Kisses and Scandal (A Survivors Series Anthology ) - Shana Galen Page 0,3

For an instant he wanted nothing more than to take her away right that moment, but he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t ruin her life. She’d end up hating him for it, and he’d hate himself.

Christ Jaysus. When had he become so fecking noble? It was like a disease he caught when he was near her.

She was still looking at him with hope in her eyes. He shook his head. “Ye were born the daughter of a duke, and I won’t be the man who’s responsible for making ye starve. As much as I want to”—and Jaysus did he want to—“I won’t run away with ye.”

The hope in her eyes faded, replaced with an expression he found more concerning—determination. Her eyes could turn from the soft blue of the summer sky to the hard blue of sapphires in a matter of seconds. The sapphires glittered at him now.

“I wonder if I can change your mind,” she said. He looked down and saw she’d drawn off her gloves, revealing long-fingered white hands that were as soft as clouds.

“Sure and ye can try, but I care too much for ye to do as ye ask.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. Now that he’d refused her outright, she’d probably storm out, angry at his rejection. He’d miss these clandestine meetings, but it was for the best. He could never be the man she deserved. He wasn’t even the man she thought he was.

She reached out, but instead of slapping him, she touched his cheek. The feel of her fingers stroking his skin from cheek to jaw made him freeze, even while his flesh heated where her fingers stroked.

“I love the feel of you under my fingertips,” she murmured. “Your beard is rough.”

“I shaved early this morning,” he corrected. Footmen were clean-shaven, forcing him to shave twice some days. He’d always had thick dark hair that grew quickly. Mrs. Johnson, the housekeeper, trimmed his unruly hair every fortnight.

“And yet, it scratches the pads of my fingers. I wonder...” She leaned closer, and James frowned. He should stand up, move away, but he didn’t so much as breathe as she pressed close, sliding the skin of her soft cheek against his coarse jaw.

“Phil,” he murmured, his tone a warning. He kept his hands on his knees, though they itched to take her into his arms. Her lips grazed his jaw, and he closed his eyes, willing his body to remain under control. When, after a long, teasing trail, her mouth finally reached his, she kissed him gently. Summoning all his fortitude, he kissed her back—a press of mouth to mouth. But when he pulled back, she followed.

“What are ye doing?” he asked, his brogue heavier now with the effort to contain his arousal. They’d never gone further than a quick touch of lips, and even that was dangerous to them both.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me like you want to?”

His brows shot up. “And what do ye know about what men want?”

She gave him a patronizing look. “I’ve kissed other men, you know.”

“Have ye now?” He’d never thought about her kissing any other men, but of course it made sense. She was no child, and she’d been to her share of balls and assemblies. Of course, one of the nobs she danced with would take her behind a potted plant and kiss her. But if that was the limit of her experience, he wouldn’t expand it. “And a few kisses on the terrace make ye an expert, do they?”

“It’s more than a few, and why don’t you be the judge as to whether I’m an expert? Put your hands on me.”

His lungs hurt at the quick intake of breath. He couldn’t seem to move, so she lifted his stiff hands from where they were clamped to his knees and put them on her waist.

Jaysus but she had a small trim waist. He’d imagined it would be, but it was almost impossible to tell when she always wore gowns where the waists tucked up under her bosom. His arms remained stiff as he fought to keep from spreading his fingers or allowing his hands to drop an inch or two and explore her tempting body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her body further into contact with his. He was glad they hadn’t lit the hearth now as he was too warm. The heat of her was burning him, raising the temperature of his blood to a