Shadowdance(82)

He’d laid himself bare. She kept that knowledge close to her heart, and when she touched him, she did so gently, her fingertips skimming along his strong jaw. He held himself tight as new bed ropes, but his breath left in a small exhalation as her fingers slid into his soft hair to cradle his skull.

The wool of his coat whispered as he moved. His big hands cupped her cheeks as if she were blown sugar. Inches away, he stared at her, his gaze a living thing that thickened the air and sent heat and trepidation skittering along her needy flesh. His gaze lowered to her mouth. Such power in a look, the way it made her lips feel fuller, softer. And he responded, making a small sound as he came closer, his breath light and quick, his lids at half-mast. “Do you know what it’s like to have what you want most in the world constantly in front of you,” he whispered, “and never dare take it?”

Oh, yes, she knew. How well she knew that sweet ache. And she’d been a fool to ignore it. “If you never dare,” she said, “how will you know you are truly alive?”

His mouth trembled, a flit of a smile. And then his expression grew intent. He would kiss her now. She wanted it so badly that she shook inside. And yet…

Mary tensed. Instantly Jack paused, his gaze flicking up to hers. The hot, languid air about them cooled and stilled as he pulled back. Mary wrapped a hand around his wrist, keeping him there. She took a shaking breath, the quivering feeling within her making her stomach ache. “I don’t… That is, I’ve seen it done, of course. But I gather seeing and doing are altogether…” She winced, searching his face and wanting him to understand. “I don’t know how to kiss.”

He blinked once. His brows knitted. She knew what he was thinking: Impossible. Mary grimaced. Awareness of him washed over her, of the heat of his body and his strength. Of the fact that, until this moment, they’d never faced each other in complete honesty. Her voice came out too rough. “What need had I to kiss a man? Why, when I never wanted…” She trailed off, her face flaming.

The furrow deepened between Jack’s eyes.

“I don’t want to make hash of it,” she said, so low she barely heard it herself.

Light came into his eyes. Again the air changed. His power surrounded her, not threatening, but hot and heavy, like a welcome cover against the cold. His thumb whispered over the trembling corner of her mouth, and the touch lit along her skin. When he spoke, his voice was a soft rumble tempered by tenderness.

“A kiss,” he said, “is a conversation.” Easing closer, he continued to speak as he caressed her cheeks with featherlight strokes of his thumbs. “A first kiss”—his lips neared hers—“is an introduction.”

And then his mouth brushed against hers. The contact sparked, sharp and bright like lightning. Yet his lips were soft, unexpectedly so. Her breath caught the same instant his did.

Against her mouth he whispered, “That was hello.”

His breath mingled with hers as he waited, his lips so close she could feel their warmth. For a moment she simply breathed him in, growing heady on the scent of him and the tight anticipation gathering in her belly. Then she understood. Nerves fluttering, she brushed her lips across his as he had done. Again his breath hitched as if he too felt that same spark, that hot need.

Her eyes drifted closed, and his voice poured over her like warm cream. “This is ‘I’m Jack.’ ” Another brush of his lips, but slower now, clinging at the last touch.

She liked that one better. The tightness within her spread down her thighs and up to her breasts. Mary tilted her head slightly as he had done and repeated his kiss, soft, slow. I’m Mary.

Over too soon.

From under lowered lashes, dark-green eyes gleamed at her, and the corners of Jack’s wicked mouth curved in a slight smile. He held that look as he came back for her, holding her where he wanted. “This”—a gentle nip at her bottom lip—“is”—a nibble on her top lip—“ ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’ ” Another soft nuzzle, his mouth moving along hers in a languorous glide.

So very lovely. Her breath grew sharp and pained. She wanted to fall against him, grind her lips into his, so violent was her need. She held herself in check and gently, slowly followed his lead. Jack made a sound against her mouth. She eased her grip and slid her hand to his neck. A tremor rent along the muscles there, his skin dry and hot. Beneath her touch his pulse raced.

His fingers threaded into her hair as he came at her again with the same steady deliberation, exploring her as she explored him. Their breathing grew unsteady and fast. Mary clung to him, her head growing light. One muscled arm wrapped around her waist, and he drew her across his thighs. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and she felt small, fragile, safe.