Page 34 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
Instead of drawing back, as he’d assumed she would, from the deliberate and blatant claiming—from an exchange that, between one heartbeat and the next, had stepped over all acceptable lines straight into ravenous, rapacious need, into barely contained greed—instead of being shocked and pulling back, she pressed closer yet, her breasts flattening against his chest, her nipples hard pearls he felt even through his clothes.
The heavy ache in his groin intensified.
The compulsive need he’d always felt for her welled, washed through him, and rode him even harder.
Slender and supple she might be, all delicate bones and silken limbs, but thefirein her—a nascent blaze as yet, but one formed from elemental passion and desire—was, to him, to the real man within, temptation incarnate.
Giddy, reckless, consuming, and entirely out of control, the kiss raged, waged—not a war but a clash of desires. Of needs, of wants.
Not opposing, but melding. Flowing together, twining, and growing.
Hers intentional, he harbored not a doubt; his undeniable—unable to be denied no matter his wishes.
He knew they had to stop, to cease and desist before he lost all hope of ever stepping back from her. Of ever letting her go.
But her hand remained on his cheek, her touch scalding in a way that had nothing to do with heat, effortlessly holding him captive. Holding his senses, snaring them in a net of want from which he couldn’t break free.
His senses and his mind were literally reeling.
She seemed to know, to realize.
But instead of comprehending the danger, pulling back, and letting him go, she reached—with her lips, with her body, with the gentle pressure of her hand on his cheek.
A sudden clatteringclangof hooves on cobbles snapped them both free; on a mutual gasp, both pulled back from the kiss.
The sharp clatter was followed by shouts and calls.
For one instant, they remained locked together, gazing into each other’s eyes. Both of them were breathing rapidly. His pulse thudded in his ears.
Then the calls rising from below hauled them both fully back to the here and now.
They stepped apart. Side by side, they moved to the window.
That end of the disused wing overlooked the stable yard. On the cobbles below, they saw Nigel and Nolan, still mounted, their horses dancing, infected by the brothers’ transparently ebullient spirits.
Nigel had called for the stablemen—that had been the summons Thomas and Lucilla had heard—but Sean, Mitch, and Fred were taking their time.
Thomas watched as the stablemen slowly ambled across the yard and—it seemed grudgingly—held Nigel’s and Nolan’s horses. Apparently oblivious to the almost sullen disapprobation radiating from their clansmen, the brothers continued exchanging comments with each other as they dismounted, then haphazardly flung their reins toward the stablemen and started toward the house.
There were no greetings exchanged between the stablemen and the young masters of the house. As far as Thomas could see, there hadn’t even been any true acknowledgment of each other—a remarkable contrast to when he’d ridden in.
Frowning, he stepped back from the window. Less than a second’s thought sufficed to suggest that making his presence known to Nigel sooner rather than later would serve everyone, Manachan especially, best.
He looked at Lucilla. She was still gazing down at the stable yard, at the stablemen leading the horses away. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes, from her pensive, assessing expression it was clear that she’d detected the strain between the two groups of men and, like him, found it curious.
“I should go and break the news to Nigel.” He took another step back. When she turned to look at him, he pointed over his shoulder at the door just along the corridor. “That’s the door to the gallery in the main wing.” Briefly, he met her gaze. “I’ll see you later.”
He didn’t wait to see if she would reply; he turned on his heel, strode to the door, and escaped.
Lucilla watched him go. He left the door ajar; whether he’d meant to or not, it was a clear invitation to follow. Which she fully intended to do.
The kiss…had been everything she’d wanted. Even more than she’d dreamed of. But now Nigel and Nolan had arrived, such personal matters had to be set aside—for the moment. Until later.
With the prospects for later flitting through her mind, she stepped out—and felt something catch beneath her boot heel, nearly tripping her again.
She halted, stepped aside, and looked down. A ripple in the runner along the edge closest to the window was the obstacle. Frowning, she glanced back at the stairs. “Could that be what Faith tripped over?” But the stairs were too far away for even the most uncoordinated person to have tripped there, and then reeled far enough to have fallen down the stairs.
Lucilla humphed. In the interests of safety, she attempted to use the toe of her boot to flatten the runner—and realized there was something beneath it. Something solid.
