That was when she knew she couldn’t do it, not tonight at least. She couldn’t tell him the truth of who she was and watch his face change again. She glanced around, her heart beating fast, her mind seeking inspiration. And it came. From Nev’s little Garden of Eden.
“Mrs. Adams,” she said. “But since we’re being informal, you can call me Eve.”
Chapter Eight
“You said Mr. Adams did not accompany you this evening?” Gil asked carefully.
“No,” Eve said. “We are not—” She broke off.
“You are not…?”
She took a deep breath. “I do not live with my husband.”
Something eased inside him at that news.
She had turned to lean on the balustrade a few moments ago, and now he did the same, his shoulder brushing hers. They both looked out into the night.
“I do not live with my wife,” he offered. He felt her turn to look at him but kept looking straight ahead. “Our marriage was a disaster.”
“A disaster?”
“Yes. Yours?”
A pause. Then, “The same. A mistake.”
He nodded, and they fell into a companionable silence.
“May I ask you something?” he asked at last.
“Of course.”
“Have you ever bedded a man other than your husband?”
She huffed a laugh. “No.”
“Kissed?”
He felt her eyes upon him.
“No,” she said at last, her voice wistful.
“Really?” A quarter turn to his right brought him face-to-face with her. Her expression was wistful too. “What a terrible, terrible waste.” He smiled. “We should rectify that.”
He closed the distance between them slowly, giving her ample time to pull away if she wanted to. Her eyes stayed open as he dipped his head. Their gazes met, and it felt like the kiss started right then, an instant before he touched his mouth to hers. Caught by her astonished grey gaze, he gathered her closer, one arm encircling her slender waist and the other cradling the back of her head as he pressed his mouth to hers.
God, but she tasted sweet. Like summer. Like strawberries. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body flush against his until he knew she must be able to feel for herself how hard he was for her. The luscious, pillowy softness of her breasts pressing against his body was making him frantic. He groaned against her mouth, raising his hand to cup a plump globe of flesh. It yielded beneath his gently kneading hand, the nipple grazing his palm, slight but insistent, the thin stuff of her evening gown the flimsiest of barriers. His cock throbbed painfully in his breeches, and he felt like a schoolboy, ready to come at touching a woman’s breast for the first time. He tore his mouth from hers with effort and looked down at her upturned face, a face that looked as surprised as he thought his own must be.
“Eve,” he said. “God. I’ve never—”
Felt like this before.
Wanted a woman the way I want you.
Fallen—
All the things he might say stuck in his throat, and he found himself simply staring down at her, heart racing. And so it was she who broke the silence, and with a comment that floored him. “Do you want to bed me, Gil?”
He gave a shocked huff of a laugh. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Indulge me.”
“Then yes, Mrs. Adams, I want to bed you very much. Probably more than any woman I’ve ever met.”
She closed her eyes for what felt like a very long moment. He began to think he’d said just exactly the wrong thing; that she was going to walk away from him then and there. But eventually, when she looked at him again, she smiled—a sad smile, he thought—and said, “Call for your carriage, then. I’ve danced enough this night.”
Was there any danger that he was dreaming, Gil wondered, as he stared at Eve Adams, sitting on the opposite bench of his carriage less than half an hour later. He could barely make out her features in the darkness but he could see how demurely she sat. Knees pressed tightly together, gloved hands twisting in her lap. Her nervousness touched him. It was the reason he hadn’t started making love to her already. The last thing he wanted to do was alarm her and cause her to change her mind.
It was a short drive, and very soon the carriage drew up outside Stanhope House. A groom opened the carriage door, and Gil jumped down first, offering his hand up while Eve stepped out. A footman had already opened the door, and Gil ushered her into the house, divesting her of her cloak before she thought to protest. Handing it to the footman, he asked for wine to be brought to his private sitting room and led Eve toward the stairs.
He ascended behind her, admiring her dainty curves. He felt like a big oaf next to her, truth be told. She was so diminutively graceful. A perfect package of feminine curves.