Page 23 of My Darling Rogue
“I-I thought I would visit the conservatory.” It was difficult forming a falsehood quickly enough when she was so shocked by his presence.
“No. You will not.”
The terse shutdown of her activities banged like a steel door in her face.
“I’m going crazy in this room. And you have no right—” Celia’s protest broke off as Gabriel strode toward her.
“Who are you meeting this time, my lady? Lord Harvey? Or another unworthy gentleman?”
“How dare you accuse me! Besides, my intentions are none of your business,” Celia shot back, horrified he would think she would intentionally conduct a clandestine rendezvous. “What are you doing here, anyway? Why are you lurking outside my bedroom door?”
His mouth stretched in a grim smile. “You may thank your mother for this. She requested that I check on you.”
Celia shook her head, fighting down the panic choking her. “You are lying. She did no such thing. Why would she?”
Gabriel reached her, his hand cupping her elbow like a bear trap ready to snap shut. “I never lie, my lady. Lady Darby surely has her reasons. At the top of the list is gaining a son-in-law for a stubborn, wayward daughter who has rejected every suitor in her orbit.”
“But not you, Mister Rose. She cannot possibly want you,” Celia cried out in frustration.
Gabriel stared down at her, his arm sliding around her waist until she was firmly anchored against his body. The danger of the moment swirled around them both until Celia was dizzy with awareness of his hard form. His intoxicating cologne. The huskiness of his voice.
“You cut me to the quick, my lady. And yet, no one knows more than I just how unsuitable I would be as a son-in-law. However, Lady Darby insisted and I obliged. Despite my better judgment and suspicion of her intent,” he muttered, the words laced with anger and accusation. “You should be in bed.”
“And you should go to hell,” Celia promptly replied, then clapped a hand over her own mouth, wishing the words back.
The corners of his lips quirked upward with amusement. “My prickly little sugarplum. Deliciously sweet but somehow covered in thorns.” His eyes bored into hers while forcing Celia’s retreat back into the bedchamber. The door slammed shut behind them with a swift kick of his booted foot.
Then Gabriel’s mouth was upon hers. Hot and demanding. Insistent and possessive. Hard and yet so achingly soft. One hand cradled her face, his fingers sliding further until they wrapped around the thick braid of her hair. Gripping it as though it were a tether useful in controlling a wild animal, he held her in place.
He kissed her until she was faint, and even if her ankle had not been injured, Celia would have collapsed without his arms holding her aloft.
Alarm bells clanged inside Celia’s head. Desire burst deep within her soul, clawing its way out of her body. It was so wrong for him to be in her room. Wrong that he was kissing her. Wrong that she welcomed the soft warmth of his hard mouth molding hers.
Thunder echoed, big and booming and so loud it seemed it was just outside the windows. Or was that her heart? She did not know, but one thing was certain. This man would ruin her, and she did not care.
Celia wrapped her arms around his neck. She nestled into his embrace. Reveled in the tight hold he had around her waist and the one of her hair. Sank into the treacherous depths of his mouth and lips as he took what he wanted with lazy insistence. She should push him away. She should call for help. She should do anything that would stop the inevitability of this man claiming her heart.
But she did not. She could only do one thing. The one thing that felt right. That felt true.
That felt like fate.
Destiny.
Her future. And his, too.
She kissed him back.
CHAPTER11
Gabriel told himself he should stop.
But it was impossible. He couldn’t stop when the girl in his arms tasted so sweet. Not when she was so warm and smelled so damned good it made him want to weep. She felt… right. It was the only way he could describe it.
Rightin his world of everything wrong.
It’d been a long time since he had experienced anything so perfect. It was impossible to stop the continued onslaught of her innocent mouth. He plundered her sweetness, becoming drunk on everything that made Celia Buchanan who she was.
She was so tiny in his arms, although some considered her tall for a woman. As if God above specifically constructed her to fit his measurements, she molded against his frame like wet silk.
