Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(31)

His fingers caught beneath her chin, and she made a small sound, shrinking backward as much as possible. “No,” she whispered on a faint, terrified breath.

“No?” he repeated. He sounded amused. “Then why did you come away with me?”

“I th-thought…” Tasia struggled for breath. “I thought you were angry. I thought you wanted to shout at me in private.”

“And you'd prefer that to a kiss?”

“Yes.”

He laughed at her fervent reply, and his hand slid to the back of her neck, gripping the tense muscles. The heat of his skin startled her, made her shiver. A cold breeze surged around them, but Stokehurst was large and warm. In spite of her teeth-chattering alarm, Tasia was almost tempted to draw closer to him, into the refuge of his body.

“You're afraid of me,” he murmured.

She nodded awkwardly.

“Is it this?” He moved, and the hook gleamed before her eyes, like a silver fish darting through water.

“No.” She didn't know precisely what she was afraid of. A strange feeling had taken hold of her, all her senses quickening, everything becoming painfully vivid. His soft, hot mouth grazed the wisps of hair at her temple, sending a shock through her body. Her fists came up against his broad chest, pressing hard.

“What about a kiss for luck?” he suggested. “Somehow I think you could use some luck, Miss Billings.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up, impossible to restrain. “I don't believe in luck. O-only prayer.”

“Why not both? No, don't stiffen like that. I'm not going to hurt you.”

She twitched in surprise as he leaned over her. “I must go,” she said desperately, and made the mistake of trying to push past him. Stokehurst moved swiftly, catching her against his hard body. He wrapped her long braid around his hand once, twice, pulling her head back securely. His dark face was just above hers, his knuckles digging into her nape. Tasia closed her eyes. She felt a gentle kiss at the corner of her lips, and she gasped in response.

His hold on her tightened. He brushed another kiss on her closed lips, and another. Somehow she had expected violence, impatience…anything but the soft, burning imprints of his mouth. His lips slid across her cheek to her ear, and then to her throat. The tip of his tongue touched the violent flutter of her pulse. Suddenly Tasia wanted to press against him and lose herself in the dark rush of excitement. But she had never surrendered her control to anyone. The very thought of it was enough to startle her back to sanity. “Don't,” she said in a muffled voice, her hands coming to his dark hair. “Please don't!”

He lifted his head and looked down at her. “How sweet you are,” he whispered. His hand fell from her hair, and he extracted one of the flowered sprigs that had been tucked in her braid. With the backs of his fingers, he traced the fragile edge of her jaw.

“My lord…” she said unsteadily, and took a deep breath. “Sir, I hope…it's possible…that we could pretend this didn't happen?”

“If that's what you want.” His thumb brushed the tip of her chin. The flowers he held sent a heady fragrance through the air.

She nodded awkwardly, clamping her teeth on her trembling lip. “It was the wine. And the dancing. I s-suppose anyone would have been carried away by all the excitement.”

“Of course. Folk dancing can be pretty heady stuff.”

Tasia flushed, aware that he was mocking her. But it didn't matter. An excuse had been made. “Good night,” she said, pushing away from the tree. Her joints felt like rubber. “I must return to the mansion now.”

“Not by yourself.”

“I want to go alone,” she said stubbornly.

There was a short silence, and then he laughed. “Fine. Don't blame me if you're accosted. But I suppose it's not likely to happen twice in one night.”

Her footsteps were light and rapid, her slim form seeming to melt into the darkness.

Luke went to the spot where she had leaned, and braced his shoulder against the heavy trunk. Restlessly he dug his boot heel into the hard-packed earth. He had been gentle with her when he had wanted to be cruel, to bruise her lips with his, leave marks on her tender skin. The needs he thought had died long ago had been resurrected with a vengeance. He wanted to take her to his bed and keep her there for a week. Forever. Guilt pressed down on him. He was angry with her for setting his life askew, for making his memories of Mary more distant than ever before.

She would be gone soon. Not much longer, and the month would be over. Charles Ashbourne would find a new place for her. All he had to do was ignore her until time took care of everything. Turning, he lashed out in frustration, tearing off a chunk of bark. The hook left a narrow gash on the trunk. He began to walk with long strides, away from the lights and dancing, away from the celebration.

Tasia stood at her window, staring outside with wonder. Remembering the seeking warmth of his mouth, the gentleness and closely contained strength, she shivered. She had been alone for such a long time. It had been frightening and intensely sweet to be held in his arms. The comfort, the illusion of safety, had affected her deeply.

Slowly she raised her fingers to her lips. Stokehurst must have been amused by her ignorance. She had never been kissed before tonight, except for the halfhearted embrace she had shared with Mikhail Angelovsky just after their betrothal agreement.