When his arm around her waist tightened, and he tipped her upper body slightly back, all fight left her. The trembling inside her, starting from the hotspot that was growing wetter by the moment, now took control and she slinked her arms around his neck, locking to hold him close and kissed him back with a fury she had no idea she had. It was a war and she gave in to the glory he tempted her with. She was lost…
Chapter 25
“Lying [sic] on the ground with his cocked rifle by his side and his ramrod in his hand, and his eyes set on the front. I know he meant to kill himself in case of fire—knew it as surely as though I could read his thoughts.”
—Union artillerist commenting on a soldier with two broken legs. Battle of the Wilderness 1864
Francois hadn’t meant to kiss her. No, that was a lie. He had, but the rest came over him the moment his lips touched hers, the soft petals so enticing. The taste of her own sweetness was so delicious, he feared he’d devour her all at once, with no regard to reason. All he wanted was her.
She responded to him, returning his passion with her own, and that only fed the wolf that’d been caged for too long deep inside him. His insides tightened and the fire in his loins ignited to a blaze. But they were here, in the library, with only the small settee. The floor was out of the question, the rug was hardly plush enough for her delicate form. Not a place made for a proper ravishing. So the only place left was upstairs in the bedroom. As he swept her up in his arms, delving deeper into her luscious mouth, the faint but persistent throb in his foot kept him still in the present. Could he get her up the stairs or would he literally fall in the attempt?
Determination, though, won. Breaking free of her lips with his inner core yelling not to, he lowered her to her feet and he took her hand, scooped up his cane and said, “Come with me.”
They headed out of the library without a sound except for the cane. He noted how strange it was for her to be so complacent but he wasn’t about to ruin it. Slowly, he led her up the stairs and headed towards his room. But as they turned at the top of the landing, his toe caught in the fringe on the carpet and he tensed in an attempt to not fall, making his hold on her delicate hand tighten hard. She didn’t squeal as he fought to stay upright, and for that he was thankful.
Once in his room, he released her hand and went to stoke the fire that burned low in the fireplace into a better flame.
“Now, the general always told us to be diligent on the march, that those Yanks could be around the next rock or up in the tree to prey on us. We remained quiet as a mouse and watchful.” He replaced the stoker and stood upright. “I just haven’t decided if you’re a Yankee sharpshooter or you want to be here.”
She widened her gaze as her hands smoothed down the skirt that wasn’t needing it. “I came because you took my hand and,” she swallowed hard. “And because I wanted to.”
A flutter raced down his spine while his heart skipped a beat. Unsure still, he poured her a glass of whiskey out of the bottle he’d requested be kept in his room, handing her the glass before pouring one for himself. Picking the drink up, he raised it high.
“To the lovely Miss Ada. I owe you my life.” He drank, watching her reaction.
She rolled her lower lip into her mouth, as if thinking. “That is my job, sir. I am a doctor and it’s my duty to save lives.”
He nodded but nudged the drink in her hand to her lips. “Then let us celebrate.”
The whiskey burned down her throat, making her want to spit it out but she downed it, a shudder washing over her afterward. She’d never had a sip of hard liquor before, mostly sticking to wine and punch, but she didn’t want to insult him after he’d praised her skills as a doctor.
But what of her skills as a woman? That one daunted her. She’d focused for so long on her medical career, intimacy eluded her. A fire burned in the pit of her belly and a longing from that area that craved his touch. She must be mad.
As he poured them another drink, she muttered, “I shouldn’t be here.”
He gave her a wicked smile, a dangerously alluring one. “As a doctor? Or a lady? Perhaps I think you should be here.”
She took another drink, the burn this time was not as painful. “No, this isn’t appropriate.”
He laughed. The humor lit his face. He snorted. “Appropriate? My lady, from what I’ve seen, I’m not sure you have ever adhered to appropriate. Proper ladies do not go to medical school, treat the wounds you’ve dealt with, nor get involved with the scullery types that make up the abolitionists.” He put his glass down and took her free hand.
His touch scorched her, sending fire through her veins and fed the burning spot deep inside her, the one that begged for her to ignore politeness. As she stepped closer with the pull on her hand, she found she was starving and the handsome, rugged man with the southern accent and its French flair, was the dessert she desired. Despite all her upbringing and the manners she was taught, the moment their lips touched, she threw her arms around his neck and succumbed to his embrace.
The kiss was deep, like everything wild and abandoned. She couldn’t help but feed off the allure of his touch. His fingers
