The Lady Chosen (Bastion Club 1)

He waited, but she didn’t return. Heaving an inward, somewhat resigned sigh, he crossed the room, the rich Turkish carpet muffling his steps. He stopped by the side of the window, leaned against the frame.

She turned her head and met his gaze.

“You used to stand here and watch me, didn’t you?”

Chapter Seven

He considered every option before replying, “At times.”

Her eyes remained steady on his, then she looked back at the garden. “That’s how you knew who I was when I ran into you that first day.”

To that he said nothing, then was left wondering what track her mind was taking.

After a long moment, her gaze fixed beyond the glass, she murmured, “I’m not very good at this business.” She gestured briefly, her hand waving between them. “I haven’t had any real experience.”

He inwardly blinked. “So I’d assumed.”

She turned her head, met his gaze. “You’ll have to teach me.”

As she faced him, he straightened. She closed the distance between them. He frowned, his hands instinctively circling her waist. “I’m not certain—”

“I’m perfectly willing to learn.” Her gaze dropped to his lips; hers curved, innocently sensual. “Even eager.”

Lifting her gaze to his eyes, she stretched upward, palms to his chest, lifted her lips to his. Softly murmured, “But you know that.”

And kissed him.

The invitation was so blatant it captured him utterly. Temporarily suspended his wits, left him at his senses’ mercy.

And his senses were merciless. They wanted more.

More of her, of the soft, luscious haven of her mouth, of her pliant, innocently beguiling lips. Of her body, tentatively yet determinedly pressing against his much harder frame.

That last shook him, shook enough of his wits into place for him to take control. What she was thinking he didn’t know, but with her lips on his, her mouth all his, her tongue dueling increasingly hotly with his, he couldn’t spare enough of his mind to follow the contortions of hers.

Later.

Now…all he could do—all he could force his body and senses to do—was follow her lead.

And teach her more.

He let her press close, gathered her fully into his arms. Let her feel his body hardening against hers, let her sense what she invoked, the response her body, supple, curvaceous and blatantly tempting, all female softness and feminine heat, provoked.

During their wanderings through the house, she’d opened her pelisse. Sliding a hand beneath the heavy wool, he set his palm to her breast. Not lightly tracing as he had before, but claiming possessively. Giving her now what their earlier interlude had teasingly promised, tauntingly foretold.

She gasped, clung, but not once did she waver; her lips cleaved to his, innocently demanding. Unfrightened, unshocked. Determined. Enthralled. She was caught, totally fascinated. He deepened the kiss, touched, caressed.

Felt the flames start to smolder. Felt desire slowly rise, stretch languidly, then reach out in hunger.

Leonora felt it, too, although she couldn’t name it, that wash of heated emptiness deep within. It infused her, and him, intrigued and beckoned. Ensnared. She had to get closer, somehow deeper into the exchange; sliding her hands up, she twined them about his neck, sighed when the movement pressed her breast firmly into his hard palm.

His hand closed and her senses rocked. His fingers shifted, seeking, finding, and her wits, her very being, stilled.

Then fractured, shattered, as those knowing fingers tightened, tightened…until she gasped through their kiss.

His fingers eased and heat flooded her, a rushing tide she’d never felt before. Her breasts swelled; the bodice of her walking dress was suddenly too tight. The thin film of her chemise chafed.

He seemed to know; he dealt with her bodice’s tiny buttons with practiced ease, and she could breathe again. Only to catch her breath on a rush of pleasure, on a spike of anticipation when he boldly slid his hand beneath the gaping gown to caress, to fondle. His touch screened by fine silk, to build her yearning once again, so that she ached for more definite contact. Burned to feel his skin against hers, desperate to feel still more.