Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers #4)(33)

“Daisy…” He tried to find words to defuse the situation, but it was difficult to speak coherently. “I’m going to tell your father…at the first opportunity…I can’t marry you under any circumstances.”

She still wouldn’t look at him. “Why didn’t you tell him so right away?”

Because he had wanted to make her notice him.

Because he had wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that the thing he had never dared to dream about was just within reach.

“I wanted to annoy you,” he said.

“Well, you did!”

“But I never considered it seriously. I could never marry you.”

“Because I’m a wallflower,” she said sullenly.

“No. That’s not—”

“I’m undesirable.”

“Daisy, would you stop—”

“Not even worth a single kiss.”

“All right,” Matthew snapped, finally losing the grip on his sanity. “Damn it, you win. I’ll kiss you.”

“Why?”

“Because if I don’t you’ll never stop complaining about it.”

“It’s too late now! You should have kissed me back there in the parlor but you didn’t, and now that you’ve doomed any chance I’ll ever have of being kissed by anyone else, I’m not going to settle for some half-rate consolation prize.”

“Half-rate?”

That had been a mistake. Matthew could see that Daisy realized it the instant she had said it.

She had just sealed her fate.

“I-I meant to say half-hearted,” she said breathlessly, trying to wriggle away from him. “It’s obvious you don’t want to kiss me and therefore—”

“You said half-rate.” He jerked her hard against him. “Which means now I have something to prove.”

“No you don’t,” she said quickly. “Really. You don’t—” She gave a little cry as he clamped one hand behind her neck, and all sound was muffled as he tugged her head to his.

CHAPTER 7

Matthew knew it was wrong the instant their lips met. Because nothing would ever equal the perfection of Daisy in his arms. He was ruined for life. God help him, he didn’t care.

Her mouth was soft and hot, like sunshine, like the white blaze of a heartwood fire. She gasped as he touched her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. Slowly her hands came to his shoulders, and then he felt her fingers at the back of his head, sliding into his hair to keep him from pulling away. There wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening. Nothing could have made him stop.

A tremor shook his fingers as he bracketed the exquisite line of her jaw in the open framework of his hand, gently angling her face upward. The flavor of her mouth, sweet and elusive, fueled a hunger that threatened to rage out of control…he searched the damp silk beyond her lips, deeper, harder, until she began to breathe in long sighs, her body molding against his.

He let her feel how much stronger he was, how much heavier, one muscular arm clamped along her back, his feet spread to hold her between the powerful length of his thighs. Her upper half was bound in a laced and padded corset. He was almost overcome by a savage desire to tear away the stays and quilting and find the tender flesh beneath.

Instead he sank his fingers into her pinned-up hair and tugged it backward until the weight of her head was cradled in his hand, and her pale throat was exposed. He searched for the pulse he had seen earlier, his lips dragging softly along the secret pathway of nerves beneath her skin. When he reached a senstive spot, he felt the vibration of her suppressed moan against his mouth.

This was what it would be like to make love to her, he thought dazedly…the sweet shivering of her flesh as he entered her, the delicate chaos of her breath, the helpless sounds that rustled in her throat. Her skin, warm and female, scented like tea and talcum and a trace of salt. He found her mouth again, opened it, delving into wet silk, heat, and an intimate flavor that drove him mad.

She should have struggled, but there was only yielding and more softness, driving him past all limits. He began to ravish her mouth with deep, twisting kisses, bringing her body rhythmically against his. He felt her legs part beneath her gown, his thigh fitting neatly between them. She squirmed with innocent desire, her face blooming with the color of late summer poppies. Had she understood exactly what he wanted from her, she would have done more than blush. She would have fainted on the spot.

Lifting his mouth from hers, Matthew pressed his jaw against the side of her head. “I think,” he said raggedly, “this puts to rest any question of whether I find you desirable or not.”

Daisy gathered the strength to twist around in his grasp until she faced away from him, staring blindly at the rows of leather-bound books before her. Her small hands braced on the mahogany shelf as she fought to control the turbulent pace of her breathing.

Matthew stood behind her, reaching around to cover her hands with his. The narrow framework of her shoulders went rigid against his chest as he searched for the tender ridge of her ear.

“Don’t,” she said thickly, straining away from him.

Matthew couldn’t stop. Following the movement of her head, he nuzzled the downy curve of her neck. He released one of her hands to settle his palm on the exposed skin over her bodice, just above the rise of her br**sts. Daisy’s free hand came up to press his fingers harder against her chest, as if their combined efforts were necessary to restrain the pounding of her reckless heart.