place. He shifted back, to the side, intending to lean against a stall door-the one next to the mare’s-and try to catch his breath. Try to break their kiss, try to ease back from her-
The stall door swung open behind him. It was the middle stall in the long row-the one the stablelads used to store fresh straw. Gyles stumbled back. The stall contained no horse-just a huge pile of loose straw. They landed in it, on it. Within seconds, they’d sunk into it.
They were cocooned in soft dryness, closed off in a dark world of their own. Gyles groaned. The sound was swallowed by their kiss. They lay trapped in each other’s arms with her largely beneath him. Then he felt her hands shift, remembered where they’d been, felt her fingers grip his waist. Her hands were underneath his jacket; he felt her pluck at his shirt, fingers dancing along his waistband.
Oh, no. He lifted his head, broke the kiss-then couldn’t think what to say.
“You’re… impatient.” One small hand was caressing him again. “You want me now.”
A wealth of wonder and discovery laced her tone, confirming beyond doubt that she’d never known a man. It was too dark in the stall, in the well of the straw, to see her face. She could only be seeing him as a dark shadow above her. They were both operating primarily by touch. He wasn’t sure if that was an advantage or not.
“I have to get you back into the house.”
She hesitated, then he felt her soften and subtly shift beneath him. “I’m quite comfortable here.”
Her movements, her tone, left him in no doubt as to her meaning.
His senses, his desires, were fighting to defeat the last of his reason. He let his head fall, trying to garner strength enough to break free. His forehead touched hers. He felt her hands slide-upward, over his chest, fingers splaying against the fine linen of his shirt.
How many women had touched him like that?
Hundreds.
How many others had made him ache, made him shake, with just that simple caress?
None.
Even though he knew the danger, when she tipped her face up and her lips found his, he couldn’t resist, couldn’t break away. She seduced him with a gentle touch and a kiss so innocent it reached his shielded heart.
“No,” he breathed, and tried to draw back.
“Yes,” she replied, and said no more. Her lips held his, not with any physical coercion, but with a power he was helpless to deny.
Francesca drank him in, drank in the promise of the hard body lying atop her, of his flagrant response to her. She was more than pleased; she felt like the cat about to lap the cream. He felt hot, hard; the tension in his body screamed of urgency.
His lips broke from hers, trailed her jaw, found her ear, slid lower.
“You like the mare?”
He sounded hoarse.
“She’s beautiful.”
His lips touched her throat and she instinctively arched, and heard his indrawn breath.
“She’s got… excellent bloodlines. Her paces…”
He’d reached her collarbone and seemed to forget what he was saying; Francesca saw no reason to prompt him. She didn’t want to talk, she wanted to explore passion, with him, now. She was about to send her hands wandering down his body, when he murmured, “You can take her with you when you leave.”
Francesca stilled. And forced herself to think. She tried a number of interpretations, but couldn’t find one that fitted. “Leave?” Puzzlement, she found, could overcome passion, at least in this instance. “Why would I leave?”
He sighed, and the warmth that had wrapped about them fled. He lifted his head and looked down at her.
“All the guests will leave shortly after the wedding, most after the wedding breakfast, the rest the next day.” He paused, then continued, steel sliding beneath his tone, “No matter how close to Francesca you are, you’ll leave with Charles and his party.”
Francesca stared up at him-at the face that was just a shadow to her. Her mouth was open, her mind blank. For the space of four heartbeats, she couldn’t say a word. Then her world stopped its crazy gyrations, slowed… She wet her lips. “The lady you’re marrying-”
“I will not discuss her.” The tension that shot through his body was quite different to the heated resilience of passion. It drove passion out, locked her out.