Her breath caught in her throat, but through the trapped breath, she managed to say, “W-what are you doing?”
“I know what you’re doing.” He traced his fingers down the curve of her too-well-covered shoulder. “You’re helping people find where they belong, who they belong to. You rather remind me of my aunt. She also believes in the bliss of matrimony.”
“Only bliss with the right person.”
“Hm.” The longer he touched her, the more he wanted to touch her, strip the too-large coat away and see what the gown she wore looked like. Who was she? Educated and well-dressed, but with the freedom to move about London as she pleased. Odd, as well—she did not seem scared of his touch. In fact, her shoulders had begun to relax, and her head to tilt to the side. He could see only her profile, but that was enough. Her eyes had fluttered closed, and her lips had parted slightly. Was she an innocent, or had she experienced the lusty attentions of a man? She certainly seemed to enjoy his caress, was melting into his touch, minute though it was.
Minute? No, not small at all. It rocked raging desire through him. He would have to release her or do something he’d regret.
Regret? He couldn’t imagine ever regretting touching her. No way to know for sure.
Unless he tried.
The thought bred action like the wind blows a tree branch—immediate and uncontrollable. He slipped his hand farther around her neck and tipped her chin up, spilling her head back toward him until her lips were tilted just enough for him to bend low…
And kiss her.
Only bliss with the right person.
Then what in hell was this? Her lips warm and inviting, giving beneath his own, her breath like a chuckle. She tasted of champagne and chocolate, and he needed more. He lifted his lips from hers only to spin her in his arms and cup her cheeks, draw her closer. She grasped at him as well, clutching the open edges of his shirt near his neck and rolling up onto the balls of her feet as she met him kiss for kiss. Closed at first, and teasing as he explored the shape of the bottom lip she liked to chew, the top lip so like a bow.
He'd unwrap her. Sliding the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, he told her his intentions. No words necessary. She sighed and tugged at his shirt, her bare fingers curling against his chest. Thank God he’d not seen the need to don a cravat when he’d hopped out of bed, haunted by her.
She’d haunt him even more now, wouldn’t she?
Her mouth parted, and he delved inside. Warm and wet and the most arousing thing he’d ever done. A single kiss. A damned single kiss.
One that had him walking her backward until her back pressed against the shelves and linen. One that had him leaving the home of her panting mouth to taste the fullness of her cheek, the lobe of her ear, the slope of her neck, that mesmerizing birth mark placed just so to devil him. One that flattened her palms against his chest as her breaths rushed ragged across his cheek, ruffled his hair. As he kissed her jawline, she buried her face in his neck with the slightest moan.
Heavy and hot. His body needed more of her, pressed against her, needed to sink into her. He caught up her hands, weaving their fingers together, and pinned them against the shelf just at her head height. She jolted away from him, her gaze heavy and hazy as she licked her lips, watched his.
“Hell,” he hissed.
Before he kissed her again, dropping down just as she surged up. Who was she to kiss like she knew his every secret, every dream? A true fairy, come to ruin him, to lead him to everlasting folly with a sharp tongue and soft body.
The first kiss had been an unexpected exploration, what it would have been had they kissed in the coach when her body had been thrown against his.
This second kiss a clash, as it would have been in the alley behind Hestia—two wills dueling for control and realizing, finally, they did not have to fight.
The kiss softened as he parted her legs with his knee. So much material between them, somehow none of it mattered because this kiss delved deeper than a suit of clothes, deeper than anything a disguise could hide. He moved his lips, gently, sucking at her bottom lip and licking at the top. When he released her hands to wrap his arms around her waist, she melted into him, her arms landing like a feather on a warm lake around his neck. He lifted his leg and bent his knee, lifting her off her feet as he settled his boot on the very bottom shelf, creating a shelf of his leg for her to perch on.
Somehow she knew what to do, and as her legs wrapped around his waist, her skirts bunched up. His hand found her knee and slid down her leg, over a ribbon and onto a stocking. Silk. What color? Either he’d know or perish. He broke the kiss to look down, resting his forehead against her chin. The sliver of light from the slightly cracked door fell across her leg. Cream. The softest cream stocking with a pale-blue ribbon holding it up. He shuddered, his body tightening, hardening everywhere.
He could take her here. Take this woman he barely knew and make her his in a damned linen closet. Door open a crack, maids likely ambling by.
Over. Done. This must end now.
Ending it seemed to go against every bone and breath in his body.
He must.
With trembling fingers, he untied the ribbon and placed it in his pocket. Then he set his boot on the ground and lowered her to her feet. She fell backward against the shelves, curling her hands into the thick wool of the greatcoat, her eyes wide now with more fright than she’d shown when he’d surprised her rummaging through that trunk.
He picked up her hat—it had fallen at some point—and handed it back. She held it like a shield between them.
He stepped backward toward the cracked door. “No more searching guests’ belongings. If I find out you’ve been doing that again, I’ll kick you out for good. Take whatever secrets you wish from thisplace. But never let a soul know where you found them.” Folly. All of it. But people needed safe homes, needed to belong. And she made that possible. So did he. In their own ways they followed the same star.
If felt like ripping his skin to leave her alone in the linen closet, her lips kiss-swollen.
