Page 29 of Courting Catherine
“Trent—”
He smiled. “Yes?”
“I don’t think this is the best way to handle things.”
“Probably not.” But his fingers trailed down through her hair to the nape of her neck. He felt her quick shudder. “I can’t quite get you out of my mind. And I keep having these uncontrollable urges to get my hands on you. I wonder why.”
“Because—” she wet her lips “—I irritate you.”
“Oh, you do that, without question.” He pressed those fingers at the back of her neck and had her moving forward an inch. “But not simply in the way you mean. It’s not simple at all. Though it should be.” His other hand skimmed over the collar of her denim work shirt, then cupped her chin. “Otherwise, why would I feel this irresistible need to touch you every time I get near you?”
“I don’t know.” His fingers, light as a feather, trailed down to where her pulse thudded at the base of her throat. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Touch me.”
He slid his hand down her sleeve to her bandaged hand, then lifted it to his lips. “Why?”
“Because you make me nervous.”
Something lit in his eyes, turning them almost black. “You don’t even mean to be provocative, do you?”
“I wouldn’t know how.” Her eyes fluttered closed on a strangled moan when he brushed his lips over her jawline.
“Honeysuckle,” he murmured, drawing her closer. He’d once thought it such a common flower. “I can all but taste it on you. Wild and sweet.”
Her muscles turned to water as his mouth cruised over hers. So much lighter, so much gentler than the first time. It wasn’t right that he could do this to her. The part of her mind that was still rational all but shouted it. But even that was drowned out by the flood of longing.
“Catherine.” He had her face framed between his hands now as he nipped seductively at her lips. “Kiss me back.”
She wanted to shake her head, to pull away and walk casually, even callously out of the room. Instead she flowed into his arms, her mouth lifting to his, meeting his.
His fingers tightened before he could prevent it, then slipped down to pull her more truly against him. He could think of nothing, wanted to think of nothing—no consequences, no rules, no code of behavior. For the first time in his memory, he wanted only to feel. Those sharp and sweet sensations she had racing through him were more than enough for any man.
She was strong—had always been strong—but not enough to prevent time from standing still. It was this one moment, she realized, that she had been waiting for all of her life. As her hands slid up his back, she held the moment to her as completely as she held him.
The fire crackled in the grate. The rain pattered. There was the light, spicy scent of the potpourri Lilah set everywhere about the house. His arms were so strong and sure, yet with a gentleness she hadn’t expected from him.
She would remember it all, every small detail, along with the dark excitement of his mouth and the sound of her name as he whispered it against hers.
He drew her away, slowly this time, more shaken than he cared to admit. As he watched, she ran her tongue over her lips as if to savor a last taste. That small, unconscious gesture nearly brought him to his knees.
“No apology this time,” he told her, and his voice wasn’t steady.
“No.”
He touched his lips to hers again. “I want you. I want to make love with you.”
“Yes.” It was a glorious kind of release. Her lips curved against his. “Yes.”
“When?” He buried his face in her hair. “Where?”
“I don’t know.” She shut her eyes on the wonder of it. “I can’t think.”
“Don’t.” He kissed her temple, her cheekbone, her mouth. “This isn’t the time for thinking.”
“It has to be perfect.”
