While You Were Spying (Regency Spies Book 0) (24 page)

She snatched her hand away. “And what about my family?” she argued. “Will you protect them and all of our guests as well?”

His face darkened, but he didn’t respond.

“You can’t even be certain you’ll catch the attacker, but I can be certain my entire family will suffer the ridicule of the
ton
.” She pointed a finger at him.

His hand closed around her outstretched wrist, and he yanked her forward until their faces were inches apart. “I will protect your reputation.” His warm breath tickled her cheek.

She tried to pull away again, but he held her fast. “How? By being unfaithful to me? All that does is prove to everyone you never really wanted me.”

“I do want you.” He gripped her other hand, pulled her body toward him until her knees brushed his.

“You want to marry me?”

He opened his mouth then closed it again.

“Ha!” She gave a particularly violent tug then, but he only hauled her closer until she was practically nose-to-nose with him. She paused to catch her breath. “If you insist on this ball, I won’t attend.”

He gave her a slashing smile, and she gritted her teeth. It was an idle threat, she knew. With her parents on his side, she really had little choice.

“You’re looking at this all wrong, Francesca.”

She scowled into his face. “I seriously doubt that.”

“Do you?” He arched a brow.

She’d stopped struggling for a moment, and he took full advantage of her momentary pause, locked one hand around her waist, and dragged her onto his lap.

The chair screeched almost as loudly as Francesca. “What are you doing? This is completely inappropriate.” And yet it felt delicious. His body was warm and solid, and she wanted to burrow against him and breathe him in.

“On the contrary,” he said, settling her on his thighs. “I think affection is to be expected, considering we’re betrothed.”

His adjustment had served to balance her weight, but it also pressed her intimately against him. One arm cradled her waist while the other locked across her knees. Her shoulder and hip were pressed against his hard torso, and underneath her bottom she felt the toned muscles of his thighs flex.

“We are
not
betrothed.” Her voice was breathless.

He eyed her with a look of mock contemplation. “You keep pointing that out. It might be the problem,
cara
.”

She straightened, causing the tottering chair to protest again. “Don’t call me that. My mother calls me that.”

“I like it.
Cara
suits you.” He winked, holding her tighter. “What will you call me?”

A few choice words came to mind but, considering her present position, she decided to refrain from mentioning them. He grinned at her, apparently reading her thoughts.

“A wise decision,
cara
.” He leaned back comfortably, and pulled her closer. He seemed in no hurry to let her up no matter how she squirmed to get loose. “I have always been partial to the French endearments—
chéri
,
mon amour
.” He wiggled his brows. “
Mon Dieu
—”

“Oh, Lord!” She directed her eyes heavenward at his vanity.

“Now that’s the idea.” He gave her a cocksure smile.

“Now I’m standing up!” She lurched away from him again and was rewarded as his grip slipped from her legs briefly before enclosing her in his warmth again.

“But as you seem to be having difficulty just remembering my name, I’ll settle for Ethan.”

“I’ll call you
Ethan
!” she spat, squirming again.

“You’ll call me husband if you don’t stop moving like that.” The heat in his voice immobilized her instantly. She tried very hard not to think about the solid length of him beneath her.

“I’ll not agree to this betrothal ball,” she said stubbornly, attempting to return her focus to the matter at hand.

He gave her a dark look. “Yes, you will. And you’ll smile at me, flirt with me, and generally give everyone the impression that you’re madly in love with me.”

“No, I won’t! What purpose will that serve except to titillate the neighbors and cause that much more scandal when we call the betrothal off.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, that’s a surprise!”

“What I do care about is your safety. Does your reputation mean more to you than your life?”

Now she was the one who had no response.

The hand on her waist began to move in a slow circle, tingling her hip and tickling her lower abdomen. She should move away. She should tell him to stop, but she couldn’t seem to manage those words either.

She said the first thing that came to her mind. “Even if the attacker comes to the ball, there will be hundreds of people there. You’ll never find him." Her voice hitched on the last word as his hand skimmed the edge of her abdomen. “And he wouldn’t be so imprudent as to assault anyone with so many others around.”

“Then, at the very least, we’ve spent an evening indulging ourselves in your neighbors’ congratulations, good food, and excellent wine.” His roving hand rested on the small of her back.

She felt a moment of relief when he ceased caressing her, but it was short-lived. His fingers on her lower back stretched as if testing the flare of her hips. She curled her toes to keep from responding.

His eyes softened, and his amber gaze searched her face. From the way he looked at her, she knew he was perfectly aware of the effect of his touch. His hand dipped lower, almost grazing her thigh, and she barely managed to choke out her next words. “You should stop.”

“I should, yes.”

This was her last chance. If she didn’t leave now, what happened next would be her fault. “I’m leaving now, Winterbourne.” She struggled, and this time—to her disappointment—he let her wriggle away. She stumbled to her feet, but he followed. Before she could scoot away, he braced his hands on the table behind her, boxing her in.

She took three shallow breaths and tamped down the urge to press herself into him.

“My name is Ethan.”

He stepped closer, his body brushing against hers, and she inhaled sharply.

“Fine!” She gave him a little shove, weak and ineffective but all she could manage at the moment. “I’m leaving, Ethan.”

He frowned, ignoring her feeble protest. “Don’t say it like that. No one will believe that.”

“No one will believe you want to marry me no matter how skillfully I act. Everyone will think it’s ridiculous.”

His brow creased in that rare puzzled expression she found at once so adorable and so vexing. She looked away quickly, wishing she could take the words back.

“You implied that earlier. Why is it ridiculous?”

She bit her lip and stared out the window at her hospital. “Don’t pretend not to know.”

“I’m not pretending.”

She glanced at him, surprised that he seemed genuinely confused. She tossed her hands out in frustration. “Everyone knows that a man like you would never be interested in a woman like me.”

His bewildered expression softened into understanding.

“Is that what you think?” His low voice made the tiny hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck stand up.

“It’s what everyone will think.” She stared down at his shirt and concentrated on the feel of the table edge behind her. She didn’t want to see the truth of her statement in his eyes.

“I doubt it. More likely, everyone will see how much I want you.”

Her head whipped up, eyes meeting his, and she stumbled. The edge of the table scraped against the back of her legs.

“No, you don’t.” She shook her head, searching for an explanation for the desire she saw in his look. “You’re just, just—” Francesca braced her hands against the worn plank of wood behind her, then jumped as she touched his hands.

He lowered his head. “I’m just—?”

He was close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from him, surrounding her, enveloping her.

She lifted a hand, putting it to her temple. Trying to think with him so near was almost impossible. He caught her wrist, gently this time, and brought her fingers to his lips. She shivered.

“What am I?” he asked.

“Bad.” She dared a look at his lips on her fingers. “You are a bad man.” Her voice came out in a throaty whisper.

Ethan chuckled, lips curving ever so slowly into a wicked smile. Her insides warmed and turned to mush.

The curve of his sensual lips alone could seduce a woman. She searched quickly for something besides his mouth to focus on and made the mistake of looking into his eyes. The fiery gold flecks embedded in the amber danced with heat, a heat she could feel pouring into her through the touch of his hand on hers and the closeness of their bodies. His touch scorched her.

“I
am
bad,” he agreed, voice husky and smooth as velvet. He rubbed her fingers over his lips again. “Is that why you like me so much?”

She gasped. “No!” She tried scooting away but only succeeded in jarring her hip against the wooden plank again.

“No, that’s not why you like me so much, or no, there’s another reason you like me?”

His annoying grin widened. Why she had ever thought his lips sensual, she would never know. “I do
not
like you.”

He rubbed his thumb along the inside of her palm, and her breath caught. “Yes, you do.”

She did. She really did. She couldn’t help but love him. Weakly, she fought it. “No, I—”

He put his free hand to her mouth, fingers brushing across her lips, silencing her shaky denial.

“Stop arguing and kiss me.”

She shook her head. Appalled. Flustered. Aroused.

He pulled her against him, resting the hand he’d caught in his on his chest. Angling his head so his mouth was inches from hers, he murmured, “Think of it as rehearsal for next week.”

“That’s a bad thing to say,” she whispered. “And there will not be—”

“Shh.” He touched his forehead to hers, and she felt his fingers skate down her arm. She shivered. She could sense the tightness and frustration in him and knew he was holding back.

“Then kiss me because you want to or because
I
want you to. I
need
you to.”

His gaze never left hers, patient, full of desire. Desire for her. Francesca knew if she said no, he would release her. Allow her to walk away. The feeling that the next move was completely her choice was strangely empowering. She could
choose
to say no. She could leave the field, triumphant.

He pressed her hand more firmly against his chest, and she felt the rapid drum of his heart. It pounded as fiercely as hers. And then, suddenly, there was no longer any choice to be made. She could feel the passion pulsing through him. It flowed into her, overwhelming her. Kissing him would mean surrender, but, oh, what sweet surrender.

With a small shiver of excitement, she leaned forward and kissed him.

E
than felt like a starving man given his first taste of nourishment. Only it wasn’t a crust of bread and water, but the richest, most luxurious sip of chocolate. The kind that glides smoothly over one’s tongue and saturates every taste bud completely.

Her mouth swept lightly over his—probing, testing. She was almost too rich, and yet kissing Francesca was only a small taste of decadence. He knew there was so much more—chocolate with milk, chocolate spiced with cinnamon or vanilla, chocolates flavored with rose-water. And he wanted to drink them all, savor each one to the fullest. Savor her to the fullest.

He also knew the tentative woman he held in his arms, the woman he now wanted so badly he could taste his desire, was the most fragile of any he’d ever known. After last night, he knew one false move, one awkward stumble, and the delicate trust she’d placed in him would melt as quickly as a pot of chocolate under the flame.

He had to allow her to move at her own pace, allow her to take control. It would not be easy. He’d never allowed a woman so much before. But then he’d never known one so vulnerable, one he...trusted this much.

He barely had time to register the novel feeling of trusting a woman when the feel of her soft, creamy lips against his began driving him to madness again. He fought for control. If he’d had his way...

No, better not to think of that now. Better to enjoy the small slice of bliss she offered.

With a supremeness of will he didn’t know he possessed, Ethan held his hands and body immobile. Only his mouth moved, his lips responding lightly and without demand to her kiss. She drew away, and her dark gaze met his. With only the dim light from the lone tack room window, she appeared mysterious, enveloped in shadows. Still, he recognized the question in her eyes. She’d expected him to take control, take possession of her mouth, her body.

And he would have liked nothing better, but he didn’t dare. Not after the way she’d reacted to his advances in the hospital. He needed to know this was what she wanted too. Another moment ticked by, their gazes locked. He willed her to kiss him again.

Then he felt the fingers of one of her small hands thread through his hair and come to rest on the nape of his neck. Her touch was exploratory, hesitant. Incredibly arousing. Even in the gloom of the tack room, leaning against the rickety desk and surrounded by forgotten equipment, she was seductive, alluring. Her wide cocoa eyes focused on him again, misty with desire. Perhaps it was the contrast between her generous beauty and the austere tack room that brought black velvet and silver shadows on silk sheets to his mind.

She tugged on his neck gently, and he lowered his mouth, stopping just short of physically touching his lips to hers. Thank God she closed the distance, pressing herself deliciously against him.

Her touch was more confident this time, her lips exploring his mouth as her hand had his neck a moment before. And when he felt her open her mouth beneath his, he groaned softly. She stilled, as if waiting for him to turn conqueror, and when he didn’t, she swept her tongue along his.

She continued the gentle assault—thrusting forward, testing his defenses, then pulling back and regrouping. She tasted of moonlight and magic—dark and mysterious, subtle but powerful. He was throbbing for her, delirious with desire, hands and body responding to her without conscious thought.