Oh, this would never do.
She had to concentrate on sketching him, not biting him. Or kissing him.
She sketched awhile more in pensive silence.
"I know you're worried." She heard compassion in his voice. He shifted again, raising a bare foot to the sofa's surface. He rested the hand with the sketchbook on his bent knee. "But Hamilton is aware that I cannot pretend to be him at the Royal Academy. He'll be home in time to vote on the Selection Committee."
"I know that," she said.
"Is something else wrong, then, a rún?"
Oh, yes, something was wrong. He kept saying words she didn't understand, for one thing. Words that sounded so lovely and melodic they made her melt inside, even not knowing what they meant. And the way he was looking at her, the way she was looking at him. She wanted to touch him and bite him and kiss him, and she needed to sketch.
It was all just unbearable.
Her sketchbook and pencil both fell from her hands. "Oh, Sean, I don't think I can do this anymore. Not tonight."
His foot slid back down to the floor. The hand with the book dropped to his side. "Why not?"
She didn't answer. She didn't think she could tell him. Looking concerned, he took his arm off the edge of the sofa back and sat straighter, ruining the delicious pose.
But she found him delicious, anyway.
"Because I cannot concentrate," she said, feeling her temper rise, although she couldn't figure out why. "All I can think of is bi…kissing you."
"Oh. Well, then. I think we can fix that." She thought he might smile, but he didn't. In fact, he looked a little apprehensive. "Why don't you come over here and give me a kiss, get it out of your system?"
Well, she wasn't going to resist that invitation. She simply couldn't. She all but flew out of the chair and into his arms, sprawling over him on the sofa.
He'd intended it to be a little kiss. A get-it-out-of-your-system kiss. She knew that. She could tell by the way he looked startled, by the way his mouth felt a little stiff when she planted her lips on his.
But that didn't last long, of course. Most of their kisses had been rather wild, and this one was no exception. A moment later he was kissing her back, slanting his mouth over hers, sweeping his tongue inside to claim her.
And, oh, she wanted to be claimed. She remembered reading Ethelinde last summer, and how Ethelinde had cried, I am yours whenever you come to claim me. That was exactly how she felt.
But Minerva Press novels hadn't prepared her for everything else Sean made her feel. When he kissed her, the world disappeared…she knew only the exciting heat of his mouth and her own blood rushing through her veins, the fierce pounding of her heart and that wonderful melting feeling inside her.
He undid her.
Feeling like that now, she touched him like she'd been wanting to. She ran her hands over his bare skin, and it was hot and silky and made an ache form low in her middle. And she wanted more.
"I want you, Sean," she murmured.
He stopped kissing her. "What?"
"I want you." She hadn't realized that until she'd said it, but it was true. That was why her temper had flared; she wasn't getting what she wanted. "I want all of you."
He didn't pretend that he didn't understand her. "I want you, too," he said wryly, but she also heard frustration in his voice. "This is difficult, isn't it?"
"No, it's wonderful. You feel wonderful." She ran her hands over him again, feeling his muscles jump beneath his warm skin, beneath her fingers. A soft groan sounded in his throat, and he shut his eyes, making a little thrill run through her. "Touch me, Sean," she breathed. "Touch me like this."
Instead, he opened his eyes and took her hands. Took them off of himself.
"I cannot." He sat up, moving her to sit beside him, shifting so he could meet her eyes. "Not now, not before…it wouldn't be right, Corinna. I cannot do that." A strand of her hair had come loose, probably when she'd leapt on him, and he reached to gently tuck it back. "What you're offering me isn't mine to take. Not now."
"But I want you to take it." More than she'd wanted anything before in her life. "That makes it yours to take."
"It doesn't." He shook his head. "I shouldn't even be kissing you, though God knows I enjoy it. You're an innocent. A sheltered, aristocratic miss."
"I'm an artist," she argued. "Artists are eccentric, individualistic. Free-spirited." Maybe she wasn't all of those things, exactly, but she'd always wanted to be. "We don't conform to convention."
"Well, I do. Sweet Jesus, I'm the son of a vicar. I don't go around ruining women. I won't do to you what that bastard Hamilton did to my sister. I like to think I'm better than that."
Corinna was startled silent. How could she argue with that? How could she say she wanted him to act like the man he despised most in the world? He was only being honorable. And she'd known all along he was honorable, hadn't she?
He'd proved his honor so many times, in so many ways. The way he'd wanted her to know the truth from the very beginning, and kept at her until she believed him. The way he still felt guilty deceiving Lord Lincolnshire, even though he knew it was best.
And then there was the way he didn't want Deirdre to live with the man she loved unless she could marry him. She should hardly be surprised he held himself to the same standards. Sean was the most honorable man she knew.
That was one of the many reasons she loved him.
It wasn't that he didn't want her. She wasn't stupid enough to believe that. She could see the wanting in his face, feel it in his kiss, in the way he touched
