Only to discover he’d backed her against the wall. With lips and tongue he’d captured her mouth; he pressed deeper and feasted, lured her further, swept her into deeper waters until she had to cling to him to survive. Until her very life seemed to depend on it.
Until nothing else mattered. Until there was no life beyond the circle of their arms.
She felt unbearably grateful, unbearably eager when she felt his hand between them slipping free the buttons that closed her shirt. Then he pushed the halves apart, with practiced flicks of his long fingers stripped away her chemise and set his palm to her naked breast.
Her senses swooned. Her knees buckled.
His other hand slid lower, cupping her bottom, supporting her. Absently fondling as with knowing fingers he caressed her breast, captured her nipple, gently rolled, tweaked, then soothed.
Within seconds, her senses had totally fractured, unable to fix, to focus on anything, overwhelmed by the sensations of his mouth steadily plundering hers, heated and commanding, of his hand and fingers artfully pleasuring her breasts, already swollen and aching, of his other hand subtly exploring, molding her to him, of the heady, even more potent reality of his hard, heavy, aroused body against hers, surrounding hers.
Making her feel fragile, defenseless—so achingly vulnerable.
No—not again.
She dropped her hands to his shoulders, sank her fingers in, pushed back, and pushed him away.
He acquiesced, letting her break from the kiss. Letting her put a few inches between their lips, enough for her to drag in a breath and gasp, “Charles—no.”
For five heartbeats, he said nothing, his eyes midnight pools behind his long lashes. She realized they were both breathing quickly, her breasts rising and falling; his chest swelled against them.
“Why?”
Charles watched her struggle to summon her wits, felt considerable satisfaction in watching how much effort it cost her. Almost as much as it was costing him to rein in his raging need.
She licked her lips. “We…can’t. Not again.”
“Why not?”
She blinked, and couldn’t muster a single reason. That much he could read in her wide eyes, in her blank expression.
He bent his head, not to kiss her, but to the side of hers. Extended his tongue and with the tip delicately caressed the whorl of her ear.
Felt the shiver that racked her from her head to her toes. “Penny…” He breathed all his considerable persuasiveness into the word.
Yet he wasn’t surprised when her fingers tensed again on his shoulders, and she shook her head. “No, Charles. No.”
He hestitated, but he’d told her the truth—he could no longer pretend. He wasn’t even able to attempt it with her; blatant honesty was the only currency he could offer her.
“I want you.” He let the words slide, glide over the delicate hollow of her temple.
“I know.”
She sounded shaky, slightly desperate.
“You want me, too.”
“I know that, too.” She dragged in a huge breath, and pushed at his shoulders. “But we can’t. I can’t.”
With a sigh, he eased back, accepting that tonight he’d have to let her go. That he’d be sleeping alone yet again.
Not, he vowed, for long. He’d learned what he most needed to know, about her and him and where they now stood. Learned enough to know that he’d been right; she could be his salvation, if she would—with the right persuasion, she might consent to marry him.
She still wanted him as much as he wanted her. It was enough to start with; they could build from there.
Not, however, tonight. Making no attempt to conceal his reluctance, he set her on her feet and released her.
She stepped to the side, tugging her shirt closed, through the dimness met his eyes. She briefly scanned his face, then murmured, “Good night.”