Page 22 of The Hellion and the Captain
“Tell me, Miss Whitmore, what truly brought you to the pub tonight?”
“I prefer it to those events that are fabricated by society,” she finally said, her face forward,and he noted the small freckles dotting her pert nose. She turned to look at him, her eyes, an intriguing almost violet color, dancing. “My parents believe I am with Lily.”
“I am not exactly Lily.”
She laughed at that, as he stared at her. There was something about her that reminded him of someone else he knew, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Perhaps her mannerisms or her eyes — he wasn’t sure.
“No, you are certainly not,” she murmured. “Lily has so many other things in her life now, though, that despite how much I tell my mother I am with her, I almost never am.”
“You miss her,” he stated.
“I am happy for her,” she said as they entered Ellesmere Park, and he knew that their time together was coming to an end, whether he liked it or not.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t miss the part she played in your life,” he said, and she looked at him with brows raised.
“You are wiser than I thought you were, Mr. Lockwood.”
“Call me Rhys,” he said, surprising himself. “When I hear Mr. Lockwood, I think I am at the bank.”
“Very well, Rhys. You might as well call me Emmaline. I prefer it to Miss Whitmore, at least among friends.”
“Am I your friend, then?”
“I suppose you can be, even if you do find me contrary now and again.”
She came to a stop in front of a long drive to what must be her house, and he did the same, turning to face her.
She was a tall woman, but the perfect height for him, the top of her head stopping just beneath his chin.
He bit his lip as he stared down at her. He needed more, as much as he wished he didn’t. What was it about this woman? She would drive him crazy, and yet… he certainly wouldn’t be bored.
“What are you thinking right now?” she probed.
“Honestly?”
“Always.”
“You captivate me, Emmaline,” he murmured.
“Of course I do,” she said with that coy smile, and he laughed again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so much in one evening.
“What am I going to do with you?” he said, shaking his head.
Emmaline’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she took a step closer to him, her voice low and teasing. “I can think of a few things you could do with me, Rhys.”
His breath caught in his throat at her boldness, the way his name fell off of her lips. Before he could think better of it, he reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft skin. “Emmaline,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire.
She leaned into his touch, her lips parting slightly. “Yes, Rhys?”
Just when he was about to give in, unable to resist any longer, she stood on her toes and closed the distance between them, her arms winding around his neck, pulling him close as his hands slid down to her waist, holding her tight against him as their lips crashed into each other.
The kiss was electric, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through his body from where they were joined. Her lips moved beneath his, practiced, with a passion that matched his own. All of those conversations, all that teasing, had only been foreplay for this.
He nipped at her bottom lip, eliciting a soft gasp from her that only spurred him on.
Rhys couldn’t get enough of her, the taste of her, the feel of her pressed against him, and while he could have kissed her all night, when she backed him up until his shoulders hit thewrought-iron fence behind him, he returned to the moment, of where they were, of who they were.
“Emmaline,” he murmured, lifting his hands to cup her face and ease their mouths apart. “We have to stop.”
