Where Passion Leads (Berkeley-Faulkner #1)(80)

Rand walked into the stable then, drops of fresh water flying everywhere as he shook his head to get the excess out of his hair. He stopped short when he saw Rosalie standing there.

“I thought I saw someone in here,” he said, his hazel eyes traveling over her slowly.

“I wanted to speak with you . . .” Rosalie began, her voice fading away as Rand frowned and, walked over to her.

“You’ve got a scratch,” he said, looking down at the thin line of red that marred the pearly smoothness of her shoulder.

“Oh, that’s nothing, I don’t even feel it now,” she began, flinching as his hand brushed dangerously close to her breast. “It’s from . . .” She found that she could barely speak as his hand settled at her waist. Rand’s head lowered an inch as he bent to hear her more clearly.

“What?” he asked, his breath moist and cool from the fresh well water. His nearness was so overwhelming that Rosalie could only lift her head to stare at him mutely. They both became tense and still with anticipation, a delicious excitement burgeoning in the silence between them.

It’s nothing,” Rosalie finally managed to whisper, her eyes round and as blue as sapphires, searching for what was hidden in the depths of his hazel gaze. She had never wanted him so desperately. Rand’s fingers tightened at her waist. He took a shallow breath and started to say something—she would never know what, for just then he noticed the shuffling in the nearby stall.

“Mireille,” Rand said wryly, and Rosalie’s hand flew up to her cheek, for she had completely forgotten about her companion and the kittens. “I see you’ve acquired some new charges to look after,” Rand commented, his eyes filled with sudden laughter.

Mireille gathered up an apronful of kittens and bobbed a curtsy to him. “Bonjour, monsieur. How did it go with Monsieur Lefevre?”

“Very well. He can, on occasion, be made to see reason.”

Mireille threw him a brilliant grin, her brown eyes snapping with satisfaction. “That is not his reputation, monsieur. You must be a remarkable opponent for him to change his mind about matters of the purse.” “I’m not surprised,” Rosalie stated matter-of-factly. “It is never pleasant to be on the opposite end of a disagreement with Monsieur de Berkeley.” Rand smiled at her. Reluctantly his hand slid from her waist and he stepped away as if he were striving to place a necessary distance between them. “You wanted to talk to me?” he asked.

Rosalie nodded, fingering the top of her stocking purse. “Yes.” Slowly she pulled out the letter and handed it to him. “I wanted to give this to you. Can you . . . would you mail it as soon as possible?” There was a long silence as Rand read the name and the address on the finely milled paper. His eyes rested on her thoughtfully, narrowing slightly as he read the combination of emotions that played across her delicate features. Her eyes were bright with frustrated desire, her mouth tender as she smiled tremulously. “It’s time I was more honest,” she whispered. “I’d like to start with this letter. And I’d like to be more straightforward with you.” She wanted to say more but would not dare with Mireille there.

“Mireille,” Rand said, still staring at Rosalie, “why don’t you go find the kittens’ mother?” His voice was husky as he added, “Take your time about it. And if Jereme starts to come back with Diamond, tell him the horse needs to be walked another ten minutes.”

“Out, monsieur,” Mireille murmured dutifully, scampering out of the stable with an expression of unholy glee.

Rand smiled, his manner suddenly lazy and comfortable as he looked down at Rosalie.

“There’s no need to send her away,” Rosalie said, experiencing a small, unexpected measure of discomfort at the realization that she was alone with him for the first time in what seemed to be weeks. “I’ve said all that I intended to—”

“For what I have in mind,” Rand said, pressing her backward until she was trapped in the corner of the stable, “I thought you’d prefer some privacy.”

She began to stammer, flustered as he held her fast and lowered his mouth to hers. His arms went around her to shield her from the rough planking of the wall. She felt the unyielding strength of his body against hers . a large body that could crush hers easily, yet all his power was held in check. She opened her mouth to his, craving the taste of him, suddenly drunk with the sensation of his tongue mating with hers. Making a tiny moan of protest as he lifted his head, Rosalie wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on the tips of her toes to bury her face against the warm column of his throat. She loved him. She could not resist his touch, nor her own unconquerable desire to please him, to touch him tenderly.

“My sweet Rose,” Rand whispered, then laughed breathlessly at the feel of her seeking mouth on his skin. “Wait a minute . . . don’t do that. God, you’re so small . . .”

He hooked his foot around a low stool and pulled it to the corner, swinging her up onto it in one easy motion. Now their eyes were at the same level. Rosalie clutched at him as she felt the tiny stool wobble. “I’ll fall,” she whispered, and he shook his head slightly while sliding his arms around her back. “Not if you hold on to me.”

She stood quietly, leaning into him as she accepted the love play of his mouth. He caught at her top lip gently, then her bottom lip, tasting the corners, delving inside in a soft, knowing way that made her knees weaken. Over and over he kissed her, his kisses light and searching, his fingers threading through her hair and cradling her scalp in order to position her head. She loved being held by him. She tasted the salt of his skin and savored the flavor of him, she let her fingers wind through his wet hair, she felt the thud of his heartbeat against her br**sts and thought that she would die if only to have him fill her with his own flesh just one more time. His hand slipped intimately inside the bodice of her gown, cupping a breast. As the soft peak responded to his touch by contracting against his palm, Rosalie sucked in a quick breath of much-needed air, her mind swimming in a rush of pleasure. Suddenly aware that it was possible for someone to hear her or walk in and see them, Rosalie jerked her mouth away from his and fought to pull his hand out of her gown.