Anna shook her head and the movement seemed to dispel her momentary dizziness. “You are quite wrong, sir.”
A breath of air teased against her cheek. A silent laugh? Or was it merely a draft sneaking in through some unseen gap in the woodwork?
“Then prove it,” said Devlin.
“How? You seem unwilling to take my word for it.”
“It’s simple. All you have to do is not react to my kiss.”
“That’s an unfair challenge, sir. I’m damned as a coward if I say no, and damned as a fool if I say yes.”
This time there was no mistaking his mirth. “See what I mean? No angel would dream of uttering an oath.”
“On the contrary. I could have blistered your ears in German or Russian as well. But I showed an angelic restrain
t.”
“That’s what is so intriguing about you, Miss Sloane. Like all truly interesting individuals, you have a dark and a light side.”
His words sent a serpentine shiver slithering down her spine. “That’s completely untrue, sir.”
“Is it?”
Flustered, Anna quickly returned to the heart of his challenge. “It seems to me that the risk is all mine.”
“On the contrary,” replied Devlin ever so softly. “According to you there is no risk at all.”
“Honestly, you and your silver tongue could probably convince St. Peter to throw open the Pearly Gates and invite you to tea.”
“A kiss,” he murmured. “A mere touch of the lips.”
Loath to appear uncertain of her resolve, Anna decided to settle the matter once and for all. In London, he had caught her at a vulnerable moment. She had been off balance, taken by surprise.
He had no such advantage this time.
“Very well, sir. You may test your theory. But be prepared to have your pride piqued.”
“Pride goeth before a fall,” he quipped. “We shall see which one of us takes a tumble.”
Anna backed up a step. “Just to clarify the rules, sir. Just a touch of the lips, nothing more.”
He hesitated, and then nodded. “As you wish.”
A shift of his shoulders threw her face into shadow. Her skin felt suddenly cooler—a mere illusion, she knew, for the candleflames gave off only a weak stutter of light. Closing her eyes, she waited.
And waited.
Her pulse began to skitter, and she was just about to cry off from the challenge when a gossamer feathering of flesh against flesh stilled the protest.
Just as suddenly, the coolness gave way to warmth. The sensation was so slight that it may only have been a figment of her imagination. And yet her mouth began to tingle.
A rake would be more ruthless, Anna thought. More demanding. She had prepared herself to withstand a hard, possessive attempt to win her surrender. But this soft-as-silk caress had her insides slowly melting into a slow spin of topsy-turvy somersaults.
This dreadful dizziness will pass in a moment—it’s just fatigue that is addling my wits.
Anna steeled her spine, willing her resolve to reassert itself. Instead, the gentle warmth of Devlin’s mouth flared to a fierce burn. The beguiling whisper of port—a potent mix of sun-ripe sweetness and fire—was tantalizing.
Just a tiny taste more and then I will stop, she decided, tentatively tracing the sensuous shape of his lips.