The basket was no longer between them. Nothing was.
Honoria's breath caught-her gaze locked on his. Her heart thudded wildly; an uncharacteristic panic streaked through her. Could he read minds? It seemed that he could-the green gaze grew more intense, the line of his lips deepened. Then his lids lowered; slowly, deliberately, he bent his head.
Anticipation rose, an insidious temptation, stealing through her, unlocking her defenses. Honoria felt the fever rise, felt the longing grow. Each time he kissed her, it waxed stronger, more willful, harder to deny. She felt herself sinking under its influence, her lips softening. "No." The word was a whisper-all she could manage. Her heartbeat filled her; her pulse all but deafened her.
He heard her and stopped, eyes glinting from under heavy lids. "Why not?" His brows quirked-his smile grew as he searched her eyes, her face. "You like it when I kiss you, Honoria Prudence."
Her name, uttered in his deep, velvety dark voice, the 'r's gently rolled, was a sensual caress. Honoria struggled to hold back a shiver-she lost the fight when he raised one finger and traced her lower lip.
"You like my kisses-and I like kissing you. Why deny ourselves such innocent pleasure?"
Innocent? Honoria's eyes widened-she might be safe with him, but his notion of safety and hers were not the same. "Ah… that's not the point."
The curve of his lips deepened. "Which point is that?" She hadn't the faintest idea. Honoria blinked blankly up at him-and saw his pirate's smile flash. His head swooped-his lips covered hers.
This time, she ought to struggle. The thought flashed into her mind-and was lost in the same instant, as anticipation exploded and wiped her mental slate clean. Further thought was beyond her; his kiss connected with some other being-a sensual, sensate being-hidden deep inside her. It was that being who reveled in the long-drawn caress, in the hard pressure of his lips on hers, that being who opened her lips, brazenly inviting him beyond, to taste, to sample, to plunder to his heart's content.
Other than through his lips, and the long fingers that framed her face, he did not touch her, yet she was surrounded by his strength, by his will, bent like a reed to his passion. Her body-skin, quivering flesh, even her bones-was achingly aware of him-of his strength, of the tense, sharply defined muscles mere inches away, of the hardness to match her melting softness.
Their lips melded, their tongues twined, sliding sensuously together. The kiss was as heady as the fine wine they'd drunk, as warm as the sunshine about them. He shifted, leaning over her as he deepened the kiss; Honoria tasted his desire. The compulsion to feed his hunger rose, flaring like a fever, an impetus steadily growing with each deep beat of her heart, a driving need to twine her arms about him, about his shoulders, his neck-to run her fingers through his thick hair. Her fingers literally itched. One hand had fallen on his upper arm, the other on his shoulder; clinging to caution, she flexed her fingers, sinking them deep in a desperate bid to deny the urge to touch, to feel, to explore.
Instead, the steely feel of him, harder than she'd imagined, something akin to warm resilient rock, seduced her; caught by her discovery, she flexed her fingers again, enthralled when his muscles shifted beneath her hands.
Immediately, his lips hardened; in a heartbeat, their kiss changed from merely hungry to ravenous. He was closer, his weight tantalizingly near yet not upon her; Honoria's senses leapt. Their lips parted; she hauled in a gasping breath. Before she could open her eyes, he took her mouth again, commanding, demanding, ravaging her senses. His hand closed over her breast.
The shock of his touch, of the sliding caress of long, strong fingers, was muted by the cambric of her carriage dress. There was nothing to mute the shock of her reaction-like lightning it speared through her, incandescent fire arcing through her veins. Beneath his hand, her breast swelled; her nipple had tightened to a firm bud even before his fingers found it. Honoria tried to gasp, but he was still kissing her; in desperation, she took her breath from him-and discovered that she could.
His fingers stroked, gently kneaded, and her abandoned senses sang. While the warmth of his caresses spread through her, heating her, heightening the melting sensation deep inside, Honoria mastered the art of breathing through their kiss-suddenly, she was no longer so giddy.
Suddenly she could think enough to know what she felt. Enough to appreciate the quivering excitement that held her, the thrill of anticipation that invested every nerve, every square inch of her skin. Enough to recognize the desire that thrummed heavily in her veins-the compulsion to actively return his kiss, to draw his hard body to hers, to invite, incite-do whatever she could-to quench and fill the molten void within her.
The knowledge rocked her, shocked her-and gave her the strength to draw back.
Devil sensed her withdrawal. Beneath his hand, her breast was hot and swollen, the furle
d bud of her nipple a hard button against his palm. Yet her retreat was obvious-in their kiss, in the sudden sinking of her senses. He knew women too well, too thoroughly, to miss the battle she waged-the battle to block her own inclination, to suppress the desire that had welled within her in answer to his need. Inwardly, he cursed; she was causing him no end of pain. He was sorely tempted to open her bodice and slide his hand in-to show her what that would do to her, what more there was yet to come. But her innocence was a cross he'd steeled himself to bear-the knowledge that he would be the one to school her in love's ways, the only man she would ever know intimately, was a powerful inducement.
She was no prude-she was attracted to him at a level so deep it excited him just to know it. She was ripe for seduction, by him; she would be his-his wife-there was no way he'd let her escape him. Raising his head, he watched as her lids fluttered, then rose, revealing misty grey eyes still silvered with passion. He trapped her gaze. "I should warn you that I've made myself four promises."
His voice, deepened by passion, gravelly with frustration, rumbled between them. Honoria blinked dazedly; Devil suppressed a feral grin. "I'm going to enjoy watching your face the first time I pleasure you." Dipping his head, he brushed her lips with his. "And the second and third time as well." He drew back-Honoria's eyes were wide, startled. "Pleasure…?"
"When I make that molten heat inside you explode."
"Explode?"
"In a cataclysmic starburst." Devil tightened the fingers that still lay about her breast, then let them slide in a languid caress, his thumb circling her ruched nipple. A quivering shiver raced through her. Deliberately, he caught her eye. "Trust me-I know all about it."
She searched his eyes, her own widening; suddenly, she drew a breath.
"And," Devil said, bending to taste her lips again, cutting off whatever she'd thought to say, "my fourth promise will be the culminating event."
He drew back and watched her debate her next move; eventually, she cleared her throat and asked: "What else have you promised yourself?"
Devil's face hardened. "That I'll be watching your face as I fill you, as you take me inside you, as you give yourself to me."
Honoria stilled-it took all her strength to suppress her reaction, a flaring impulse to passion and possession, a lancing desire so thrillingly vital, so compelling it literally stole her breath. The unexpected insight-into herself, into what might be-was shocking. Most shocking of all was the fact it didn't scare her. But she knew where her future lay-it couldn't be with him. Her eyes locked on his, she shook her head. "It won't happen. I'm not marrying you."
She pushed against him; he hesitated, then drew back, letting her sit up. The instant she did, his fingers closed about her chin; he turned her to face him. "Why not?"