The Perfect Lover (Cynster 10)

Charlie blinked, hesitated, then inclined his head. “Right-ho.” He turned back to Lucy; they started on their way. “There’s a story about a sound heard on dark and moonless nights . . .”

Simon turned back to Portia in time to see her smile, then she caught his eye; her smile faded. Head rising, she studied his face, his eyes. He studied hers, and couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

He waved, directing her on along the old paved path that wound down and around to the priory’s kitchen gardens. She turned, stepped out.

“You knew about the crypt, didn’t you?”

He followed close behind her, coming alongside as the path evened out. “Charlie and I have visited often over the years.”

Portia smothered a grin and dutifully strolled on. He had a habit of not specifically answering questions he would rather not, questions whose answers revealed more of him than he wished to have known. Yet she was more than content to spend some time alone with him; she had no real interest in the ruins, but there were other matters she wished to explore.

They walked on in silence, oddly companionable. The sun briefly broke through, warm, but not too strong; she didn’t feel obliged to put on her hat—aside from anything else, it made conversing with tall gentlemen difficult.

She could feel his gaze as they walked, feel his presence, and something more, a facet of his behavior she’d noticed years before, but which had only become clear in recent days. The constant flirting—Kitty, James, Charlie, Lucy, even the Hammond girls—had sharpened the contrast; Simon never flirted, never extended himself to engage, unless he had a purpose—unless he acted with intent.

He prowled beside her now, long strides lazy, the disguised power that invested every movement never more apparent. They were in an ancient place, alone. Whatever they said, whatever happened between them here would not need to conform to any social requirements. Only their own.

Whatever they wished, whatever they wanted.

She drew a deep breath, aware of her bodice tightening, aware that he noticed. A tingle of anticipation tickled her spine. They’d reached the kitchen gardens, originally walled, but now the walls were crumbling. The ruined kitchens lay to one side, the remains of the prior’s house beyond them. She stopped, glanced around. They were out of sight of everyone, essentially private. She turned to face Simon.

A scant foot lay between them. He’d halted and was waiting, watching—waiting to see what tack she’d take. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist taking—doing—something.

She lifted her chin. Fixed her eyes on his.

Couldn’t find the words.

His eyes narrowed, searched hers, then he raised a hand, slowly, placed the tip of one finger beneath the angle of her jaw, just beneath her ear, and traced forward, tipping her face up. The simple touch sent sensation skittering through her,

left her skin tingling.

She was tall, but he was a good half head taller; his fingertip beneath the point of her chin brought their faces closer.

“I assume you’re intent on learning more?”

His voice was deep, hypnotic. She kept her gaze locked with his. “Naturally.”

She could read absolutely nothing in his face, yet the sense of being considered, like prey, grew.

“What did you have in mind?”

The invitation was blatant—and exactly what she wanted.

She raised her brows, faintly haughty, knowing the challenge would not escape him—and he would not escape it. “I’d imagined the next step.”

His lips curved, just a little; now that she knew what they felt like, she found them fascinating, both visually and in the expectation of how they would feel . . .

“And just what had you imagined that to be?”

She watched the words form on his lips; they took a moment to penetrate her brain. Then she hauled her gaze up to his eyes, blinked. “I’d imagined . . . another kiss.”

Calculation flashed through his eyes, enough to tell her she might have answered differently, that there was more yet she could have learned . . . if she’d known to ask for it.

“Another kiss? So be it”—his head lowered, her lids followed—“if that’s all you really want.”

The last words drifted into her mind, pure temptation, as his lips settled on hers, warm, firm, more definite this time, more sure, more commanding. She knew how to respond now and did, parting her lips, inviting him in. His hand shifted, long fingers sliding to cup her nape, his thumb remaining beneath her chin, holding her steady as he angled his head and—as she’d demanded—took the kiss further.

Deeper, into some realm that was hotter, more exciting. More intimate.