Page 29 of Tempting Mr. Townsend
Anthony caught her head between his hands as he pursued his sensual discovery. The full lower lip. The precise cut of her upper lip. The indented corners. He dared a sweep of his tongue along the closed seam, provoking a quick gasp of breath, but didn't press his advantage. He felt like he had all the time in the world to gain a fuller surrender.
The kiss continued in sweet innocence. Although he'd had no claim to innocence since boyhood, and Fenella had known a husband's love. But still her kiss held a delicately untried quality. He recalled with a stab of indefinable emotion that this beautiful woman hadn't had a lover in over five years.
So his touch remained exploratory, rather than insistent, tender rather than passionate. However powerfully passion strained to break free.
“For pity's sake, Anthony, kiss me like you mean it,” she gasped.
He gave a brief laugh and ran his lips down her throat, making her shiver. At last she'd called him Anthony—and without him asking. “Don't you like this?”
She made a wordless protest. “You know I do.”
He commanded his hands to hold her lightly, despite driving need, as he scraped his teeth along the graceful curve where neck met shoulder. She smelled delicious there. Warm. Womanly. Needy. “So?”
She tugged sharply at his hair. His rose had thorns—he relished that hint of spice under all the sugar. “I'd like it more if you stopped treating me like I might shatter.”
“Very well,” he said and wrapped his arms around her. A step or two, and she lay flat under him on the chaise longue.
Blue eyes widened with shock. Now she knew exactly how much he wanted her. “Mr. Townsend?”
A wry smile twisted his lips. “I was Anthony last time.”
“Perhaps…perhaps we should stand up.”
He rose on his elbows. She was so delightfully ruffled and flushed, he couldn't resist another kiss. She spread beneath him like every dream come true. “I won't do anything you don't want me to.”
She was clever enough to see the flaw in his offer. “That's no protection.”
He frowned faintly. “Fenella, I swear I won't trespass beyond a few kisses. Despite wanting more.”
“I knew this was a bad idea,” she said shakily, fingers lacing through his hair.
“It doesn't feel like a bad idea.”
Except, damn him, it did. If he had any claim to honor, he'd roll off her and exile her to her chaste widow's bed.
But he wasn't averse to taking risks—otherwise he'd still be running an obscure, not particularly profitable shipping firm. And while he was neither lunatic nor hopeful enough to imagine she'd surrender all at the first invitation, he wasn't ready to stop. Even if kissing her was an agonizing combination of delight and frustration.
* * *
This kiss was no longer teasing. It demanded that she counter Anthony's heat with her own. When his tongue traced her lips, Fenella opened in helpless pleasure. He tasted delicious, brandy and desire.
Sensations repressed too long overwhelmed her. Banishing the proper widow, and reviving the young girl, in love with her handsome husband. She'd forgotten what this sweet itch for a man's touch was like.
She remembered now. Dear Lord, how she remembered.
Except this was different. Perhaps five years of denying that ardent girl built this wild release. Or thirty-year-old Fenella was a more complex woman than the innocent who had pledged herself to Henry Deerham.
Whatever the reason, Anthony's kisses stirred a dark tide of response she'd never known. When she plunged eager hands into his thick hair to bring that seeking mouth closer, he released a grunt of surprise. But she was past false modesty or pretend reluctance. For the first time in five years, she had blood in her veins, instead of rivers of cold salt tears.
She tugged at Anthony's neck cloth until his shirt fell open. When her hand found hot, smooth skin, she made a sound of satisfaction. She nipped at his lips, then sucked his tongue into her mouth.
This was like magic. This was like flying. This was like…
Betrayal.
A stifled protest escaped her, and the embrace turned alien and unwelcome. This time, when she caught his shoulders, she didn't mean to caress but to deny. Although surely no man would heed her when only seconds ago, she'd lain in his arms, delirious with rising passion.
To her relief, Anthony shifted away. He stared down at her, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Pleasure softened his rough-hewn features, giving him the look of a sleepy lion. “Fenella”
