Page 50 of The Lord Meets His Lady
“Something tells me you want this as much as I do.”
Gone was the loose-limbed, humorous country squire she’d grown accustomed to. The man pressing against her slipped into the practiced, charming wastrel she’d seen in London, and she was no less affected.
Her lips parted, the fight in her weakening by the second. “It is a simple price to pay.”
His breath touched her forehead, and being the brazen woman she was, she angled her face to meet his.
His lazy smile spread. “That’s better.”
Her heart thudded. Anticipation dampened the right places. What she wanted and what he’d give were at the heart of the matter. There was no such thing as a simple kiss.
Lord Bowles hooked a finger under her chin. Supple leather brushed her skin. Her body rocked forward, yearning for his leather-clad hand to explore other places. He dipped close, his lips grazing her, soft and open.
His mouth pressed at an angle to the right. To the left. All with perfect caresses.
Almost too perfect.
The interlude was all very…nice. But not heart shattering. A letdown, really, despite her racing pulse. Lord Bowles had done this to other women.
Many times. Pleasant and practiced.
One turn of his mouth just so. The side of his nose touched hers, and he pulled away.
His eyes drifted open, the gold and green flecks so beautiful. “Well?”
“That was…” Her lashes veiled her eyes.
“It was what?”
“It was…nice, milord. Quite nice.”
“Nice?” He jerked back. “A cordial thank-you note from a relative is nice, not a kiss.”
“I’m not complaining. You kiss well.”
He scowled at her. “Not quite the desired effect.”
She opened her mouth but shut it.
His brows snapped together. “If you’ve more to say on the subject,pleaseenlighten me.”
“The same way you enlightened me about horses and size?”
His scowl deepened.
Shoulders straight, she pushed off the beam. Men lived too much by what hung between their legs. “I know exactly what your kiss was about.”
“Oh, this ought to be good,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.” She paused when his eyes rounded. “Yes, it’s true. But you kissed me the way I expect you’ve kissed lots of other women before me.”
Overhead, the skies dumped a torrent, the same as she was about to do. He was right. She should never have come to the barn, but she’d already said too much, revealed too much, and felt too much. Nothing was going to hold her back now.
“You kissed me like it was the door to sex, instead of kissingme.” Her chin tipped high. “Sex can be so impersonal. Swiving, coupling, bed sport. Look at today. You needed what?A hard, fast ride?”
His mouth flattened. Late-day whiskers darkened his jaw, a hideous mess on some men, but on Lord Bowles? Potent. Curiously, he stayed quiet, letting her have her say.
“Men never sought women at the Golden Goose for a kiss. Groped them. Got under their skirts, yes, but nothing else. Do you know why?” She stopped and took a breath, warming to the skirmish. “Because kissing scares them. It’s intimate.”
