When He Was Wicked

“And how many times have you proposed marriage?”

Colin smiled slowly. “Just once, actually. This afternoon, as a matter of fact.”

“How did you know I was in the garden?” she inquired.

He didn’t say anything. Or maybe he would have done, just not quickly enough to suit her.

“Were you watching me?” she asked.

His lips curved, not quite into a smile, not even into the beginnings of a smile. “I’m always watching you,” he said grimly.

She stood there, stock still, the only sound her breath over her lips. And her eyes never left his face.

His fingers tingled. His body burned. She was close. As close as she’d ever stood to him. And if she were anyone else, he would have sworn that she wanted to be kissed.

Her lips were parted, her eyes were unfocused. And her chin seemed to tilt up, as if she were waiting, wishing, wondering when he would finally bend down and seal her fate.

His lips touched hers in the barest, softest hint of a caress. It was the sort of kiss that seduced with subtlety, sent tingles through her body and left her desperate for more. Somewhere in the hazy back recesses of her mind, she knew that this was wrong, that it was more than wrong—it was insane. But she couldn’t have moved if the fires of hell were licking at her feet.

She was mesmerized, transfixed by his touch. She couldn’t quite bring herself to make another move, to invite him in any other manner than the soft sway of her body, but neither did she make any attempt to break the contact.

She just waited, breath baited, for him to do something more.

And he did.

Francesca realized she was holding her breath. He was terrifying, but he was also magnificent, and it shook her to her very core to realize that she’d never seen him thus.

Francesca realized she was holding her breath. He was terrifying, but he was also magnificent, and it shook her to her very core to realize that she’d never seen him thus.

the first time in days, she slept deeply and truly.
And she never knew that he laid awake the whole time, his lips at her temple, his hand against her hair.
Whispering her name.
Whispering other words as well.

If she was going to do this, if she was unable to refuse her own desire, then by God, she would do this in every way. She would take what she wanted, steal what she needed, and at the end of the day, if she managed to come to her senses and put an end to the madness, she would have had one erotic afternoon, one sizzling interlude during which she was in charge.

And he, who had slept with countless women, suddenly realized that he’d been nothing but a green boy.
Because it had never been like this.
That had been his body. This was his soul.

She was so strong, always so cool and composed, and yet right now she was simply and purely his, a slave to her own needs, captive to his expert touch.