Enough for her to experience a rush of pure impulse—crazy and thrilling and wholly wanton—that had her pressing closer, stretching up, and touching her lips once again to his.
In the instant she did, she sensed his pleasure. A definite masculine gloat that he’d tempted her so far.
What was she doing?
Before she could pull back, he tightened his arms about her, held her close as he took over, and kissed her again.
Slow, easy, a warm and confident caress. His tongue touched her lips, tra
ced, tantalized…she parted them, tentatively, curious…not even truly sure it was by her own will and not his.
His tongue traced the soft inner faces of her lips, not so much bold as assured, certain. Then he probed further, found her tongue and stroked, caressed…
Warmth seeped through her, unraveling her tensed nerves, soothing and smoothing away her hesitations, her uncertainties, her fears…
Michael felt her relax, felt the last of her coldness melt away. Grappled with his desire to take more, to press further, to claim, caged it so artfully she wouldn’t know it was there. Regardless of how experienced his rational mind told him she had to be, his instincts knew better than to scare her—to at this stage give her any excuse to flee.
It was he who called an end to the engagement; he was gratified that that was so—she was so caught, now so involved in the pleasurable exchange that returning to the real world—the world in which she was the virtuous Merry Widow—had temporarily lost all appeal.
Drawing back, feeling their lips part, hearing the soft exhalation she gave as they did, he had to fight to hide his triumph.
He let her ease back, steadied her within his arms until she was firm on her feet. She blinked and her eyes met his. A frown came to life, slowly grew until it shadowed the silvery depths of her gaze.
Then she blushed, glanced away and stepped back—remembered she couldn’t and stepped to the side. He let his arms fall, turned with her, trying to read her face, wanting to know…
Caro sensed his gaze, forced herself to halt, draw in a huge breath, and meet it. She frowned, warningly, at him. “So now you know.”
He blinked. A second passed. “Know what?”
Looking ahead, nose in the air, she headed for the summerhouse’s door. “That I can’t kiss.” It was imperative she bring this interlude to a rapid end.
Naturally, he kept pace, falling in, strolling easily beside her. “So what was it we were doing just now?”
He sounded faintly puzzled, also faintly amused.
“By your standards, not a lot, I imagine. I don’t know how to kiss.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m no good at it.”
They descended the steps and set off across the lawn. Head up, she walked as fast as she reasonably could. “I daresay Geoffrey will be back by now—”
“Caro.”
The single word held a wealth of, not just feeling, but beguiling promise.
Her heart leapt to her throat; determinedly, she swallowed it. The man was a consummate politician—she shouldn’t forget that. “Please—spare me your sympathy.”
“No.”
She halted, turned to stare at him. “What?”
He met her eyes. “No, I won’t spare you—I fully intend to teach you.” His lips curved; his gaze dropped to hers. “You’re perfectly teachable, you know.”
“No, I’m not, and anyway…”
“Anyway what?
“Never mind.”
He laughed. “But I do mind. And I am going to teach you. To kiss, and more.”