“Oh, much better,” he said sarcastically, and tugged her toward him. His free hand cupped and lifted her chin, and he laid his lips against hers.
Amazement immobilized her. This was a brilliant triumph! Goading Alex into kissing her after he’d tried to play the brother! She’d never imagined she might have a talent for seduction, but for her first day as an unconventional woman, she was doing splendidly! As far as his performance, he was not doing too badly, either. His mouth was stroking over hers, which felt unobjectionable. Now his teeth caught hold of her upper lip, which, in fact, seemed very much like what a terrier would do—
His tongue followed his teeth. It traced a hot path along the seam of her mouth. Her stomach fell away. She shut her eyes. Oh. He was tasting her, his lips molding hers lightly, persuasively. She cupped his cheek and found it hot, slightly rough beneath the stroke of her thumb. His hand pressed her waist, drawing her into his body, his chest hot against hers; she drew a startled breath and his tongue slipped inside her mouth.
Strange parts of her startled awake—her nape, her belly, the place between her legs. He tasted of Aunt Elma’s tea; she would never drink a cup so casually again. Her fingers found the soft abundance of his hair, winding into it and tightening. Such things she could do, now that she’d stopped worrying! She leaned against him, giving him all her weight, so much larger he was. On her toes, she rubbed against him. He made some muffled sound, and his mouth slipped to her neck. The light scrape of his teeth was followed by a soft, hot sucking; she felt herself dissolving like sugar into tea.
He turned her by the waist, his hands urging her downward. A seat cushion pressed against her bottom. Goodness, he was . . . kneeling down over her, his hands braced on either side of the chair, his mouth moving up her neck, returning now to her mouth. Her languor took a twist into something sharper and more demanding; she tightened her grip on him and opened her mouth again, hoping, perhaps, that his tongue—
He pulled out of her reach so abruptly that her open hands lingered in the air a moment before falling to her lap.
“There,” he said curtly. “That should satisfy your curiosity.”
Dazed, she peered up at him. The stony set of his jaw puzzled her. He’d enjoyed the kiss, hadn’t he? His chest was rising and falling rather rapidly. In all the novels she’d read, that was the hallmark of passion, and her own shortened breath seemed to confirm it.
Maybe he felt as though he’d betrayed her brother. Yes, that made sense. “I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly. “I baited you, I admit it. Surely Richard will know this was my fault.”
For a moment, he said nothing. And then, on a fierce exhalation, he said through his teeth, “Go back to bed, Gwen. You’re out of your cheery little mind.”
Turning on his heel, he strode for the door and slammed out.
Goodness! She’d never seen Alex lose his temper before.
Then again, she had never kissed a rake.
A smile formed under her hand. “O brave new world,” she murmured, and came to her feet. With or without companionship, she had a ticket to book for Paris.
Chapter Five
“You waste my time!” Bruneau yelled.
Somebody in the corner laughed. “Fais gaffe à toi!” Watch yourself.
In all fairness, Alex thought, Bruneau had solid cause for complaint. They’d been circling each other for a good three minutes, right arms braced over their chests, elbows angled out to create a shield of muscle and bone. In proper form, Bruneau held his other arm high behind his head, aiding his balance as he kept his weight on his back foot in preparation to kick. But his arm was beginning to shake. Apparently he was not accustomed to opponents who proved loath to engage.
Then again, few men who practiced savate loathed fighting as much as Alex did.
He took a deep breath of the hot, sweat-soaked air in the salle d’armes. When in Paris, he never permitted himself to miss the opportunity to train here. Had never done it in this state, though. Five days now, and not more than ten hours’ rest between them. He knew whom to blame.
He broke form, offering Bruneau a deliberate invitation.
Bruneau made an abortive lunge. It was transparently a ploy, and Alex did not flinch.
“Bloody boy,” the man growled in gutter French. “I do not come to play!”
He might have saved his breath; Alex hadn’t responded to a taunt since his first year at Rugby. That year, Richard’s background had made him, and any of his friends, a target for bullies. Richard had fought like a wildcat and raged against Alex’s reserve. Why don’t you fight back? Didn’t your brother teach you? They say he could thrash George Steadman himself!