Page 41 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
He shouldn’t walk with her.
Yet every instinct he possessed, every fiber of his being, wouldn’t allow him to let her take even the small risk of walking outside alone at night.
He didn’t let any of his thoughts reach his surface. Instead, he inclined his head. “Yes. Of course.” Uncrossing his legs, he rose.
CHAPTER 7
The side terrace ran along the length of the disused wing. That side of the house was clear of shrubbery; the terrace lay bathed in faint moonlight, devoid of shadows and with no bushes crowding the balustrade anywhere along its length.
It was the perfect place to stroll, knowing that no danger could approach unseen.
Of course, for him, the biggest danger walked by his side.
Lucilla was, indeed, plotting how to gain the insight she needed into his mind. Now that the question of what he understood about the Lady—about them—had risen, she couldn’t concentrate on anything else. She doubted conversational inquiry would get her anywhere, or at least not get her the answers she wanted; she needed to shift their interaction to a different, more personal plane.
But how? He was ambling alongside her, slowing his pace to match hers, yet she sensed he was alert.
Given their shared kiss that afternoon—a highly satisfactory mutual endeavor—she wasn’t sure what he might be anticipating. A repeat performance?
The notion held significant appeal.
While the far end of the terrace overlooked the drive as it swept into the stable yard, the nearer reaches were abutted by empty stretches of lawn, and the rooms alongside and above were uninhabited; their privacy appeared assured. But how best to use it?
How best to use it to gainallshe desired?
Abruptly, she halted; they hadn’t been touching, so it took him an instant to realize she had.
She waited until he halted, too, and turned to face her.
Before his eyes could find her face, she stepped forward, hooked a palm about his nape, stretched up, and kissed him.
Again.
And, once again, she felt his instantaneous response.
Reassured, she stepped into him, into his arms as they rose and locked about her.
Into the kiss as it spun out, on, in a glorious upsurge of passion.
Angling her face the better to meld her lips with his, on her toes, she pressed closer yet. Glorying in the warm, solid wall of his chest, of his body so heated against hers, she twined her arms about his neck, clung, and gave herself up to delight.
And felt him grip her tight.
She’d parted her lips and welcomed him in; as he surged deep, claimed, and took possession, she rejoiced.
This was the reality she’d wanted to touch, the plane she’d wanted to reach.
The one based on, built on, that necessary understanding.
Plunged into a whirlpool of passion and desires, Thomas was lost, just as he had been that afternoon—just as, he realized, he always would be with her. Lucilla in his arms, her lips beneath his, her body pressed enticingly to his, was the definition of heaven to his senses.
A forbidden heaven filled with temptations too alluring to resist.
He couldn’t prevent his arms from holding, from tightening about her as if to seize and keep her against him, his forever.
He couldn’t stop his senses from rioting, from drinking in the treasure she offered; the sweetness of her mouth and tongue were an intoxicating nectar.
The pressure of her breasts against his chest, the long, slender lengths of her thighs trapped between his, the soft pressure of her belly against his erection—all sang a siren song to his whirling mind.
