Red Roses Mean Love

that I cannot fail to recognize.
She's miles away from typical,
yet I find her irresistible…
so much that I must bestow
a kiss upon beautiful Hayley, from the hay meadow.'

He gently brushed his mouth over hers then leaned back. She stared at him, clearly bemused.

'Well?' he asked. 'Did I pass the test?'

'Test?'

'Of my tutor skills.' He reached out and ran his finger down her smooth cheek.

She stilled. 'You touched me.'

'Yes.'

'But I thought you didn't like it.'

He couldn't stop staring at her. 'I like it, Hayley. Very much.' His eyes rested on a shiny curl that had slipped from her prim chignon. Instead of inspiring propriety, all he could think of was pulling the pins from her silky tresses and watching them cascade down her back. The need to kiss her again overwhelmed his senses, flooding them. This woman touched something deep inside him-some part of him he hadn't even known existed until he met her.

'Thank you for the poem. It was lovely.'

Her soft voice brushed by his ear and his weak defenses crumbled. Pushing his common sense firmly aside, he gave in to his pent-up longing. He plunged his fingers into her hair and buried his lips in hers, his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and parted herlips, welcoming the thrust of his tongue, returning his kiss with an abandon that fueled the fire burning inside him. He slanted his mouth over hers again and again, each kiss growing in length and intensity until he felt he'd burst. Without lifting his mouth from hers, he hauled her onto his lap, settling her between his thighs. He stifled a groan when she shifted her bottom, unknowingly pressing herself against his straining arousal.

I have to stop. Stop kissing her. Touching her. But even as the thought entered his mind, he caressed the warm, full roundness of her breast. Her nipple beaded against his palm, and the war with his conscience was lost. With a heartfelt groan, he pressed her back against the sofa cushions, following her down, his body half covering hers.

He tunneled his fingers through her soft hair, then ran his hands down her sides and back up to cup her breasts, reshaping them to fit his palms. Completely lost in the exquisite feel of her, the rose-scented fragrance of her, his lips traveled down her neck and lower, kissing her breasts through the soft material of her gown.

He raised his head. 'Open your eyes, Hayley.'

She dragged her eyelids open and the desire glowing in her aqua depths tightened his insides to a pulsing ache. He turned his face into her palm and pressed a heated kiss there. She shifted her lower body, forcing a groan from him when her thigh pressed against his arousal. Staring down into her luminous eyes, soft with wanting, slumberous with desire, he gritted his teeth against the waves of lust washing over him. He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than kiss her.

She was all warm, pliant, wanting female, and he was definitely all aching, throbbing, lusting male. The need to raise her skirts and plunge into her velvety warmth all but strangled him. She's mine for the taking. In less than ten seconds I could be inside her, easing this ceaseless, relentless ache.

But he couldn't do it. She was a virgin, and no doubt muzzy from that hefty shot of brandy. And she deserved a hell of a lot more than a quick tumble with a man who wasn't going to stay with her. A man who'd repaid her kindness with harsh criticism and lies.

But, damn it, she was like no virgin he'd ever met. He avoided innocents like a bad rash. They were silly, insipid, dull, and normally accompanied by a marriage-minded mother. Hayley challenged him, provoked him, confused and fascinated him. And worst of all, aroused him to the point of pain.

Where he found the strength to move away from her, he didn't know, but muttering an oath of self-disgust, he pushed himself off her and sat up. Bloody hell! Bloody goddamn hell!

Dropping his head into his hands, he closed his eyes and tried to calm his tattered nerves. He had to get away from this woman. She somehow managed to rob him of all his wits. He ached for her. His body screamed out for her touch. She was driving him absolutely out of his mind. I never should have started this. I should have let her remain upset with me. But he'd selfishly wanted to see that teasing warmth in her eyes again.

She sat up and laid her hand on his arm. 'Oh… my head,' she groaned. 'It's throbbing so.'

I know all about throbbing, believe me. Praying for strength, he arose. 'Let's get you upstairs,' he said, his voice terse. He grabbed her under her arms, pulled her to her feet, and all but dragged her across the room.

'Wait!' she gasped. 'I feel dizzy.'

Stephen didn't wait. He didn't dare. Holding her firmly under one arm, he half walked, half dragged her up the stairs. He didn't stop until they reached her bedchamber. Opening the door, he gently shoved her inside, then closed the door with a resolute click.

* * *

Entering his own bedchamber, Stephen restlessly paced the length of the room, dragging his fingers through his hair again and again until the dark strands stood on end. He desperately tried not to think of Hayley. Hayley warm and giving, reaching her arms up to him, her eyes heavy with want.

He could think of nothing else.

He could have had her.

If his bloody conscience hadn't intervened, he could, this very minute, be buried deep between her soft thighs, touching her rose-scented skin, kissing her lips, relieving the tight ache in his groin.

When the hell did I develop a conscience anyway? And what a bloody inconvenient time for it to come alive. Sinking down in a wing chair, he stared broodingly into the fire until the embers barely glowed. After an hour of soul-searching, he was only able to determine two things.

One, no matter how he tried to deny it, and no matter how hard he tried to talk himself out of it, he wanted Hayley Albright with an intensity that shocked him. She affected him as no woman ever had before.

And two, the only reason he wasn't with her right now, buried deep inside her, was because he cared about her too much to take her innocence and leave her with nothing when he departed.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

God damn it. He cared. He didn't want to, but he did.

He wished he didn't desire her to the point of distraction, but he did.

He desperately wished he could take her and walk away without a thought, but he couldn't.

Turning his head, he stared at the single yellow rose lying on the small table next to his chair. He picked up the withered bloom, touching the petals with hesitant fingers.

Even with a killer after him, he somehow suspected he was safer in London.

He really had to get away from here.

And the sooner the better.

SHAPE * MERGEFORMAT