A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

Abruptly, she stopped and, eyes narrowing, faced him. "Because I believe I owe you an apology."

Vane smiled, directly into her eyes. He didn't try to hide his steel. "You do."

Lips compressed, Patience met his gaze, then nodded. "So I apprehend." She drew herself up, clasping her hands on the top of her parasol, tilting her chin determinedly. "I apologize."

"For what, exactly?"

One long look into his grey eyes told Patience she was not going to escape lightly. She narrowed her eyes anew. "For casting unjustified aspersions on your character."

She could see him considering, matching that against her unwise words. Rapidly, she did the same. "And your motives," she grudgingly added. Then she thought again. And frowned. "At least, some of them."

His lips twitched. "Definitely only some of them."

His voice had regained its purr; a shivery sensation slid down Patience's spine.

"Just to be clear, I take it you rescind absolutely all your unjustified claims?"

He was teasing her; the light in his eyes was definitely untrustworthy. "Unreservedly," Patience snapped. "There! Now what more can you want?"

"A kiss."

The answer came back so fast, so definitely, Patience's head whirled. "A kiss?"

He merely raised one arrogant brow, as if the suggestion barely rated a blink. None-too-subtle challenge lit his eyes. Patience frowned and bit her lip. They stood in the open central aisle, nothing within yards of them. Totally unscreened, totally exposed. Hardly a site that lent itself to impropriety. "Oh, very well."

Swiftly, she stretched on her toes; putting one hand on his shoulder for balance, she placed a quick peck on his cheek.

His eyes opened wide, then filled with laughter-more laughter than she could stand.

"Oh, no." He shook his head. "Not that sort of kiss."

She didn't need to ask what sort of kiss he wanted. Patience focused on his lips-long, lean, hard. Fascinating. They were not going to get any less fascinating. Indeed, the longer she contemplated them…

Hauling in a quick breath, she held it, stretched upward, shut her eyes, and fleetingly touched her lips to his. They were as hard as she'd imagined, very like sculpted marble. Sensation flared at the brief contact; her lips tingled, then throbbed.

Patience blinked her eyes wide as she lowered her heels to earth. And refocused on his lips. She saw the ends curve upward, heard his low, wickedly teasing laugh.

"Still not right. Here-let me show you."

His hands came up to frame her face, her jaw, tilting her lips up as his descended. Of their own volition, her lids fell, then his lips touched hers. Patience couldn't have quelled the shudder that passed through her had her life depended on it.

Stunned, poised to resist, she mentally paused. Strong, sure, his lips covered hers, moving slowly, langorously, as if savoring her taste, her texture. There was nothing threatening in the unhurried caress. Indeed, it was beguiling, luring her senses, focusing them on the practiced slide and glide of cool lips which seemed to instinctively know how to soothe the heat rising in hers. Hers throbbed; his pressed, caressed, as if drinking in her heat, stealing it from her.

Patience felt her lips soften; his firmed in response.

No, no, noo… Some small part of her mind tried to warn her, but she was long past listening. This was new, novel-she'd never felt such sensations before. Never known such simple delight existed.

Her head was whirling, but not unpleasantly. His lips still seemed hard, cool-Patience couldn't resist the temptation to return the pressure, to see if his lips would soften to hers.

They didn't, they only became harder. The next instant, she felt a searing heat sweep over her lips. She stilled; the questing heat returned-with the tip of his tongue, he traced her lower lip. The contact lingered, an unspoken question.

Patience wanted more. She parted her lips.

His tongue slid between, slowly, with his customary assured arrogance, quite certain of his welcome, confident in his expertise.

Vane held the reins of his desire in a grip of iron and refused to let his demons loose. Deep, primal instincts urged him on; experience held him back.

She'd never yielded her mouth to any man, never shared her lips willingly. He knew that absolutely, sensed the truth in her untutored response, read it in her lack of guile. But she was rising to him, her passion, her desire, answering his call, sweet as the dew on a crisp spring morning, virginal as snow on an inaccessible peak.