Page 31 of The Countess Caper

She shivered, just slightly, and she did not seem to mind. He narrowed his eyes on her lower lip again. Hungrily.

“Why do you want to know? Are you going to ride out like my knight in shining armor?”

“Someone bloody well should.” Didn’t she realize that for a man who preferred the quiet and solitude of the moors, this was the most he had spoken in days? That he was not particularly good at it, but that he would also stand in front of the House of Lords this very minute and give a great bloody speech if he thought it would help?

Her smile was tremulous when she was the very opposite. The combination of desire and protectiveness that went through him was enough to stagger him. He had to be careful. So very careful. His head thrummed with warnings and dire predictions and reminders of past failures. Even as his hands reached for her, fingers closing around her upper arms and drawing her closer. Slowly.

Slowly enough to give her ample time to protest. To punch him in the face.

Slowly enough that once she was hauled up against his chest, he was near feral with the need to taste her. Just a nibble. A bite.

Her lips parted. She did not tell him to go to hell.

He was going there anyway.

“Tessa?” he whispered, their mouths barely touching.

“Y-yes?”

“Are you going to let me kiss you?”

What followed was the longest pause of this life. It was excruciating. And he was a man who preferred silence. But not from Tessa. He needed to know what she was feeling, what she was thinking.

She swallowed. “I suppose I should,” she said archly despite the catch in her breath and the way her palms curled around his forearms. Pulling him closer, not pushing him away. “For practice?”

He smiled, briefly. Which was a feat, considering he was on fire. “Practice?”

“Well, we’d have to be convincing for the wedding ceremony.”

“I can’t fault your logic, little devil.” He had no logic. Only want and need clawing at him. He paused. His first wife had thought him brutish—too big, too strong, too quiet.

“Roarke?”

“Yes?”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“About marrying you? No.”

“About kissing me.”

“Hell no.”

“Then what’s taking so long?” She flashed him a grin. “I have chores to do.”

That cheekiness was as captivating as the rest of her, as the twinkle in her eyes, the curve of her hip, the lush suggestion of her breasts under her walking dress. It all burned like kindling the moment his mouth closed over hers. The moment he tasted her, sunshine and fire and mint tea. The very moment she made a tiny sound at the back of her throat, like a sigh.

Let him burn. Let him drown. Only let him have this kiss.

He dug his fingers into her thick hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss, to lick into her mouth until she whimpered. She clutched at him, even as she softened, letting him ease her back into his arms until he held all of her weight. He dragged his lips across her throat, scraping with his teeth, just a bit. He wanted more. Everything. All of her. All of the time.

He pulled back. Her lips were pink now, begging for another touch. Who was he kidding? He was the one close to begging, close to breaking all of the promises he’d made himself all those years ago. Already.

He had never felt peace like this, not unless he was alone on the moors.

He set her back firmly on her feet and took a step back.

“We should probably talk about the wedding night.”