The Lady Chosen (Bastion Club 1)

The words were breathless, uncharacteristically weak.

He paused for a heartbeat, then leaned closer. “I’ve decided we should play it by ear.”

“By ear?” Her lashes fluttered down as he leaned closer yet.

“Hmm. Just follow our noses.”

He did precisely that, lowered his head and set his lips to hers.

She stilled. She’d been watching, skittish, but had not anticipated such a direct attack.

He was too experienced to signal his intentions. Not on any battlefield.

So he didn’t immediately take her in his arms, instead simply kissed her, his lips on hers, subtly tempting.

Until she parted hers and let him in. Until he cradled her face, sank deep and drank, savored, took.

Only then did he reach for her, and draw her to him, unsurprised, as his tongue tangled with hers, that she stepped toward him without thought. Without hesitation.

She was caught in the kiss.

As was he.

Such a simple thing—it was just a kiss. Yet as Leonora felt her breasts meet his chest, felt his arms close around her,

there seemed to be so much more. So much she’d never before felt, never before even realized existed. Like the warmth that raced through them—not just through her but through him, too. The sudden tension, not of rejection, not of reining back, but of wanting.

Her hands had risen to rest against his shoulders. Through the contact, she sensed his reaction, both his ease in this sphere, his expertise, and beneath that a deeper yearning.

His hand on her back, strong fingers splayed over her spine, urged her closer; she acquiesced, and his lips turned demanding. Commanding. She met them, gave her mouth and felt the first lick of glory in his hunger. Against her, his body felt like oak, strong and unbending, yet the mobile lips that held hers, that played, teased and made her want, were so alive, so assured.

So addictive.

She was about to sink against him, about to willingly slide deeper under his spell, when she sensed him ease back, felt his hands slide to her waist and grip lightly.

He broke off the kiss and lifted his head.

Looked into her eyes.

For a moment, she could only blink at him, wondering why he’d stopped. Regret flashed through his eyes, superceded by resolve, a hard glint in the hazel. As if he hadn’t wanted to stop but felt he must.

A fleeting madness gripped her—a strong urge to reach her hand to his nape and draw him, and those fascinating lips, back to her.

She blinked again.

He set her back on her feet, steadying her.

“I should go.”

Her wits snapped back into place, back into the real world. “How have you decided to proceed?”

He looked at her; she could have sworn a frown crossed behind his eyes. His lips thinned. She waited, her gaze steady.

Eventually, he replied, “I called on Stolemore this morning.” He grasped her hand, wound her arm in his, and steered them back along the path.

“And?”

“He consented to tell me the name of the purchaser so intent on buying this house. One Montgomery Mountford. Do you know him?”