The Princess and the Peer(55)

“As I remarked, books are often tedious or fascinating depending on one’s taste. Alas, my brother wasn’t much of one for reading novels. No tales from the Minerva Press with which to tempt you, I am afraid.”

She stepped nearer but made no effort to accept the volumes in his hands, losing herself instead in the smoky gray of his eyes. “That is a blessing tonight, since I would likely stay up reading all night long.”

He gazed back, as if he were also unable to look away. “If these don’t suit, I shall have to try again.”

“Yes,” she murmured, not much interested in books any longer. “Why are you still awake, my lord? You did not say.”

His brows furrowed, a slightly sheepish expression crossing his face, as if she had somehow caught him out. For the life of her, though, she couldn’t imagine in what way.

“I wasn’t tired, that’s all,” he told her. “Too much on my mind to sleep.”

Her lips parted. “Ah.” Despite his answer, however, she didn’t feel much more enlightened than before.

“I decided a brandy might help in addition to a book,” he added.

“Did it?”

“Somewhat. I was just contemplating going upstairs to bed when you came in.”

“I am sorry to have detained you, then.”

He laid the books aside, then turned back to meet her gaze once more. “I’m not.”

Her pulse kicked into a faster rhythm. “Actually, I am not either.”

There was a light in his eyes that made her wonder suddenly about his restlessness. Was it possible that he had been unable to sleep because of her?

Suddenly she very much hoped that was the case.

Neither of them spoke, a soft crackling pop from the fireplace the only sound in the room. She waited, knowing she should make herself leave before she did something imprudent, something she would never be able to take back or undo.

Instead she stood rooted to the spot, waiting.

Just waiting.

“I suppose I ought to find you another book,” he remarked.

“Yes,” she murmured. “That would probably be best.”

Neither of them moved.

Her breath stilled in her lungs as he reached up and placed a palm against the side of her face with a tenderness that made her tremble. Her eyes slid rapturously closed as she leaned into his touch, unable to suppress her love or her longing. She didn’t care what she revealed—not tonight, their final night together.

“I told you it would be my turn,” Nick said in a voice as sleek and supple as velvet, “the next time we kissed.”

And then his mouth was on hers, taking her lips with a sweet claiming that left no doubt as to his desire. She responded without thinking, without wanting to think, desperate to be as close to him as she could manage, to gather every ounce of pleasure there was to be had.

Stepping nearer, she wound her arms around his waist and pressed herself against the long, sturdy length of his body. The masculine heat that radiated from him came as a delicious shock; it was almost like warming herself before a fire.

Truth be told, she felt a little as if she had stepped into a river of flame, her body burning with a desire she didn’t even attempt to suppress or deny. A tiny moan rose from her throat, her skin heating as the world around her began to melt.

Sliding her palms against the sleek silk along the back of his waistcoat, she fought for purchase. Desperate to anchor herself, she unthinkingly slipped her fingers into the narrow gap between his waistcoat and trousers, the lawn fabric of his shirt providing only a thin barrier between her flesh and his.

He arched as if her touch were electric and broke their kiss. Her gaze locked with his, air soughing in rapid puffs between her lips. His own breathing seemed labored as well, his eyelids heavy, an expression she’d never seen before turning his face fierce and oddly dangerous.

Yet she wasn’t afraid. Quite the opposite, as she swayed toward him, bereft without his kiss. Unconsciously, she slid the tip of her tongue across her lower lip. A spark seemed to ignite in his gaze, his eyes darkening to the color of hot smoke.

Then he was kissing her again, groaning as he caught her hard in his arms and plastered her against his body so she barely knew where she began and he ended.

She clung, intoxicated by the heady delight of his brandy-flavored kisses. Where he led, she followed, down a path that was increasingly dark and sensual, their embrace slowing and deepening as the intensity of their ardor increased.

Shivering, she burrowed even closer and kissed him with everything her inexperience would allow. As she did, the sash of her dressing gown loosened, her robe slipping a few inches down one shoulder to reveal the white cotton nightgown underneath.