CHAPTER 13

He reined in his urgency and slid his tongue gently, caressingly, along the inside of her lower lip, teasing a response from her. He must be gentle, this was not the time and the place for anything else. She made a small sound in her throat at the invasion of his tongue and he was shot through with lust so hot and primitive he was suddenly within an ace of tangling his hand in her hair, and slamming her back against the cold stone wall to kiss her within an inch of her life.

The beat of the music was in his blood now, primeval and intense. His mouth crushed hers again, his tongue sweeping deep. He wanted her ***** in his bed. He wanted to strip away the layers of clothing between them and take her with an urgency and desire that made no concession to gentleness. He had wanted her for such a long time. He had denied that need and now he could deny it no longer. “Clara...”

He said her name on a ragged whisper as his lips met hers for a third time. Her eyes were closed, the lashes a dark sweep against her cheek. Her lips were swollen from the ruthless demands of his. She was trembling.

So was he. His emotions were frighteningly adrift. The way Clara was clutching at his jacket to pull him closer, the taste of her, the fusion of sweetness and desire, kindled in him sensations never previously experienced. She was his and his alone; he would never let her go.

He pressed her closer to him, one hand coming up very gently to caress her ******. He could feel the ****** harden through the muslin of her dress against the palm of his hand. The heat ripped through him.

Their lips parted slowly, reluctantly, one last time and he felt as though he were losing something. He felt cold.

She was looking at him with such dazed sensuality in her eyes that his heart turned over. He could not speak. A moment later she blinked and her expression warmed from bemusement into anger.

“When I asked for your help this morning,” she said sharply, “I was not requesting lessons in kissing.”

Sebastian, shaken by the unexpected intensity of the experience and by achieving the one thing he had dreamed of doing for the past two years, was rocked back.

“You scarcely need lessons, my dear,” he said. Did she not understand her own power? If she could do that to him with one kiss he shuddered to think what would happen when he took her to bed. When? He forced his wild thoughts to slow down. He would not **** **** to Clara Davencourt.

He looked at her again as the heat drained from his body and a shred of sense took hold. He had not given much thought to her reactions, being so wrapped up in his own. Now, scanning her face, he made a stunning discovery that sent his thoughts into turmoil again.

“That was your first kiss,” he said slowly. He felt a little regretful. While he had been swamped with lust and thoughts of ravishment, she was experiencing something shocking. He should have guessed. He should have realized how important the moment had been for her. He shut his mind to the thought of how important it had been to him.

“Yes it was,” she said.

Fleet was at a loss. He had taken greedily from her with no thought for her feelings. While he floundered, Clara had evidently regained full possession of her senses.

“Don’t you dare say you are sorry,” she said wrathfully.

Fleet smiled. “No. I’m not sorry.” Her expression eased slightly. “It was nice,” he added.

“Nice? Nice!” Clara took a deep breath.

He could see the hurt in her eyes. Nice was so bland a word for what had happened between them. Devil take it, how could he be making such a hash of this? He was supposed to be a man of the world. The trouble was that he was accustomed to dealing with women of the world, not inexperienced young ladies. He felt woefully out of his depth.

“Then I wish you a nice Christmas, your grace,” she said, spun on her heel and walked briskly away.

SHE HAD BEEN KISSED for the first time. Thoroughly, expertly, ruthlessly kissed by a man who was a thorough, ruthless expert. She knew she should feel shocked or offended or both. The trouble was, it had been wonderful.

Clara curled up on her bedroom window seat and watched the snow falling. The clouds were breaking now, shreds of moonlight showing in the blackness, glittering on the white branches of the trees as the tiny flakes fell softly then finally ceased. It was very late and the city was quiet. Clara leaned her head against the cold pane and thought of Sebastian Fleet.

She supposed she had been in love with him from the start. The realization did not excuse her behavior but it certainly explained it. She should have slapped his face. Instead she had pulled him closer with a hunger that had startled her as much as it had no doubt astounded him. The experience had been like feast after famine, joy after long nights of loneliness.

She sighed, wrapping her arms about her knees and curling up tighter still. When he let her go she had realized what had been an earth-shattering experience for her was for him no more than a pleasant encounter with a pretty girl. The vast gap between the two of them—the experienced rake and the never-been-kissed debutante—had never seemed starker.

Now was the moment to accept the truth and relinquish her fantasy.

Sebastian Fleet would never love her as she loved him.

As she wanted to be loved.

As she deserved to be loved.

She pressed her fingertips to the cold glass. Outside the night was beautiful but frozen. The trees were still as statues. Above the trees swung a little star, glittering in the deep dark of the night, sometimes obscured by the scurrying clouds, sometimes shining bright, growing in strength.

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