Pride After Her Fall
As if sensing her disquiet, he turned those stunning eyes momentarily in her direction.
‘I’ll run you home,’ was all he said.
She forced herself to shrug.
‘Comme vous le souhaitez.’ As you wish.
CHAPTER SIX
COULD he be a darling and fetch her shoes...?
As the traffic eased to a halt at a pedestrian crossing Nash snapped and did the only thing a man in his circumstances could be expected to do, given the series of events, the surging adrenaline and hot blood being pushed through his body, and the proximity of this unpredictable wild creature he had somehow become involved with.
He leaned across, slid a hand around the back of Lorelei’s head, meshing his fingers slightly in the silky weight of her hair and releasing more of the fragrance of honey and flowers he could fast become addicted to, angled her astonished face and took her tender mouth with his.
The faint hint of champagne still clung to her lips. The warm sweetness of her breath as she gasped and sighed and made a little moaning noise before kissing him back made him want more. The feel of her, the rise of her response beneath him, suddenly stirred a much more primal urge to take what belonged to him, what was his. To mark her. He’d only known her a handful of hours and yet he felt as if he’d been waiting much longer to kiss her.
He deepened the kiss, invaded her mouth, tasting her, driving into her. He told himself it was sexual chemistry; it would burn itself out fast enough. But right now...he wanted her. He couldn’t get enough of her. Yeah, he’d fetched her shoes for her...she could wear them while he—
The blare of a car horn and Lorelei jerking in response had Nash releasing her. For a second he was caught in the headlights of her eyes, and the analogy of having something not quite tame within his grasp was suddenly very real.
Who was this woman?
‘This isn’t a good idea,’ he imparted roughly.
‘Non?’
Her rather unhappy interrogative took him by surprise and he almost smiled.
He couldn’t believe what he was thinking. He needed to take her where she wanted to go and then forget the whole thing. He was damn lucky someone hadn’t been filming the entire incident in the street—although that was a possibility, given the crowd she’d drawn.
She was running her fingers through her hair, rubbing the spot where he’d had his hand...
He was under time constraints. In a couple of weeks he’d be going into lockdown.
He had to be out of his mind...
But he could see her home.
She seemed to realise what she was doing and pulled her hands back into her lap. The gesture made him smile. Yeah, he could see her home.
* * *
For a breathless moment all Lorelei had been able to do was hold still, drowning under the skilled pressure of his lips, but she’d never been a passive woman and with a little moan she had kissed him back.
Apparently women who caused scenes in the street didn’t scare all guys away. Well, not this guy, at least, whose mouth needed a contract for insurance purposes. Lorelei guessed not much would scare him. Confidence and certainty didn’t seem to be a problem for Nash.
He hadn’t even asked. He just took.
Lorelei was quite certain his not asking was adding to the outrageously good feelings still slip-sliding through her body. Mon Dieu, the man knew what to do with his mouth—and those fingers, lightly, firmly palpating the sensitive tendons and hollows at the top of her neck, tugging so pleasurably on her hair, were equally skilled. What could they do elsewhere on her body?
When his mouth had released hers she’d been panting slightly, and she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him as his gaze had drifted over her face, down across her bare shoulders.
‘This isn’t a good idea,’ he’d said, in a flatteringly roughened voice.
A cold drop of uncertainty had hit the top of Lorelei’s spine. ‘Non?’
He had smiled then, the charisma of it almost shocking. His blue eyes had filled her line of vision but the light honk of a horn had had her shaking off the spell and indicating vaguely at the windscreen.
‘I think we can go.’
Nash moved lazily back to his side of the car, as if he had all the time in the world, and they shifted forwards, his hands on the gears as assured as they had been when splaying long, strong fingers through her hair. He hadn’t pulled, like a less skilled man might. He’d tugged. And the little answering darts of response had shot like arrows from a quiver through her body.