The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(63)

“You don’t even have a good excuse,” he said in mock dismay as pulled her upright, released her, and threw a towel over her wet head.

“You act responsible for the world,” she tried to explain as she attempted to wiggle away, only to have him pull her back to where he now sat on the thick rug, facing the opposite direction. “And you’re wise, which makes you seem old, but clearly you’re quite young.”

“Now you’re making up stories.” He chuckled as he reached around her to dry her hair.

The position put his bare throat just in front of her. It was a commonly overlooked part of the male body. She’d devoted pages to bums in her diary, but now, sitting so close to him, she found herself entranced with this exposed piece of quality male flesh. His shirt was splayed open at the neck, revealing a most intriguing part of him that was usually hidden away from view.

With the towel disguising her exact actions, she angled her face forward until she could feel the heat of his skin just a heartbeat away from her lips, quietly investigating. “You like my stories,” she murmured, her voice coming out rougher than usual.

She thought she heard a mumbled curse, but with his hands holding a towel over her head, who could tell? “I do like your stories.”

“Do you want me to tell you the one about the sour old pirate who never smiled?” she asked, straightening her back even more to inhale the scent of his skin just below his jaw.

“Only if he meets a wood nymph who insults him at every turn.” His deep voice rumbled through her, setting her nerves on edge.

He smelled of worldly man, one who had seen adventure and lived to tell of it. Her lips almost brushed a spot at the base of his throat, and she saw him swallow. “They became great friends,” she continued, forcing her mind to remain on their story, but her voice came out just above a whisper. “In an odd twist, he kidnapped her.”

“To rescue her from danger,” he supplied, his movements slowing, though his muscles stayed tensed around her.

“Mmmhmm.” What would he taste like if she dared to stick her tongue out and try? She couldn’t, obviously, since they were only friends. Fallon didn’t want…

“And then he kissed her because he couldn’t take her curious breaths against his neck anymore.”

She could feel the heat rise in her face before his words fully registered in her mind. “He did?” she began, but she fell silent when Fallon pulled the towel from her hair and tossed it aside.

The firelight danced across his face, illuminating the strong line of his jaw and catching the waves of his hair where it curled ever so slightly around the rim of his ear. She looked into his eyes—dark and hot as he watched her—for the space of a heartbeat. Every muscle in her body went tense. His thumb traced the top of her cheekbone as he slid his fingers into her hair. The rough touch of his fingers dragged against her smooth skin. Would his kiss be the same?

Her gaze dropped to his lips and the secrets they held. This was it—the magical moment when Fallon would kiss her. The fire crackled beside them; flowers were all around; he was holding the side of her face in his palm. It was perfect. All there was left to do was actually survive the kiss without shattering like the fragile glass she felt she was made of at the moment. Her heart pounded in her chest as anticipation spun her stomach into knots in her belly.

“Isabelle, you’re shaking,” he whispered. In the next second, his hand was on her waist. He pulled her closer to his side until she was leaning back against his angled knee, his other hand still in her hair. He studied her as he ran his hand up and down her side, skimming over her body with only the simple linen shirt between them. His movements were slow and methodical. Thorough, just like Fallon. His palm slid around the outside curve of her breast before slipping back down into the dip of her waist and over her hip, then back up again. His eyes never left hers. Her breaths were shallow as tension built within her. She leaned into his body, her limbs turning liquid. He was so close, surrounding her, invading her senses.

She’d curled her fingers up into a fist as she waited to be kissed, but she relaxed now and reached for him, sliding her hand up his chest to slip around his shoulder. Where his shirt left his skin exposed, the heat of his body soaked into her fingers. All of Fallon she’d experienced so far was hot, strong, and inviting. She tilted her head into the hand that still held her cheek, his fingers in her hair, as she stretched her own fingers out, reaching, wanting more.

“Better?” he asked, one corner of his mouth tipping up in a hint of a knowing smile.

She couldn’t look away.

She tried to answer, but only a faint sound came from her throat as she studied the tempting curve of his lower lip. Her eyes drifted closed, their connection taking over her body.

He brushed his lips over hers, and she found herself leaning forward as he held her suspended in that moment with him. With every press of his mouth against hers, he drew her in. His touch was unhurried, as if they had forever to be like this. Yet something had sparked between them, and his slow and steady movements only made it burn bright and hot. She delved her fingers into his hair with one hand and reached up to brace herself against his shoulder with the other, wanting to soak up all that he offered. He was holding back, she could tell. Barely restrained power—she could feel it in his gentle hold on her head and the drag of his palm up her side. She dug her fingers into his arm and pressed her lips to his, pleading for whatever he was keeping from her. She wanted to know everything.