Forbidden: Her British Stepbrot - Lauren Smith Page 0,3

all night.

“Oomph,” he grunted and threw his arms out, pulling her to his chest.

Kat’s head fell back as she clung to his shoulders. He was tall, deliciously so, and her head only just reached the bottom of his chin. His hair was swept back from his face, but it fell across his eyes as he stared down at her, and the light kissed the dark brown strands with a faint hint of gold. The color of his eyes was…stunning and made her almost dizzy when she stared. Like losing herself in a kaleidoscope of blue and green in endless splintering shafts.

Her knees wobbled, and she dug her hands harder into his shoulders, trying to stay on her feet.

What is wrong with me?

“Hello, darling, are you all right? Bit of a slick spot, eh?”

That rich voice, such decadent, sinful syllables uttered in that oh-so-perfect English accent, made Kat quiver inside. What was it about accents? They made a girl think strange, silly things, like asking him to talk dirty to her. Oh, the things he could say that would melt her into a puddle just like the snow at his feet. It might kill her with pleasure. The thought was so unlike her that she blinked. There was something about this man that made her want things she’d been hesitant to want before now. Like hot, sweaty sex. She was still a virgin, and yet this man was making her want to strip down naked and jump into the nearest bed with him.

“I…”

His hands were still holding her waist, his body pressed against hers. She couldn’t think; her brain short-circuited. His hands on her, so hot to the touch…They were standing so close, faces mere inches apart, and the world around her seemed to burn with a heat along her skin. Her breath quickened.

Kat struggled to think logically, but all she could think about was how much she wanted to kiss him.

“Are you able to stand on your own?” He smiled, the single flirty twist of his lips making her knees buckle again.

What the heck? She’d never had a problem with her legs working before.

“Er…yes,” she finally managed to say.

“Good.” His hands dropped, but the movement felt reluctant. He trailed his hands down her body, the light but suggestive skimming of his palms over her waist, then her hips, sent little throbbing pulses throughout her entire body. He didn’t step away, either, but kept close to her, his eyes still fixed on her face. “I’m glad to have prevented a nasty fall.”

Before she could reply, the bartender leaned over the counter and spoke. “What can I get you?”

Mr. Tall and Sexy shifted slightly, allowing Kat to slip into the space next to him, their shoulders and arms touching as she answered.

“I’ll have a pint of Nelson’s Revenge, please.”

The stranger next to her chuckled. “Are you sure about that?” he asked. “That’s a stiff drink and likely to bring tears to your eyes.” There was a hint of teasing in his tone, and Kat couldn’t resist responding.

“I’m sure. Besides, I’m more likely to start crying at the sight of a butterfly than a stout ale.” She laughed, then realized what’d she said and blushed.

The man angled his body toward her, propping one arm on the counter as he stared down at her.

“Butterflies make you cry? What on earth for? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of them.” Humor heated those blue-green eyes of his, and she felt an answering heat sweep through her body.

“I…well, it’s silly really…” She hedged. She didn’t normally open up to people, let alone strange, beautiful men in pubs. But there was something about the way he was watching her, his intense focus on her and his interest in what she was saying, that gave her courage to continue.

“I used to live in Texas with my dad, and we saw monarch butterflies when they migrated. But now with their habitats dying out, I rarely see them. When I do get lucky and one flies past me, it’s beautiful…and sad.” She shrugged her shoulders, glancing away. “I know that sounds silly.”

“Not at all,” he murmured softly. “No sillier than how I feel when I look at stained glass windows. It’s the same for me, that mixture of melancholy and beauty. It’s not often I meet someone else who thinks about things like that.” His intense scrutiny tore her in two directions, between the need to squirm and to go very still.

The man possessed an overpowering, seductive and masculine presence. She