13

A ll day, Elizabeth had hesitated before making the first move. Before making any move. Although Mr. Lenox appeared to enjoy her as much as she enjoyed him, thus far he had showed no hint of planning to do anything about it. If anything, every time he seemed on the verge of kissing her, he visibly collected himself and pulled back.

Shoring up defenses was her move, damn it!

If she slashed through his walls and got roundly rejected for her troubles, they would still be stuck with each other. The mortification would be extreme. But not as torturous as the unbearable wondering of where this tangible awareness and gut-wrenching anticipation between them might go if they let it run wild.

So she did the only thing a fearless warrior could do: She hung up her cane and kissed him.

He froze for only the briefest of seconds. Then he answered Elizabeth's kiss as though he'd hungered for her throughout the entire meal.

His hands skated up her sides, pulling her to him. There were half a dozen layers of clothing between them, but she knew what lay beneath his. She had seen the rock-hard slabs of his chest and counted the tiled muscles of his taut abdomen with her own eyes. She hoped to do it again. Perhaps now was a good time. She reached behind her back for her sword stick.

Before her fingers could make contact, he grabbed both of her hands and placed them around his neck.

"You think I want to touch you, tinker?" she murmured against his lips.

"I know you do," he murmured back, then captured her mouth with his.

Arrogant. She liked that.

Heat emanated from him in waves. Or perhaps that was the manifestation of her own sexual desires. Her body craved him as though kisses weren't performed only by mouths, and she could consume him with her hands, her hips, her breasts.

She pressed against him without shame or shyness. After all, it was he who had locked her arms about his neck. He wanted her close. She was happy to oblige.

His legs felt as thickly muscled as his torso. Happily, there were far fewer layers of clothing between his thighs and hers. A light spring gown over a whisper-thin chemise on her end, and on his, skintight pantaloons that left no doubt as to what his strong legs might feel like, tangled up with hers.

Forget cutting open his clothes. She was going to use her sword stick to knock the remaining supper items off the table and see what kind of trouble they could get into right here in the dining room. Normally she preferred a soft mattress, or at least a few pillows, but she saw no reason why she couldn't recline on a linen tablecloth, just this once.

His kisses were ravenous, his tongue demanding. Yet his hands cupped her face as though she were precious. A dish to be savored, not devoured whole… if only he could maintain the self-control required.

Elizabeth had never put much stock in self-control. She'd always believed she would have made a formidable pirate, what with her love of pillaging and plunder. But it turned out, being the one pillaged was every bit as much fun. She welcomed his plundering. Reveled in it. Rubbed herself against him to keep it coming.

After all, he was not really conquering her. She was an unconquerable bulwark, allowing him across the threshold because this sensual onslaught pleased her. Her walls were on the inside, guarding not her body but her heart. The one treasure she would allow no one to touch.

Pleasures of the flesh were so much simpler. There was nothing complicated at all about the ways two bodies could fit together. First there was need, then release. She liked drawing it out, making the battle last longer so that the surrender was sweeter. She also liked rushing in, no holds barred, barreling straight toward the goal.

But she was getting ahead of herself. This was just a kiss, nothing more. They could both walk away, unscathed, whenever they pleased.

She was sure of it.