The Royal Conquest(37)

He tensed, but he did not retreat, and Payton claimed a small victory in a war she did not understand. “I want you to kiss me.”

His breathing fractured. “No.”

She swallowed, and a blush climbed her face. Once again she was being very unladylike, all her aunt’s deportment lessons forgotten. Before she could question him, he dropped his arms from her and stepped away.

“I can see the questions forming in your eyes. Do not doubt the strength of my desire for you, Payton,” he said. “But I cannot accept the invitation in your eyes until I speak with your parents about courting you.”

“You want to court me…for possible marriage?”

“Yes.”

The reason Payton had been happy with the honorable Lord Jensen was because he’d made her feel safe in the uncertain and privileged world of the haute monde. She’d agreed to marry him before, knowing she would never taste the depth of passion her sister, Phillipa, had burned with when she’d spoken of Lord Anthony. Since meeting Mikhail, Payton had felt the potent rush of desire in a manner that was shocking, but was it enough to consent to courtship knowing her family’s objection? Knowing how much she had been hurt before when she had dared?

His blue eyes darkened and blazed with need while he waited for her response.

She was stepping dangerously close to falling for a man she hardly knew. “I have tried harder to be more ladylike.” He reached for her, and she held up a hand, halting him. “I…I feel things with you I have never felt with another…I actively think of kissing you. You do not have expectations of ridiculous ladylike behaviors, and you have afforded me the courtesy of being myself. I would like to get to know you more…but my father would never consent to you calling on me, especially now.”

“Is that your only objection?”

“I…yes…maybe.”

He raised an enquiring brow.

“I never thought I would agree to courtship again so soon.” She had known Lord Jensen for several months, and his actions had still caught her off guard. “I do not want to be hurt, and I do not want to hurt you.”

“I will not hurt you.”

She snorted. “You cannot promise that, and I will not tolerate another gentleman abusing my feelings.”

“Does this mean you will never open yourself again to a man?”

“No…I do eventually want a family.”

“Pain is a part of life,” he said, a dark undercurrent in his tone. “I will do everything in my power not to hurt you.” A guarded look descended over his face. “I cannot promise I will succeed, but I will promise to never willfully cause you pain, and I will promise to give everything of me that I’m able to give. You will not have cause to regret forming an attachment with me, Payton.”

Everything he was able to give? “Will you also allow me to touch you?” Please say yes.

He stiffened, and she moved close enough to him that the hem of her dress curled around his shoes.

“You said you will give me as much as you are able to of yourself. Do you mean you will not allow my touch?”

Shadows shifted in the depth of his eyes. “Yes.”

Never? Questions hovered on the tip of her tongue, but his shuttered mien urged caution. She retreated, gathering her thoughts. She enjoyed being with him, and she was willing to explore the budding feelings sprouting to life. “I will warn you, if you hurt me in a fashion that is deliberate or could have been avoided, me bashing your head in with a poker will be the least of your troubles,” she said lightly.

Amusement quirked his lip, and he prowled close, sleek and graceful, shortening the distance she’d assumed he wanted. “Does this mean you want to know me more, that you will give me a chance?”

“Oh yes.” A flush shivered through her at her much too enthused response.

The amusement fled from his gaze, and the intensity that replaced it had her heart squeezing.

He cupped her cheeks with both hands, tilting her head up, using one of his thumbs to swipe across her lower lip in an erotic caress. “Do not be embarrassed. I possess a similar need to know all of your secrets. I hunger to know your passion, what you dream of, the food you love, what makes you angry, what makes you throw back your head and laugh without a care in the world, what makes your golden eyes darken with need, and what makes you moan in abandonment.”

His assertions burned all her doubts to ash. It was more than foolhardy, for her parents would never allow her happiness with him. “Books,” she whispered.

“What?”

She swayed even closer to him, her breasts brushing delicately against his damp shirt. “When I smell a new book and clasp the leather binding in my arms, I moan…in pure pleasure.”