lock of hair fell forward, concealing a part of his scar. Christina quit trying to pull away from him and reached up to smooth the lock back in place. The gentle touch jarred him back to her question.
'No, I don't believe in destiny.'
'That's a pity.'
She acted as though he'd just confessed a grave, unforgivable sin. 'All right,' he announced. 'I know better than to ask, but God help me, I'm going to anyway. Why is it a pity?'
'Dare you laugh at me?' she asked when she saw his smile.
'Never,' he lied.
'Well, I guess it really doesn't matter.'
'That I laugh at you?'
'No, it doesn't matter if you believe in destiny,' Christina answered.
'Why doesn't it matter?'
'Because what will happen will happen whether you believe or not. See how simple it is?'
'Ah,' Lyon said, drawing the sound out. 'You're a philosopher, I see.'
She stiffened in his arms and glared at him again. The change in her mood happened so swiftly that Lyon was thrown off center. 'Did I just say something to upset you?' he asked.
'I'm not a flirt. How can you so easily slander me? Why, I've been honest with you all during this conversation. I came right out and said I liked looking at you, and that I'd like you to kiss me. A philosopher, indeed.'
The woman was making him daft. 'Christina, a philosopher is a man who devotes his mind to the study of various beliefs. It was not slander for me to call you such.'
'Spell this word, please,' she said, looking extremely suspicious.
Lyon did as she requested. 'Oh, I see now,' she said. 'I believe I've confused philanderer with this man who studies. Yes, that's what I've done. Don't look so confused, Lyon. It was an easy mistake to make.'
'Easy?' He told himself not to ask. Curiosity won out again. 'Why is it easy?'
'Because the words are close in spelling,' she answered.
She sounded as though she was instructing a simpleminded child. He took immediate exception to her manner. 'That is without a doubt the most illogical explanation I've ever heard. Unless of course… you've only just learned to speak English, haven't you, Christina?'
Because he seemed so pleased by his conclusion, Christina really didn't have the heart to tell him no, she hadn't just learned English. She'd been speaking the difficult language for several years now.
'Yes, Lyon,' she lied. 'I speak many languages and sometimes confuse my words. I'm not at all a bluenose, though. And I only seem to forget the laws when I'm with you. I do prefer to speak French. It's a much easier language, you see.'
It all fell into place in Lyon 's head. He'd solved the puzzle. 'No wonder I had difficulty understanding you, Christina. It's because you've just learned our language, isn't that so?'
He was so happy he'd reasoned it all out, he'd just repeated his statement.
Christina shook her head. 'I don't think so, Lyon. No one else seems to have the least bit of trouble understanding me. Have you been speaking English long?'
He hugged her again and laughed over the outrageous way she'd just turned the tables on him. In the corner of his mind was the thought that he could be content standing in the center of her salon holding her for the rest of the morning.
' Lyon? Would it make you unhappy if I really was a bluestocking? Aunt says it's not at all fashionable to even admit to reading. For that reason I must also pretend to be uninformed.'
'Must also pretend?' Lyon asked, homing in on that odd remark.
'I really do like to read,' Christina confessed, ignoring his question. 'My favorite is the story of your King Arthur. Have you read it, by chance?'
'Yes, love, I have. Sir Thomas Mallory wrote it,' Lyon said. 'Now I know where you get your fantasies. Knights, warriors-both are the same. You have a very romantic nature, Christina.'
'I do?' Christina asked, smiling. 'That's good to know,' she added when Lyon nodded. 'Being romantic is a nice quality for a gentle lady to have, isn't it, Lyon?'
'Yes, it is,' he drawled.
'Of course, we mustn't let Aunt Patricia know of this inclination, for it would surely-'
'Let me guess,' Lyon interrupted. 'It would displease her, right?'
'Yes, I fear it would. You'd better go home now. When you remember what it was you wanted to speak to me about, you may call again.'
Lyon wasn't going anywhere. He told himself he couldn't take much more of her conversation, though. He decided to kiss her just to gain a moment's peace. Then he'd have her submissive enough to answer a few pertinent questions, providing of course that he could remember what those questions were. He'd already gained quite a bit of information about her. Christina had obviously been raised in France, or in a French-speaking neighborhood. Now he wanted to find out why she guarded that simple truth so ferociously. Was she ashamed, embarrassed? Perhaps the war was the reason for her reticence.
Lyon caressed her back to distract her from dismissing him again. Then he leaned down and tenderly nuzzled her lips while his hands continued to stroke her, gentle her. Christina moved into his embrace again. Her hands slowly found their way up around his neck.
She obviously liked the distraction. When Lyon finally quit teasing her and claimed her mouth completely, she was leaning up on her tiptoes. Her fingers threaded through his hair, sending a shudder through him. Lyon lifted her off the floor, bringing her mouth level with his own.
It was a strange sensation to be held in such a way, though not nearly as strange as the way Lyon was affecting her senses. His scent drove her wild. It was so masculine, so earthy. Desire swept through her in waves of heat when Lyon 's tongue slid inside her mouth to deepen the intimacy.
It didn't take Christina any time at all to become as bold as Lyon was. Her tongue mated with his, timidly at first, and then with growing ardor. She knew he liked her boldness, for his mouth slanted almost savagely over hers and she could hear his groan of pleasure.
Christina was the most responsive woman Lyon had ever encountered. Her wild enthusiasm stunned him. He was a man conditioned to the game of innocence most women played. Christina, however, was refreshingly honest with her desire. She aroused him quickly, too. Lyon was actually shaking when he dragged his mouth away. His breath was choppy, uneven.
She didn't want to let go of him. Christina wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a suprisingly strong hug. 'You do like kissing me, don't you, Lyon?'
How could she dare to sound timid now, after the way she'd just kissed him? Hell, her tongue had been wilder than his. 'You know damn well I like kissing you,' he growled against her ear. 'Is this part of the charade, Christina? You needn't be coy with me. I honestly don't care how many men you've taken to your bed. I still want you.'
Christina slowly lifted her gaze to stare into his eyes. She could see the passion there, the possessiveness. Her throat was suddenly so constricted she could barely speak. Lyon was being just as forceful as a warrior.
God help her, she could easily fall in love with the Englishman.
Lyon reacted to the fear in her eyes. He assumed she was frightened because he'd guessed the truth. He captured a handful of her hair, twisted it around his fist, and then pulled her back up against his chest until her breasts were flattened against him. Then he gently forced her head further back. He leaned down, and when his mouth was just a breath away he said, 'It doesn't matter to me. I give you this promise, Christina. When you're in my bed, you won't be thinking about anyone but me.'
He kissed her again, sealing his vow. The kiss was unashamedly erotic. Ravenous. Entirely too short-lived. Just when she began to respond, Lyon pulled away.
His gaze immediately captured her full attention. 'All I've been able to think about is how good we're going to be together. You've thought about it, too, haven't you, Christina?' Lyon asked, his voice husky with arousal.
He was already prepared for her denial. He was expecting the ordinary. That was his mistake, he realized, and certainly the reason he was so stunned when she answered him. 'Oh, yes, I have thought about mating with you. It would be wonderful, wouldn't it?'
