Page 10 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Before she could react, they were stumbling up the steep flight.
It was a tight fit, and he was leaning forward, his weight and the arm across her shoulders compelling her to climb with him. “Bed’s upstairs.”
From his tone, deep and reassuring and somehow inviting, she wasn’t at all sure that he didn’t expect her to join him in it.
She would have halted where they were—midway up the steep flight—but momentum and the weight of his arm across her shoulders propelled her inexorably on.
But when they stepped onto the landing at the top of the steep flight, once more on level footing, she dug in her heels. “This,” she stated in a tone that was the definition of resolute, “is as far as I can take you.”
He looked down at her as if momentarily confused, then he blinked, and his lips—his most distracting feature—lifted in an almost-innocent smile. “Ah, yes. Propriety and all that.”
His dark gaze swept her face as if he was committing her features to memory, then he grinned a boyishly charming, tempting grin. “I must thank you for your rescue. You’ve been the opposite of a damsel in distress.”
Then his gaze locked with hers, and once again, she fell into the snare of those mesmerizing eyes.
“Such a lovely angel.” The words were a croon imbued with impossible-to-resist seductive charm.
She felt his palm and fingers brush her cheek, then slide lower to frame her jaw.
Then he was lowering his head, his lips slowly approaching hers.
She should jerk back and avoid the kiss.
She knew she should, and he gave her plenty of time to do so, yet…
Overwhelming curiosity of a type and tenor she’d never before experienced held her immobile.
Her lips throbbed with heated anticipation the like of which she’d never felt before.
She waited, breath bated, held—wanting and yearning—in the invisible net of his charm.
With their lips a bare whisker apart, he paused, then on a grateful sigh, as if understanding that permission had been granted, he closed the distance and kissed her.
Of course, she’d been kissed before—many times by multiple gentlemen—yet never had she been kissed like this.
He didn’t devour or seek to dominate or seize. Instead, his lips tempted, the exchange a medley of subtle challenge and blatant encouragement perfectly crafted to ensure she couldn’t resist—that she wouldn’t even think of resisting.
She fell into the caress as warmth spread through her, ignited purely by the simple contact between his lips and hers.
Seconds later, unable to hold back much less retreat, she raised her hands and framed his lean cheeks, and then she was kissing him.
Deliberately. Determinedly.
A low growl—a deep purr in his throat—only encouraged her further.
When the tip of his tongue traced her lower lip, she boldly opened her mouth and, with a giddy abandon that was so unlike her, welcomed him in.
He wasn’t slow to take advantage. Within a minute, the exchange—entirely mutual—had teased desire to life and was steadily stoking their passions into a roaring blaze.
His hands had long ago lowered, and his arms had locked about her. She gloried in the hardness of the long frame against which she was held. Eager and sure, riding the crest of a passion she had never even guessed she possessed, she moved into him, exulting in his immediate response, in the ravenous, rapacious desire she sensed lurking behind his expertise.
The front door was thrust open.
“Drago! Where are you? If you think—” The forceful words cut off, followed by a much weaker, “Oh, my heavens!”
“Good gracious!” rang out in a second voice.
“What…? Oh, good Lord!” came from a third, much more censorious female.
