Page 22 of How the Earl Entices

“Why areyoufleeing?”

“Because I’ll be killed if I don’t.”

When she answered that with a silent arch of her brow, grim understanding hardened his face. For a long while, he said nothing, and she knew from his silence that he understood why she was so desperate for help.

“How long ago?” he pressed gently.

“A lifetime.” Literally. Because the only way to protect her unborn baby had been to let Susan Montague die and Grace Alden rise from the ashes. “Ten years.”

Disbelief flashed across his face. “You’ve waited that long? Why try to claim it now, after all these years?”

“Because my hand has been forced.” And because she’d been too afraid to pursue it before. Always before, she’d claimed she was simply waiting for the right moment, using her lack of money and power as an excuse. But now, with the possibility of Vincent siring a legitimate heir and all her evidence of proving Ethan’s paternity circumstantial at best, she had no choice but to swallow her fear and act. “It has to be now.”

He slowly shook his head. At least he had the decency not to laugh at her. “After that long, with a babe no one knew existed, no one will believe you.”

“They will if you make them. There’s precedent, if someone like you holds them accountable.”

He searched her face and puzzled in a low murmur, “But I don’t even know who you are.” A mystified expression softened his features. “Sweet Lucifer, how could I not remember a woman like you, even from behind a mask?”

“Because I wasn’t the same woman then.” Her chest knotted with the irony of that. And from something hotter, a dim yet thrilling awareness of her femininity that she hadn’t experienced in a decade, that had her asserting breathlessly, “And because you weren’t looking.”

He admitted in a husky rasp that melted all the muscles in her belly, “I’m certainly looking now.”

He couldn’t have meant that the way it sounded, not a rake like him for a disfigured widow like her. Yet an undeniable longing to be kissed twined heatedly through her. Confused by the attraction sparking between them, she asked, “Why?”

He curled an amused smile at her question. “Because you’re beautiful.”

As if to confirm that, his gaze languidly drifted over her face, taking in her chin and jaw, moving over each brow in turn before returning to her mouth…before sweeping sideways to her cheek. And the jagged scar that marred her there.

From a self-consciousness built over a decade of stares and pitying looks, Grace turned her face away, to press her cheek into the mattress and close her eyes. To see the same look of pity from Ross—she couldn’t have borne it!

He affectionately nuzzled her face with his, his beard scratching softly against her cheek and sending a soft warmth down into her breasts. “Don’t,” his lips murmured against her cheek as he gently nudged her face back toward his. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I can’t help it,” she whispered.

“Neither can I.” He slid his mouth along her jaw and caressed her lips beneath his.

She gave a trembling gasp at the contact, which was surprisingly tender, almost delicate, and so very assuring. As if he were afraid of frightening her, yet couldn’t deny himself this taste of her. His concern tugged at her heart, and she relaxed with a sigh, her body softening beneath his.

He brushed his mouth back and forth over hers. His sensuous lips teased hers with a skilled gentleness that shook her to her core, yet one that declared a single purpose—to take as much pleasure as he gave.

When the tip of his tongue dared to sweep over her lips, she sighed at the bittersweet ache of it. So long without enjoying a man’s kiss, so long without the wonderful pressure of strong arms holding her close…She didn’t stop to let herself think of the danger she might be putting herself into, how little she could trust him—all she could do at that moment was let long-dead sensations inside her blossom back to life, and drink him in.

“Ross,” she murmured and opened her mouth, inviting him inside.

Her senses filled to overflowing when his tongue slipped between her lips, to sweep along her smooth inner lip, carrying with it the earthy flavor of tea and the heady taste of man. So long, so unbearably long…When his tongue swirled around hers, teasing it out so he could close his lips around it and gently suck, the pull wound through her like a silk ribbon slowly unspooling, to pile between her legs with a shiver of need.

Itwasneed. That was the only explanation for why she let him kiss her like this, why she encouraged it with tiny nibbles of her own against his lips and soft mewlings that told how much she enjoyed it. Right then, with her breath coming in shallow little pants and her body arching beneath his, she needed him to kiss her. So much that she whimpered for it.

He loosened his hold on her wrists to slide his hands up, bringing palms against palms and lacing his fingers through hers. Then he began to thrust his tongue repeatedly between her lips in a possessive and relentless kiss, as if trying to discover her secrets by turning her traitorous body against her, until she was willing to bare all.

God help her, he was doing just that. He sent her spinning, and her soft mewlings turned into a moan of desire.

When she finally tore her mouth away to gasp for air, he gave her no quarter. He released her left hand only to cup her face against his large palm, to hold her still while he placed soft kisses along her rough scar.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, her hand going to his shoulder. But instead of shoving him away, she clung to him. Her fingers curled into his bare flesh, and the warmth of smooth, soft skin covering hard muscle tingled under her fingertips. “Don’t kiss me…there,” she panted out, trembling, as she tried to make him stop. To make him leave that hideous mark alone—

“But you’re beautiful.” He nuzzled his lips against her cheek. “Even here.”