody had ever kissed this incomparable woman. In the name of all that was holy, what ailed the men of Oxfordshire? Did none of them have enough backbone to take her on and turn all that spirit to their service?

Richard Harmsworth was up to the challenge.

He’d have found the double entendre more amusing if he wasn’t aching with need. The memory of her nakedness would haunt him forever. Closing his eyes, he saw every glistening curve, the full breasts, the graceful dip of waist. The long, long legs. Legs that would bend around his back when he plunged into her.

Except that she was a virgin. And a vicar’s daughter. And after he left, she’d have to weather any talk in the village. She wasn’t one of his London lightskirts. He needed to remember that. Difficult when desire thundered through him like a herd of runaway horses.

“Are you quite well, Mr. Evans?” she asked.

He struggled to banish the image of his body thrusting into hers. Intensity would frighten her. He needed to be charming, superficial. Why was it so difficult? He’d spent his life playing a lazy, even-tempered man who cared for little, least of all society’s disdain of his bastardy.

He spoke with unconvincing lightness. “Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“You groaned.” Her tone was dry. “I wondered if perhaps you’d eaten something that disagreed with you.”

Celibacy disagreed with him. Especially when he pursued an alluring, sharp-tongued hussy. The night was so still that he heard the soft pad of her feet as she approached. He fought the urge to seize her. Control, man. Control.