To Distraction (Bastion Club 5)

Lifted her arms, wound them about his neck, stretched up—and whispered against his lips, “I wanted to discuss…this.”

Then she kissed him.

It was his evening for being ambushed.

The instant her body had made contact with his, his hands had instinctively risen to grasp her waist—to seize her, hold her, trap her. The unexpected pressure of her soft, beguilingly feminine lips on his, offering a blatant invitation in a language he knew well, sent a surge of reaction crashing through him. Lust, desire, passion erupted, had him raising one hand to her nape, locking her head so he could kiss her back, so he could ravage her mouth and take all she offered—all he desired.

Sliding his other arm around her, he locked her svelte form against him, crushing her to him, her breasts to his chest, her thighs riding against his.

Savoring the promise of all he yearned to possess.

All she’d invited him to take.

Or had she?

Her mouth was open beneath his, a soft, utterly fascinating landscape he could explore for years without growing bored; her body was pliant against his, unresisting…it was a battle to free any part of his mind enough to think—to even accept that he needed to do so.

To realize that this wasn’t a logical extension of what had gone before.

He’d come here tonight fully intending to steer her through another step on her path to seduction; he’d expected to have to pursue her, herd her, to expend effort to even get her that far…

Her tongue touched his, in bold innocence stroked, then tangled, lured…his body heated. Temptation burgeoned and grew; desire welled.

Secrets. He’d let her lead him there thinking she wanted to discuss the secret of her involvement with missing maids and payments of large sums of money. Instead…

Wrong secret. It was the other one she wanted to address.

Which seemed strange.

He had to battle her hold as well as his inclinations to break the kiss and lift his head enough to see her face. “Phoebe…”

She stared up at him for a second, then her gaze dropped to his lips. “I want more…”

The whisper was laden with discovery, with surprise.

Before he could remember what he’d been about to ask, she boldly stretched up, deliberately pressed her body more definitely to his, and drew his lips to hers again.

Pressed her lips to his again.

Effectively cindered his thoughts, effectively slayed his resistance.

His reaction was

instinctive; she touched some primitive part of him no other ever had. A part of him he wasn’t so experienced in controlling.

Before any part of his mind had engaged, he’d taken charge of the kiss, pressing her lips wide, plundering her soft mouth in a heated, explicit invasion from which, to his surprise, she didn’t retreat.

Without conscious direction, his hands had spread over her back, poised to sweep lower and mold her hips to his, fingers testing the supple muscles framing her spine.

So he knew when she hesitated, when she paused, when she suddenly wasn’t sure….

Too much, too soon.

She didn’t retreat, yet he sensed the shiver that raced through her, evocative, wholly sensual. His fingers firmed on her back in response, but he managed to keep them there, if not unthreatening, then at least not immediately threatening more, while he continued to feed from her mouth, continued to dally, lips and tongues caressing…it seemed she’d only just realized where her impulsive behavior had landed her.

The suspicion that he still wasn’t reading all her motives, all her intentions clearly gained purchase in his mind. After the blatant invitation she’d issued, had she been any other lady he would have felt no compunction in accepting unreservedly, in laying her on the sofa or across the table and taking her there, in the deserted parlor, enjoying all she’d offered, her body, her pleasure, fully expecting her to be with him every inch of the way.

But this was Phoebe, and despite that invitation matters were nowhere near clear.