And yet she wanted him with a desperation that left her breathless.
It was wrong, so very wrong. She had grave doubts about this marriage, and she knew she ought to maintain a clear head. She kept trying to remind herself of that, but it didn’t stop her lips from parting to allow his entry, nor her own tongue from shyly flicking out to taste the corner of his mouth.
And the desire pooling in her belly—and surely that was what this strange, prickly, swirling feeling had to be—it just kept getting stronger and stronger.
“Am I a terrible person?” she whispered, more for her ears than for his. “Does this mean I am fallen?”
But he heard her, and his voice was hot and moist on the skin of her cheek.
“No.”
He moved to her ear and made her listen more closely.
“No.”
He traveled to her lips and forced her to swallow the word.
“No.”
Kate felt her head fall back. His voice was low and seductive, and it almost made her feel like she’d been born for this moment.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his large hands moving urgently over her body, one settling on her waist and the other moving up toward the gentle swell of her breast. “Right here, right now, in this moment, in this garden, you’re perfect.”
Kate found something unsettling about his words, as if he were trying to tell her—and perhaps himself as well—that she might not be perfect tomorrow, and perhaps even less so the next day. But his lips and hands were persuasive, and she forced the unpleasant thoughts from her head, instead reveling in the heady bliss of the moment.
She felt beautiful. She felt…perfect. And right there, right then, she couldn’t help but adore the man who made her feel that way.
Anthony slid the hand at her waist to the small of her back, supporting her as his other hand found her breast and squeezed her flesh through the thin muslin of her dress. His fingers seemed beyond his control, tight and spasmodic, gripping her as if he were falling off a cliff and had finally found purchase. Her nipple was hard and tight against his palm, even through the fabric of her dress, and it took everything in him, every last ounce of restraint, not to reach around to the back of her frock and slowly pull each button from its prison.
He could see it all in his mind, even as his lips met hers in another searing kiss. Her dress would slip from her shoulders, the muslin doing a tantalizing slide along her skin until her breasts were bared. He could picture those in his mind, too, and he somehow knew they, too, would be perfect. He’d cup one, lifting the nipple to the sun, and slowly, ever so slowly, he’d bend his head toward her until he could just barely touch her with his tongue.
She’d moan, and he’d tease her some more, holding her tightly so that she couldn’t wriggle away. And then, just when her head dropped back and she was gasping, he’d replace his tongue with his lips and suckle her until she screamed.
Dear God, he wanted that so badly he thought he might explode.
But this wasn’t the time or the place. It wasn’t that he felt a need to wait for his marriage vows. As far as he was concerned, he’d declared himself in public, and she was his. But he wasn’t going to tumble her in his mother’s garden gazebo. He had more pride—and more respect for her—than that.
With great reluctance, he slowly tore himself away from her, letting his hands rest on her slim shoulders and straightening his arms to keep himself far enough away so that he wouldn’t be tempted to continue where he’d left off.
And the temptation was there. He made the mistake of looking at her face, and in that moment he would have sworn that Kate Sheffield was every bit as beautiful as her sister.
Hers was a different sort of attraction. Her lips were fuller, less in fashion but infinitely more kissable. Her lashes—how had he not noticed before how long they were? When she blinked they seemed to rest on her cheeks like a carpet. And when her skin was tinged with the pinks of desire, she glowed. Anthony knew he was being fanciful, but when he gazed upon her face, he could not help thinking of the new dawn, of that exact moment when the sun was creeping over the horizon, painting the sky with its subtle palette of peaches and pinks.
They stood that way for a full minute, both catching their breath, until Anthony finally let his arms drop, and they each took a step back. Kate lifted a hand to her mouth, her fore, middle, and ring fingers just barely touching her lips. “We shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered.
He leaned back against one of the gazebo posts, looked extremely satisfied with his lot. “Why not? We’re betrothed.”