Page 78 of Rules for Ruin

There was no question which half would prevail.

His expression became dangerously intent. No longer pale as ice, his blue eyes burned with an unmistakable fire. Still holding her chin in his grasp, he bent his head and kissed her.

Effie’s eyes closed as his mouth claimed hers. The last time they had kissed, she’d been overcome by sheer panic on the terrace. This time was different. Despite the terrible events that had preceded him taking her into his arms, she was in full possession of her wits.

Or as much in possession as she could be, given the circumstances.

She was alone with him in the darkened woods, far from the interference of chaperones or well-intentioned companions. He’d brought her here himself. Stolen her away to protect her from harm, just like some hero in a fairy tale.

Or possibly the villain.

Her unruly heart made no distinction. It threatened to leap straight out of her chest. She sensed the ragged grip he had on his control. Could taste his desire for her. It was there, in his touch and in his breath. A fierce, wild thing—ungovernable, unstoppable.

Her lips yielded eagerly to his. This was no time for calculated coquetry. Not after what they’d shared this evening. Indeed, the tragedy seemed to unleash something in them both, making them reckless, desperate.

How else to explain her feelings? She wanted him. Not just him holding her and resting his cheek against her hair. Not even him calling her love, or sweetheart, or darling—though her heart had marked every endearment. She wanted him. And why shouldn’t she have what she wanted for once? Why shouldn’t they both have it? Life was woefully short. It could all end in an instant.

He released her chin. His large hand curved around the back of her neck. His mouth was hot on hers, his kiss almost bruising.

Effie felt it everywhere, igniting her blood and turning her limbs to melted treacle.

She had read about kisses like these in novels. The sort of desperate, all-consuming kisses that made respectable young ladies shed their inhibitions and rush wantonly to their own ruination. But Effie wasn’t one of those passive, proper damsels. Despite her inexperience, despite the effect of his sinful mouth on her heart, her head, and even her knees, she had a keen sense of her own power in their embrace.

Leaning into him, she kissed him back as passionately as he kissed her.

The remaining thread of Gabriel’s control snapped in spectacular fashion. A tremor went through him. He took her mouth harder, held her tighter, lost whatever semblance he’d had of strategy or finesse.

Effie gave herself over to the tender assault. This was exactly what she needed; this scorching, possessive heat. She yearned to be consumed by it. To let it burn, unfettered, until all the wrongness in her world had been extinguished by the rightness of whatever this was between them.

It was a hazardous alchemy. Ladies were taught to abhor a loss of control. Excess passion, they were told, was undignified and unseemly. But there was nothing insulting or undignified in Gabriel’s embrace. They had found each other; that’s all that mattered.

For the first time in memory, the loneliness Effie had always felt subsided. It was replaced by something else—deep, elemental, powerful.

Gabriel must have felt it, too. “What have you done to me?” His voice was a husky, baffled rasp against her mouth.

“I?” She slid her fingers in his hair, wishing she could feel the thick locks between her fingers. There was already so much between them. She couldn’t tolerate anything more. “Drat these gloves,” she muttered.

He chuckled. The sound turned into a low groan as she deepened their kiss. “Effie—”

“It wasn’t a game,” she said.

His breath came hard. “What?”

“Inviting you here. I wanted to see you again so much.” Her half-parted lips clung sweetly to his. “Though if you ask me tomorrow, I shall deny it.”

He pulled back a fraction to meet her gaze. The expression in his eyes was strangely serious, oddly vulnerable. “I wanted to see you, too,” he admitted. “Since the night we met…not a day has passed that I haven’t thought of you.”

Effie’s heart clenched. She smoothed the hair at his nape. “Not all happy thoughts, I’d wager.”

“Have your thoughts about me all been happy ones, then?”

“Bewildered ones. I don’t know quite what to do with you.”

“I have a few ideas.” He kissed her again.

She sighed against his mouth, returning his kiss. For a moment, she lost herself in the searing honeyed heat of it. The first real intimacy they’d exchanged, their defenses down, and their longing for each other partially laid bare. He’d been thinking of her every day. He’d been wanting her, too. The knowledge had the power to strip away the last of her inhibitions.

But even in the aching midst of it, there in his arms, her breath mingling with his, Effie retained a particle of awareness. All women must do so. Like it or not, in this world, a lady’s reputation was currency. Once lost, there was little that could be done to redeem it.