He stepped closer. Now only inches separated them. “Is that better?”
“Er, yes.” But she lied. It was so much worse. Now she could clearly distinguish his scent. Feel the warmth emanating from his body. See his bare throat work as he swallowed. Her mind screamed at her to back away, but her feet refused to move. Still holding the coin, she looked up at him. The dim light did not prevent her from noting his serious, intent expression as he stared. At her lips.
He cupped her face between his broad palms and gently feathered his thumbs across her cheeks. “So soft,” he whispered. “So incredibly soft.” He lowered his head, slowly, as if to give her the opportunity to pull away, to end this madness. Instead, she closed her eyes and waited…
Philip brushed his mouth lightly over hers, fighting against the rising urge to simply yank her into his arms and devour her. Instead he gently drew her closer, until her body was flush against his, trapping her hand, which still held the coin, against his chest. He ran the tip of his tongue along her plump bottom lip, and her lips parted, inviting him into the warm heaven of her mouth.
Delicious. She tasted exactly as she smelled-sweet, seductive, and delicious. Like something from the confectioner’s shop. Desire pumped through his veins like a drug, ensnaring his senses. A long, feminine moan sounded from her, and he touched his fingers to her throat to absorb the vibration, while his other hand skimmed down to the small of her back, urging her closer, tighter against him.
She released the coin, splaying her fingers against his chest. She had to feel his heart slapping against his ribs. Had to feel his arousal pressing against her. His tongue explored the silky secrets of her lovely mouth, and the exquisite friction of her tongue rubbing against his nearly brought him to his knees.
More. Had to touch more of her. Without breaking their kiss, he pulled on the satin ribbons securing her bonnet beneath her chin, then pushed the bonnet back, exposing her hair. He sifted his fingers through the thick, silky strands, scattering pins that pinged gently as they hit the graveled ground. Soft. Fragrant. More.
Gently fisting his hands in her hair, he tilted her head back, giving him access to her jaw and the vulnerable curve of her neck. He noted with satisfaction that her pulse jumped wildly against his lips, and he touched his tongue to the frantic beat. With a sigh, she rose up on her toes, sifting the fingers of one hand through the hair at his nape, while the hand that pressed his chest moved upward until the tips of her fingers touched the exposed skin at the base of his throat where he’d parted his shirt.
The feel of her fingers on his skin, touching his hair, undid him. He reclaimed her lips with a need he could not stem, which was fired further by her heated response. The feel of her pressed against him, the taste of her in his mouth pummeled him with fists of hot want and need, stealing his subtlety, vanquishing his finesse. His hands, normally so steady, patient, and calm that they could spend hours piecing together minute fragments of broken pottery, roamed unsteady, impatient, and restless up and down her back.
She shifted against him, her softness rubbing against his erection, and a shudder racked him. He had to stop. Now. While there still remained a remote chance that he could. With an effort that cost him, he raised his head and looked down at her.
Her eyes were closed, and rapid, shallow breaths puffed from between her parted lips. Her dark hair lay in tangled disarray about her shoulders. Longing battered him, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself not to give in to the overwhelming need to kiss her again. Her eyelids fluttered open, and their gazes locked.
Damn. While he welcomed the intimacy and privacy afforded by the darkness, he also cursed it, as it hid the nuances of her expression from him. He wanted to see her eyes. Her skin. Were her pupils dilated? Did a flush of arousal stain her cheeks?
She remained pressed against him, forcibly reminding him of his aching erection. God knows he wanted her- with a ferocity completely unfamiliar to him. Was it simply the fact that it had been so long since he’d had a woman? Or was it this particular woman that had him so painfully aroused?
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine someone else wrapped in his arms, his fingers tangled in her hair, and failed. Utterly. He saw only her. This was not a case of any-woman-would-satisfy-him. Only this particular woman would do.
The silence grew heavy with the need to say something, but what? No doubt a true gentleman would apologize and heartily beg her pardon, but the fact that he’d deliberately lured her into the dark recesses of Vauxhall with the express intention of kissing her proved his gentlemanly tendencies were tarnished.
Still, the words echoing through his brain,
“Meredith.”
The sound of her name, whispered in that aroused-rough voice, yanked Meredith from the sensual fog surrounding her. She blinked rapidly as reality returned with a thump. Every nerve tingled with awareness, hummed with pleasure. The feminine flesh between her legs felt heavy and moist, and ached with a low throb, made all the more acute by the hardness pressing against her belly. His obvious arousal quashed those rumors that he could not… perform-not that she’d believed them for an instant anyway. And the way he kissed…
God help her, he’d kissed her senseless. How many hours had she lain awake, wondering what it would feel like to be kissed in such a way, trying to bludgeon back her curiosity and desires? She knew all too well where such thoughts led, and it was a path she’d vowed never to follow. Yet she’d allowed Lord Greybourne to lead her into the intimate and private darkness, knowing in her heart that he would kiss her. And desperately wanting him to.
But she had not counted on him making her feel like… this. So alive. So aching. So wanting. And so bereft when he stopped. She’d wanted to know the feel and taste of his kiss. And now she knew. And she wanted more. And that was utterly impossible.
She wished she could claim outrage, brand him a cad, but her honor wouldn’t permit such a patent falsehood, nor allow her to place any blame for what had happened between them on his shoulders. She could have stopped him. Should have stopped him. But she’d chosen not to. And now, as she always had, she would simply have to live with the consequences of her actions. But in this case her actions could well threaten the respectability for which she’d fought so long and hard. What on earth was she thinking to risk it all for a clandestine kiss?
With as much dignity as she could muster, she disentangled her fingers from his thick, silky hair, pulled her other hand away from the warmth of his chest, then stepped back, out of the circle of his arms.
Deftly twisting her disarrayed hair into a passable chignon, she pulled her bonnet back into place, securely tying the bow beneath her chin. “We must go back,” she said, feeling much more in control now that her hair was tidy. Now that he was no longer touching her.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Lady Bickley and Mr. Stanton must be concerned by our prolonged absence.”
“That is not what I meant.” Reaching out, he ran a single fingertip over her cheek, stilling her with a whisper of a touch. “But I think you knew that. I think you know, as I do, that we cannot erase what just happened between us. That from now on, everything will fall into one of two categories-before we kissed, and after we kissed.”
Those words, spoken in that low, fervent voice, threatened to weaken her still-wobbly knees. Stepping back, out of his reach, she raised her chin and adopted her most brisk tone. “Nonsense. We can and will forget it.”
“I will not forget it, Meredith. Not if I live to be one hundred.”
Dear God, neither would she. But one of them had to be sensible. “Please understand that I accept my share of the blame for this.” She attempted a lighthearted laugh, and was quite impressed with the results. “Clearly the romantic atmosphere adversely affected both our judgments. We must not make such a to-do over a meaningless kiss.”
“You truly believe that? That it was nothing more than the atmosphere? That nothing significant passed between us?” He stepped closer to her, and although he did not touch her, his nearness made her heart skip several beats. “You honestly believe it will not happen again?”
“Yes.” The word sounded forced even to her own ears. “Once can be discounted as simply poor judgment. Twice would-”
“Place it in a different category altogether.”
“Yes.”
“A category labeled ‘a mistake of gargantuan proportions. ’”
“I’m glad you agree.” Relieved that they’d reached an understanding, she plunged on before he could change