Page 93 of The Texan Duke
He wanted to touch her everywhere, this surprising, sensuous, beautiful woman, who smelled of pork roast and knew one end of a cow from the other.
Chapter 29
“Where is your room?” he asked. No, it wasn’t just a question but a demand, uttered in a voice that sounded unlike him. “Where is your room?”
She took his hand and led him through the corridor. He didn’t remember anything but the lit sconces and a vague glimpse of a crimson runner.
He entered her room, slammed the door closed with his back as he reached for her again.
The madness gripping him was something he’d never before felt. As if his mind weren’t his own but belonged to some other creature, one without thought as much as need. He had to touch her, feel her skin, breathe in her scent.
He had never experienced this, never lost his sense of place. He didn’t care where he was at the moment, only that Elsbeth was in his arms, that he was kissing her, then trailing his lips down her throat, hearing her catch her breath on a gasp.
He didn’t understand what was happening, but then he realized that understanding wasn’t important. All he needed was Elsbeth.
“Forgive me,” he said a moment later, his conscience finally making itself known. He dropped his arms and forced himself to step back. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t see those well-kissed lips without wanting to kiss her again.
“Forgive me,” he said again.
“Forgive you?”
She did that sometimes, repeated his comments as a question. He realized she did so in an effort to give herself time to respond.
He glanced at her.
Her eyes were wide, the expression in them one he couldn’t decipher. She didn’t look horrified. She certainly didn’t appear angry. Confused, perhaps.
Well, they were in that together, weren’t they?
He should take another step away from her, back out of her sitting room entirely. He should not be here, alone with her.
He forced himself to study his surroundings rather than look at her again. It was not the sort of room he would’ve picked out as being Elsbeth’s. Everything in it was upholstered in a dark blue fabric that struck him as masculine.
The curtains on the two windows on the far side of the room hadn’t been closed, revealing their figures in a dark reflection. He stood there, braced against the door, his arms folded. Elsbeth stood in front of him, silent and still.
How did he extricate himself from this situation? Could he simply turn and walk away without a word? How did he leave, especially when he didn’t wish to? When all he truly wanted to do was to take her to her bedroom and love her until the dawn sun illuminated those windows?
“Will you kiss me again?” she asked.
She wasn’t smiling. Nor was she frowning. Instead, he only saw warmth in her eyes.
He shouldn’t. He should escape this room before his better nature got suffocated beneath his body’s wishes and wants.
Instead, he put out his hand, palm up.
She took a few steps toward him, still smiling.
“Elsbeth,” he said, murmuring her name against her lips.
She was magic. The moment was magic. Perhaps that wasn’t the best word, but it was the only one that made it through his physical responses to lodge in his brain.
His heart was racing; his breath was short. His body reacted to her as it had from the first, tightening, hardening, despite the company or the lack of provocation. He wanted her as he had since that first snowy night when a smile danced on her face.
“Elsbeth.”
“Connor,” she said, her lips curving beneath his.
She had to take this seriously. She was in great danger. He wasn’t at all sure he could control himself around her, especially when she pulled back, her eyes alight with mischief and daring.
