Page 39 of Heiress Gone Wild

“When I was a little girl, I used to imagine how wonderful it would be to be reunited with my father.” She stared at Jonathan, shaking her head, baffled at herself. “Now, I’m wondering what I could have been thinking to ever have wanted a father at all. If you’re anything to go by, having a father is like being wrapped in cotton wool and smothered to death.”

“I’m like a father to you?” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. As he let them fall and lifted his head, he laughed again. “My God.”

“I’ve managed to make you laugh, I see,” she said, that fact making her even more cross. “I suppose being laughed at is better than being ignored, or being given lectures on propriety and dire warnings about my virtue, or being told all the ways people are out to take advantage of me. And it’s certainly better than watching you assault my suitors in corridors. I’m glad I’m so amusing to you.”

“I’m not the least bit amused, believe me.”

He took a step closer, and she felt a sudden quiver along her spine—apprehension and something more, the same tingling awareness she’d felt when he’d put those jewels around her throat and looked at her in the mirror.

He was standing quite close to her, so close that she could see things about him she’d never noticed before. His hazel eyes seemed to hold a multitude of colors—not only brown and gold, but also green, and blue, and even violet. His lashes were longer than they looked, for though dark at the base, they were blond at the tips. There was a small, Z-shaped scar at his right temple, and on his lean cheeks was the faint shadow of beard stubble.

She wanted to hold on to her anger, but even as she tried, she felt it slipping away under his open, unwavering scrutiny and the inexplicable change in the air. He seemed to sense it, too, for he stirred, easing even closer, close enough that his starched shirtfront, puffed out where she’d pulled it along with his tie, brushed against her breast.

She jumped like a skittish horse, flattening her back against the door, and she forced herself to say something. “I don’t understand you at all,” she said, trying to sound vexed, mortified when her words came out in a breathless rush instead. “If you’re not amused, then why were you laughing?”

“I’m not laughing at you, Marjorie, if that’s what you think.” His gaze lowered to her mouth, and her heart gave an instinctive leap of excitement in her chest. “I’m laughing at myself.”

“For what?” Her throat was dry, her question a whisper.

“For my conceit. For assuming things that were far off the mark.”

She frowned, bewildered, finding it hard to think straight. “About the count, you mean?”

“No.” His hand lifted to cup her face, and she gave a startled gasp as his fingers curled at her nape and his thumb slid across her lips. No man had ever touched her so intimately before, and the contact was doing strange things to her insides. Heat pooled in her belly, and her bones suddenly felt like rubber. “I’m talking about you.”

The heat evoked by his touch was spreading throughout her body. She could hardly breathe. Her heart was thudding in her chest as if she’d been running. “I don’t understand,” she managed, her words a rasp against his thumb. “What things?”

“It never occurred to me that you regard me as some kind of substitute father.”

It did seem ludicrous just now, but she gathered her scattered wits and marshaled every scrap of her pride. “No?” she countered, forcing a coolness into her voice she didn’t feel in the least. “Given the way you’ve been ignoring me and snubbing me, I think it’s a fair and accurate comparison.”

“It’s not, actually.” His thumb slid beneath her chin, lifting her face. “Because the thoughts I’ve been having about you since we met aren’t the least bit fatherly.”

“They’re not?”

“God, no.” With an abruptness that took her breath away, he wrapped his free arm around her waist and hauled her hard against him. Then, as the sewing basket dropped from her fingers and hit the floor, he bent his head and kissed her.

Chapter 11

Having never in her life been kissed before, Marjorie had only been able to imagine what it was like—vague notions of a sweet and gentle brush of lips, but Jonathan’s kiss was nothing like the product of her girlhood imagination. It was not sweet, nor was it gentle. Instead, it was hard, hot, and completely overwhelming.

She brought her hands up between them, but it wasn’t to push him away. Instead, she curled her fingers into his lapels, pulling him closer, holding on tight, for this was her first kiss, and there was nothing else in the world that could possibly matter more than this moment.

She closed her eyes, bringing all her other senses to the fore. His scent—of castile soap, bay rum, and something deeper. His taste—of tea and strawberry jam. His touch—the warmth of his palm cupping her face and his fingertips against the nape of her neck.

Beneath her knuckles, she could feel the hard muscles of his chest and his hammering heart, and the knowledge that he felt what she did went to her head like champagne. Just as when he’d put that necklace around her throat and looked at her in the mirror, she felt a glorious, exhilarating sense of power, and she suddenly knew what it meant. It was the power of being a woman.

His lips parted, seeming to want hers to part as well, but when she complied, his tongue entered her mouth, and it was too much. She jerked in shock, breaking the kiss, and at once, he stilled, his mouth a fraction from hers, his quick breaths mingling with hers.

He moved as if to withdraw, but she couldn’t bear for these exciting sensations to stop, not yet. Letting go of his lapel, she wrapped one arm around his neck, rose on her toes, and kissed him.

He groaned against her mouth and, as if in capitulation to her command, his arm pulling her even closer as his free hand tangled in her hair and he deepened the kiss, his tongue tasting hers.

Dark waves of heat flooded through Marjorie’s body as he tasted her with his tongue. When he pulled back, she followed, tasting him in return, and the pleasure rose even higher, flared even hotter.

Who could ever have thought a kiss could be like this? It was the most intimate, shocking thing that had ever happened to her. It was amazing and glorious, and she wanted more.

Guided by instinct rather than conscious thought, she pressed her body even closer to his, her fingers raking through the short, crisp strands of his hair as she brought her other arm up around his neck. He made a rough sound against her mouth, and his arms held her as if he never wanted to let her go. His body, so much larger than hers, was strong and lean, and so hard, particularly where his hips were pressed to hers.

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