“I never doubted you for a second.”
“I was only able to do it because you didn’t give me any time to think.”
“Thinking,” he said, pressing his fingers against the small of her back to bring her closer, “is overrated.”
She came, following his lead, bless her sweet, trusting soul. “In dancing, I suppose it is,” she said, still laughing, but when he slid his arm fully around her waist, her laugher faded, her smile vanished, and a sudden hint of feminine self-preservation snuffed out the gold glints in her eyes. “Max?”
He tightened his arm around her waist, embracing her fully. The feel of her body against his own was so exquisite, it almost drove him to his knees, and even her shocked little gasp couldn’t deter him. He pulled his hand from hers, cupped her face, and pressed his thumb beneath her chin to lift it.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she whispered, her breath warm and soft against his mouth.
“That’s your problem right there,” he muttered. “You think too much.”
Before she could reply, he gave up the fight with his conscience completely, bent his head, and kissed her.
13
Having spent so much of her life among books, Evie had read plenty of novels. Some had merely hinted at romance, while others—those her father would have been appalled by had he ever caught her with them—had been much more lurid. She’d also read enough scientific texts to have a pretty fair knowledge of the biological aspects of male-female relations. And if all that wasn’t enough to make her feel reasonably well-informed on the subject, she’d also gone to boarding school, where kisses and more had been much discussed among the other girls, usually in speculative whispers and hushed giggles in the dormitories after the lights were out.
Nonetheless, despite all this knowledge, nothing in Evie’s experience could have prepared her for the reality.
The moment Max touched her lips with his, she felt a pleasure so exhilarating, so dizzying, it was as if she were soaring high in the sky like a bird in flight. Her heart lifted, her blood sang through her veins, and when she closed her eyes, any conscious thought went spinning into oblivion. She could not think, she could not reason, she could only feel, and it was glorious.
He overwhelmed her senses—the masculine, earthy scent of him, the warmth of his palm where his hand cupped her cheek, the strength of his arm around her waist, and the hard thud of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Every cell in her body seemed to open and bloom like primroses in the spring sunlight.
She slid her hands upward over the slick satin of his waistcoat and the finely textured linen of his shirt, and she could feel the strength of his muscles beneath his clothes.
When she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer, the move seemed to spark something inside him. Making a rough sound against her mouth, he tightened his hold, lifting her onto her toes, pulling her body fully against his own. His free hand slid to the back of her neck and his tongue touched the seam of her closed lips as if urging her to part them, and when she did, his tongue entered her mouth.
Shocked, she gave a gasp, but then, his tongue touched hers and the pleasure of it was so great that her gasp ended in a groan and her knees wobbled beneath her. If he hadn’t been holding her so tightly, she’d have melted into a puddle right there on the ballroom floor.
She was pressed fully against his body, and yetthat didn’t seem close enough. She stirred, her hips moving against his, and the sensation was so sharp, so exquisite, she gasped, her hands raking through his hair, her tongue tasting his with an abandonment that shocked her.
It must have shocked him, too, for suddenly, he tore his mouth from hers. “Good God, what am I doing?”
The hoarse sound of his voice opened her eyes as his arm loosened its tight grip around her waist. Her body slid down, her feet hit the floor, and thenhe was gripping her arms, pushing her back. His breathing was harsh and rapid, and so was hers as they stared at each other in the glittering light of the ballroom.
His eyes were as murky and dark as a starless sky.
“I never learn,” he muttered, letting her go and stepping back, shaking his head as if appalled. “I never, ever learn.”
Evie blinked, her euphoric haze dissipating as she tried to assimilate his words, but he gave her no chance.
“We must go.” He turned abruptly away and started for the door. “I’ll fetch a cab to take you home. Wait ten minutes, then go out the way you came. A hansom will be waiting for you.”
He vanished, his footsteps echoing back to her from the corridor, then fading away into silence.
Finally, she thought in amazement, pressing her fingers to her still-tingling lips. Long after the silly hopes of girlhood had given way to spinsterhood and romance was nothing more than a forgotten dream, she finally knew what it was to be kissed.
She ought to be angry with Max, she knew, and ashamed of herself. He was practically engaged to someone else, and though he’d already acknowledged it wasn’t a love match, that did not absolve either of them for what had just happened.
Besides, it wasn’t as if love had been the inspiration leading them both to abandon their good sense and their moral scruples. And even if love had played some part, between a man like him and a woman like her, nothing could come of love like that. Nothing honorable, anyway.
Anna had warned her that perhaps the duke wanted more from her than to win a bet, something unsavory, but she hadn’t taken that warning seriously. Even now, she found it hard to credit him with such licentious intent, but with his searing kiss still burning her mouth, she’d be a fool to deny the possibility.
And yet, despite all that, she could not bring herself to regret that kiss. It was the most glorious, romantic, delicious thing that had ever happened to her, and though it might have been terribly wrong, Evie wouldn’t have traded those wild, heavenly moments in his arms for anything in the world.
***
