She blushed, but couldn’t muster the gumption to retreat. What would he say if she told him she remembered every meeting? Those occasions were few enough. Elias hadn’t played a part in London society until he’d inherited the Wilmott title after his brother’s death last year.
“I’ve wondered how it would feel to hold you in my arms,” he whispered, although there was nobody except Marianne to hear.
“You haven’t held me in your arms,” she said dazedly and only realized when his beautifully cut mouth quirked that her statement sounded like an invitation.
“I’ll dare the devil and take my chance.”
Marianne was clearly mad because even after he stated his intentions, she didn’t flee. Instead she remained waiting and uncertain as he slowly curved his arms around her, with that care that racked her heart with longing.
Very gently he molded her against him. She’d never been so conscious of his height, nor of the constrained power in the lean form so wickedly close to hers. They’d danced together several times, but this was different.
A soft whimper escaped her. She wished she could call the sound an objection, instead of an expression of pleased astonishment at how a man’s embrace felt. This man’s embrace.
Knowing it was folly to succumb, she softened. At her yielding, so subtle she was surprised he noticed, his hold firmed.
She was overwhelmingly aware of the changes in Elias. The catch in his breathing, the shift of each muscle, the scent that made her want to bury her nose in his white shirt and never breathe mundane fresh air again.
Astounding how warm he was, like a great radiating stove. Astounding how safe she felt.
She’d had no idea that the nearness of a large, virile male could connect her so powerfully to life’s currents. What a melancholy reflection that she’d waited this long to discover how marvelous a man’s touch could be.
When he leaned her to the side and tilted her chin up with one hand, she didn’t stiffen. She suffered an agony of suspense until he placed his lips on hers.
Last time she could blame her cooperation on surprise. Not this time. This time he gave her plenty of warning that he intended to kiss her. But the music and the candlelight and the sudden easing of a lifelong loneliness she only now recognized kept her acquiescent.
All that, and her forbidden, eternal craving for him.
For an incalculable, heavenly interval, his lips rested on hers without demand. It was like a more languid version of his first kiss. Then those strong arms gathered her up and his lips moved. Unfamiliar response flared and her knees, already wobbly, threatened to collapse. Although she was in no danger of falling, she tentatively curled her fingers over his straight, strong shoulders.
Elias raised his head and stared down at her. “You tempt fate, my love.”
The endearment made her shiver. How she wished it was true. Before she could force a denial from her tight throat, he claimed her mouth once more.
And the world caught fire.
Chapter Eight
* * *
Elias sank deep into an ocean of desire. Marianne’s lips were lush and sweet and responded with an irresistible mixture of hesitation and eagerness. The eagerness pleased and surprised him. Gently he bit on her plump lower lip and tugged it down. She moaned and opened with a swiftness that blasted him with heat. She was warm and supple in his arms, more alluring than a thousand fantasies.
Her scent invaded his senses, rich and flowery. Lilies and honey. He felt dizzy, drunk, mad, like he’d downed a bottle of champagne.
No, something more complex. The finest burgundy. Marianne Seaton was as unforgettable as a great vintage. Unique.
When he slid his tongue into her mouth, she made another muffled sound, this time of shock. After an instant’s uncertainty, she softened against him. Her clumsy ardor betrayed that tonight marked her first kiss. That struck him as unbearably sad. Her martinet of a father had done his best to teach her unquestioning duty, to bring up a compliant doll. It said something for Marianne’s resilience that despite that relentless training, she emerged as such a fascinating woman.
Not wanting to startle her from whatever spell held her, he withdrew after the most fleeting taste. The foray was an unspoken promise to return. He kissed her cheeks, her nose, her stubborn chin. He took nothing for granted, desperate to steal what joy he could from this miraculous capitulation before she remembered that she despised him. For eons, he’d imagined having her close, discovering the sensuality that he knew lurked untapped inside that gloriously curved body.
When at last she shifted, anguished denial rose like a floodtide. Instead of pushing him away, her hands plunged into his hair, tugging in silent encouragement. She leaned forward with a natural welcome that left him reeling in thrilled astonishment. Through his thickening daze, strategy had clung by its fingertips. When the woman he’d wanted for so long returned his kiss, strategy found no purchase in the avalanche of sensations.
Elias spread his hand against her straight, slender back and brought her closer. He defied a remorseless fate to rob him of this chance. His tongue swept more ruthlessly into her mouth.
How far she’d come
since she’d ventured into his arms. This time she met his incursion. The rasping glide nearly blew off the top of his head. He played with her mouth, nipping and sucking and giving glancing little kisses, then surprising her with a more thorough exploration.
He bent to taste the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders, pushing her gown aside. When he bit the curve of her throat, she started and gasped.