thinking he could enter any time. She produced the key and turned it in the lock, then opened the door a crack. Nothing more. Just a crack. She was smart enough to peek before she swung the door wide.
Ernest stood beaming, a dusty bottle in one hand and a candle in the other.
Keefe Leighton, the earl of Hamilton loomed beside him.
Shock held her frozen for the briefest of moments.
Had her thoughts summoned him here?
She rammed the door closed.
Before the latch clicked, he gave a shove.
She stumbled back, caught her heel on her hem, and fell backward.
Before she hit the floor, he swept her into his arms. Lifting her, he smiled ferociously, looked into her eyes, and in a voice meant to carry, he boomed, “Darling!” And he pressed his lips against hers.
For the watching innkeeper, it must have looked like romance personified.
For Laura, it was the most frightening experience of her life.
Hamilton clearly intended to impress her with his size and her lack of it, and he succeeded by supporting her whole weight against his body without apparent effort. She squirmed to no avail except to, well … to warm herself against him. It was like flint against steel; with the right movement, they would create a spark, and then a fire, and then … then she would burn for him.
No. Unacceptable.
She kicked his legs.
He chuckled as if he were amused.
She jerked her head back, to free her mouth to scream.
His hand cupped her neck, holding her in place.
Wait . Where was his other hand? Her mind scrambled to adjust, to discover, and found he held her close with one arm under her posterior. Her posterior! She, who maintained dignity at all costs, had Hamilton holding her up by her posterior!
“I’ll put the bottle beside the door, m’lord,” Ernest said. The latch clicked.
Laura was alone with Hamilton.
She forgot about dignity and struck at his shoulders.
He didn’t seem to notice. For now the kiss which had been nothing but four lips pressed together, and a bit of a disappointment, transformed into something quite different. Something dangerous, heady, far too personal.
She tried to evade him.
His generous mouth followed with a sure instinct, blocking every little evasive maneuver and countering with maneuvers of his own. He nibbled at her lips, tiny nips of enticement that stung and yet tempted her with previously-inexperienced sensations.
Sternly she resisted. She would not play this game with him.
But when she opened her mouth to tell him, he slipped his tongue inside.
Disbelief made her catch her breath.
How dare he? How dare he savor her as if she were a delicacy for this pleasure? How dare he lure her to respond by offering softly drawing her tongue into his mouth? How dare he taste like ale and a cool night’s rain and the promise of passion fulfilled?
These tactics of his — they were unfair. And the sooner she told him, the better.
So she bit him.
He dropped her to her feet and grabbed at his mouth.
Hamilton dabbed at his tongue and looked at the blood on his finger.
Laura backed up until the edge of the desk struck her thighs.
What should she do? She could get the pistol out of the desk before Hamilton realized she had it, but why? She knew herself very well. Unless he actively threatened her life — and he might yet — she wasn’t going to shoot him. Not over a kiss which, after all, was probably nothing but an amusing moment in his life. Better to keep the gun concealed than to show it to him in the hopes of intimidating him, for she didn’t believe Hamilton intimidated easily.
Instead, she filled her lungs to scream.
Hamilton heard her inhale, reached her with a few steps.
She stared at him, waiting for his hand over her mouth.
The wretched man did nothing more than loom , and watch her
with wicked amusement.
Her cry for help disintegrated into a whimper.
“You can do better than that,” he said encouragingly.
“I will!” She filled her lungs again.
“Really. Go ahead. Yell
Ernest stood beaming, a dusty bottle in one hand and a candle in the other.
Keefe Leighton, the earl of Hamilton loomed beside him.
Shock held her frozen for the briefest of moments.
Had her thoughts summoned him here?
She rammed the door closed.
Before the latch clicked, he gave a shove.
She stumbled back, caught her heel on her hem, and fell backward.
Before she hit the floor, he swept her into his arms. Lifting her, he smiled ferociously, looked into her eyes, and in a voice meant to carry, he boomed, “Darling!” And he pressed his lips against hers.
For the watching innkeeper, it must have looked like romance personified.
For Laura, it was the most frightening experience of her life.
Hamilton clearly intended to impress her with his size and her lack of it, and he succeeded by supporting her whole weight against his body without apparent effort. She squirmed to no avail except to, well … to warm herself against him. It was like flint against steel; with the right movement, they would create a spark, and then a fire, and then … then she would burn for him.
No. Unacceptable.
She kicked his legs.
He chuckled as if he were amused.
She jerked her head back, to free her mouth to scream.
His hand cupped her neck, holding her in place.
Wait . Where was his other hand? Her mind scrambled to adjust, to discover, and found he held her close with one arm under her posterior. Her posterior! She, who maintained dignity at all costs, had Hamilton holding her up by her posterior!
“I’ll put the bottle beside the door, m’lord,” Ernest said. The latch clicked.
Laura was alone with Hamilton.
She forgot about dignity and struck at his shoulders.
He didn’t seem to notice. For now the kiss which had been nothing but four lips pressed together, and a bit of a disappointment, transformed into something quite different. Something dangerous, heady, far too personal.
She tried to evade him.
His generous mouth followed with a sure instinct, blocking every little evasive maneuver and countering with maneuvers of his own. He nibbled at her lips, tiny nips of enticement that stung and yet tempted her with previously-inexperienced sensations.
Sternly she resisted. She would not play this game with him.
But when she opened her mouth to tell him, he slipped his tongue inside.
Disbelief made her catch her breath.
How dare he? How dare he savor her as if she were a delicacy for this pleasure? How dare he lure her to respond by offering softly drawing her tongue into his mouth? How dare he taste like ale and a cool night’s rain and the promise of passion fulfilled?
These tactics of his — they were unfair. And the sooner she told him, the better.
So she bit him.
He dropped her to her feet and grabbed at his mouth.
Hamilton dabbed at his tongue and looked at the blood on his finger.
Laura backed up until the edge of the desk struck her thighs.
What should she do? She could get the pistol out of the desk before Hamilton realized she had it, but why? She knew herself very well. Unless he actively threatened her life — and he might yet — she wasn’t going to shoot him. Not over a kiss which, after all, was probably nothing but an amusing moment in his life. Better to keep the gun concealed than to show it to him in the hopes of intimidating him, for she didn’t believe Hamilton intimidated easily.
Instead, she filled her lungs to scream.
Hamilton heard her inhale, reached her with a few steps.
She stared at him, waiting for his hand over her mouth.
The wretched man did nothing more than loom , and watch her
with wicked amusement.
Her cry for help disintegrated into a whimper.
“You can do better than that,” he said encouragingly.
“I will!” She filled her lungs again.
“Really. Go ahead. Yell
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