“I’m not speaking of my brother.”
She arched a brow. “You? Because you are a big, bad Rom?” She shook her head, a small smile quirking her lips. “I am not intimidated.”
He closed the space between them with one step, his leg skimming her thigh through her skirts. She had to crane her neck to keep his gaze. And suddenly, her breath didn’t quite make it back to her lungs.
“Tell me this: Why are you paying so much attention to me, a, big, bad Rom?”
“Do not tell me you are one of those men blind to how handsome they are? Oh, wait, such men do not exist,” she teased.
“I’m still a Rom. You are a lady. You should not be paying any attention to me, no matter how I look.”
“So you admit you are handsome?”
“I’m not jesting.”
“Nay, but as you are aware, I’m not like any othergad—gad-whatever—am I?”
“You certainly are not.” His voice dropped to a dark, seductive whisper. “You should go before I do something we both might regret.”
She shook her head. “Nay.”
“No?”
A thousand times nay.
He stood so close, mere inches separated their bodies. And there was the look in his eyes. One she hadn’t seen before. He looked at her as though there were no other women in the world but her.
It was a look she hadn’t thought to imagine from a man.
The truth of that struck her.
Fiercely.
Honoria had been so focused on going to Edinburgh, her obsession increasing with each rejection; she hadn’t given thought to anythingbeyondher goal. Was that still what she wanted? Or was she being obstinate in the face of her brother’s refusal? Had her obsession become about proving a point more than doing what she desired most?
In truth, she did not know.
Her eyes drifted shut, and Honoria haled deeply. She did know a new obsession was forming. A tiny seed blossomed in her mind and heart. And it centered around one man.
Thisman.
For once, Honoria decided to take something she wanted, instead of asking for it. For once, she did not take no for an answer. For once, she delighted.
She rose to the tips of her toes and kissed him.
Lash couldn’t draw breath. For six bloody seconds, he could not move. And when he did manage to pull air into his lungs, it was all her. Rosemary and Jasmine. And the kiss—Christ—the kiss. It was soft and sensual, like a woman who knew what a man wanted before he even guessed at it. And she knew exactly what he wanted.
He had avoided being alone with her for fear of his control snapping. Had been aware that every kiss, every touch, tied them together in ways that could unravel them both.
Nowshewas kissinghimand a legion of soldiers could not drag him from her lips.
It was not enough.
It would never be enough. It defied reason, and yet he could no more fight this pull any more than he could fight the stars for dominion of the night sky.
So he surrendered himself to the downfall and lifted her against him, pressing her back into the wall as his tongue thrust with desperate strokes into her mouth.
Her lips were soft. Her body warm and inviting. He never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Honoria, with her wild hair and sweet smiles. It was inevitable, he supposed—his control snapping. The desire to take her there, up against the wall, overtook almost all of his senses.
