My Lord Eternity (Immortal Rogues #2)(15)

Stepping closer, he allowed the passions that had been so long suppressed to course through his blood. In the soft night his blood ran hot.

"That is enough for this evening, Miss Kingly," he said in husky tones. "You have done your duty and it is time to consider more enjoyable pastimes."

Sensing the sudden heat in the air, her eyes widened. "What enjoyable pastimes are you referring to?"

He gave a low chuckle. "You shall soon discover, Miss Kingly."

Four

Jocelyn shifted uneasily on her chair as she cast a covert glance at the elegant gentleman seated across the small chessboard from her. He should appear ludicrously out of place in the shabby room with his expensive clothes and the candlelight shimmering in the golden strands of his long hair. Even the delicate beauty of his features was a direct contrast to the harsh surroundings. He surely was a creature of Mayfair.

And yet there was no hint of discomfort in the noble countenance or any air of a gentleman who thought himself above such meager entertainment as a game of chess with an aging spinster.

Instead, a wicked smile played about his lips that thoroughly distracted Jocelyn from any hope of strategy.

Perhaps sensing her intense scrutiny, the golden gaze abruptly lifted to regard her with open amusement.

"Checkmate," he announced in soft tones.

Startled out of her odd distraction, Jocelyn glanced down at the chessboard to discover that she had indeed been properly cornered.

A disgruntled disbelief flared through her at being so easily bested.

"Impossible," she muttered.

He leaned negligently back in his seat, making no effort to hide his satisfaction. "I did warn you that I am quite skilled."

"I am known to possess a certain amount of skill myself," she retorted with a hint of annoyance.

"You have skill," he conceded before allowing his gaze to deliberately drop to her full mouth.

"But not enough daring. You play a game of defense, not willing to risk all to capture victory."

It would be impossible to escape the knowledge that he spoke of more than a mere chess game, and Jocelyn struggled to hide that absurd prickle of awareness that raced through her.

"Risk can as easily bring defeat."

If possible, his smile became even more devilish. "That is why it is so thrilling. Anyone can move pieces in a well-plotted routine." The golden gaze returned to pierce deep into her wary eyes. "Ah, but one who is willing to boldly strike out without knowing if he is destined to taste success or falter in failure is truly a master of the game."

She did not doubt that he was a master of such games. He would be bold and daring whether playing chess or facing an enemy or seducing a woman.

And in truth, she had once been very much like him. Confident, brash, and utterly confident that she was impervious to danger.

Life had taught her a bitter lesson in assuming that she could play with fire and not be burned.

And burned badly.

"Routine plodding is far more dependable than brash recklessness," she philosophized.

His eyes narrowed as if he sensed she was hiding secrets deep inside. "But where is the fun?"

"The satisfaction of success."

A surprising hint of tenderness softened the beautiful features. "There is little point in achieving success if you did not enjoy the path leading to your purpose."

"There are other things in life beyond fun and enjoyment," she determinedly argued.

"What?"

"Duty, responsibility, and consideration of others."

Slowly he leaned forward, his hand reaching out to lightly touch her cheek.

"All very noble, Miss Kingly, but life is a banquet that should be sampled to the fullest. Duty, joy, love ... passion."

Although his touch was as gentle as a feather, Jocelyn felt scalded by the fingers that lingered against her skin. She thought she was no stranger to passion. Hadn't she once before tasted of the forbidden fruit?

But her brief experience did not seem to make her any more prepared for the flutters of excitement that sped through her or the sudden racing of her heart.

With an awkward haste she rose to her feet and backed away from his large form.

"It is growing late," she muttered, watching warily as he swiftly gained his feet and moved to stand directly before her.

"Where are you going?"

"To bed."

With deliberate, relentless steps he backed her toward a nearby wall, placing his hands on each side of her head to effectively trap her.

"Not quite yet, I think," he murmured.

She sucked in a sharp breath, then wished she hadn't. The warm scent of male skin and a faint hint of spice threatened to cloud her mind. A potent, undeniable quiver of longing swept through her.

"What do you want?" she demanded in unsteady tones.

Those distracting fingers lifted to stroke the line of her exposed throat, coming to rest upon the frantic beat of her pulse at the base of her neck.

"You lost the match, my dove. Now you must pay your forfeit."

"I... there was no mention of a forfeit."

His soft chuckle feathered down her spine, sending a rash of delightful sensations through her stiff body.

"What is the point of winning a game if I cannot collect a prize?"

Jocelyn discovered herself battling to maintain her usual calm demeanor. This man possessed the most shocking ability to slip beneath her defenses and stir sensations she had thought buried forever.