Page 40 of Winter's Waltz
Her confidence in him astounded.
All his life, he had been a source of disappointment, from leading strings on up. He was not the heir his father had wanted. He was not worthy of the title. He gambled too much, read too little. He was profligate, a scoundrel, a rogue. He was at home with the demimonde rather than the aristocrats with whom he was meant to play. He drank until he was disguised. He lost more money than he had. He embarrassed the vaunted Saltisford legacy.
Oh, he had never lacked in female attention. Women had chosen him to be their lover, their protector, their bed partner for the night. But no one had ever chosen him in the sense that Genevieve Winter had just proclaimed. She was giving him the most precious gift, one which was rare and coveted and one no other had received.
Herself.
He felt like a tarnished necklace of paste gems in comparison.
“You pay me great honor,” he told her, attempting to give voice to the tumult reigning within him. Desire, need, awe, and something else.
Something too complicated and potent for him to examine just now.
“You make it sound as if I’ve just given you a fortune in jewels,” she quipped lightly in an obvious attempt to shift the tone.
She was still on his lap, and he was still on fire for her. He gave her waist a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “More than that.”
Her lips pursed. “Eh, you may change your mind when the time comes. What if I disappoint?”
He almost laughed at the sheer lunacy of such a question. But he saw that she was serious, so he did not.
“Impossible, empress. You could never disappoint me.”
She cocked her head, considering him in a way that made him want to look away, fearful she would see inside him, to a place he did not even know existed. That she would see more of him than he knew himself.
“You aren’t at all the man I thought you were, Marquess.”
“Max,” he reminded her, needing his name on her lips as much as he needed her kiss.
“Max.” Her face softened.
On any other woman, he would have said he spied some tenderness in her countenance. But this was Gen Winter, and she was not tender. She was surly and bold and stubborn and unrelenting and so bloody brave, she never failed to take his breath.
“Yes.” He kissed her again.
The meeting of their mouths began slowly this time. He wanted to savor her, to leave her with a taste of what awaited her this evening without overwhelming. He could not take a virgin on a desk. He would pay homage to her tonight, in her bed. Her arms twined around his neck, and she tilted her head, kissing him back.
Someone had taught her to kiss.
And mayhap that same someone had broken her heart.
Whoever the bastard was, his loss was Max’s gain.
“Now?” she asked against his lips, breathless.
He was so mindless with need for her that it took his befuddled mind a moment to realize the meaning of her inquiry.
He shook his head. “You’ve work to do, and so have I. Besides, I cannot take a virgin on a desk.”
She tortured them both by shifting, rubbing herself over his still painfully erect cock. “Why can’t you?”
Damnation.
She was going to be the death of him.
He had not anticipated either the sweetness of her capitulation or the temptation.
He kissed her again, swiftly this time. “I want your first time to be special, Gen. I want to take my time. To kiss and taste every part of you. To make you come apart, until you cannot think or speak because you are so sated.”
