Because of Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #1)(62)

“What do you want to do?” she asked quietly. Because she had a feeling he didn’t know. He said he wanted to go to the Colonies, but she wasn’t sure she believed him. She didn’t think he’d even allowed himself to think about what he wanted to do. He was so stuck on his restrictions that he could not think clearly about what was truly in his heart.

“What do I want to do?” he echoed. He looked… not surprised, exactly, but maybe a little dumbfounded. “I want… I want…” He blinked, then brought his eyes to hers. “I want you.”

The breath left her body.

“I want you,” he repeated, and it was as if the entire room shifted. The dazed look left his eyes, replaced by something fierce.

Predatory.

Billie could not speak. She could only watch as he came ever closer, the air between them heating to a simmering pitch.

“You don’t want to do this,” she said.

“Oh, I do. I really do.”

But he didn’t. She knew that he didn’t, and she could feel her heart breaking because she did. She wanted him to kiss her like she was the only woman he could ever dream of kissing, like he’d die if he didn’t touch his lips to hers.

She wanted him to kiss her and mean it.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” she said, edging back a step.

“Is that what you think?” he murmured.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Just enough to make this perfect.”

She blinked. She didn’t have a clue what that meant.

“Come now, Billie,” he mocked. “Why so hesitant? That’s not like you.”

“This isn’t like you,” she countered.

“You have no idea.” He came even closer, his eyes glittering with something she was terrified to define. He reached out and touched her arm, just one finger to her flesh, but it was enough to make her tremble. “When have you ever backed down from a dare?”

Her stomach was flipping and her heart was pounding, but still her shoulders fell into a stiff, straight line. “Never,” she declared, staring him straight in the eye.

He smiled, and his gaze grew hot. “That’s my girl,” he murmured.

“I’m not —”

“You will be,” he growled, and before she could utter another word, his mouth captured hers in a searing kiss.


Chapter 17


H
e was kissing her.

It was the very definition of madness.

He was kissing Billie Bridgerton, the last woman in the world he should ever dream of wanting, but by God, when she’d glared up at him, and her chin had trembled and jutted out, all he could see were her lips and all he could smell was her scent.

And all he could feel was the heat of her skin beneath his fingers, and he wanted more. More of that.

More of her.

His other hand came around her with stunning speed, and he wasn’t thinking, he couldn’t be thinking. He just pulled her up against him, hard, and then he was kissing her.

He wanted to devour her.

He wanted to own her.

He wanted to fold her into his arms and hold her tight and kiss her until she finally saw sense, until she stopped doing crazy things and stopped taking crazy risks, and started behaving the way a woman ought while still being her and — He couldn’t think. His thoughts were jumbled, torn to bits by the sheer heat of the moment.

More… his mind was begging. More was the only thing that made any sense to him. More of this. More of Billie.

He captured her face in his hands, holding her still. But she wasn’t still. Her lips were moving beneath his, kissing him back with the sort of fervor that was exactly Billie. She rode hard and she played hard and by God she kissed the same way, like he was her triumph and she was going to glory in it.

It was all so mad, so completely wrong and yet so deliciously perfect. It was every sensation in the world, wrapped into one woman, and he could not get enough. In that moment, in that room, he could never get enough.

His palm moved to her shoulder, then to her back, pulling her closer until his hips pressed hard against her belly. She was small, and she was strong, but she curved in all the best places.

George was no monk. He had kissed women before, women who knew how to kiss him back. But he had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted Billie. He had never wanted anything as much as this kiss.

This kiss… and all that could come after.

“Billie,” he groaned. “Billie.”

She made a sound. It might have been his name. And somehow that was what it took.

Good God. Reason came slamming back into him. His brain woke and his sanity returned, and he stumbled back, the electricity that had sparked so hot between them now jolting him away.

What the hell had just happened?

He breathed. No, he tried to breathe. It was an entirely different thing.

She had asked him what he wanted.

And he’d answered. He wanted her. He hadn’t even had to think about it.

Clearly, he hadn’t thought about it, because if he had, he wouldn’t have done it.

He raked a hand through his hair. Then another. Then he just gave up and squeezed both, pulling on his scalp until he let out a growl of pain.

“You kissed me,” she said, and he had just enough presence of mind not to say that she’d kissed him back. Because he’d started it. He had started it, and they both knew that she never would have done so.