Page 27 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

Darcy swallowed, her throat tightening despite her resolve. “I want to know what it feels like,” she said at last, her voice softening despite herself, “to feel the press of another’s lips against mine.”

“Very well.” His gaze gleamed with provocative anticipation. “Then let me teach you.”

“Are you so willing to sacrifice yourself to my education in such matters?” she asked, a note of dry humor threading her voice.

“I am renowned for generosity and gentlemanly gallantry,” he returned smoothly. “How could I abandon a lady in such urgent need of instruction?”

He reached out with deliberate care, pausing long enough for her to refuse, then lifted one hand to her cheek. Darcy stilled, a flicker of surprise moving through her. His touch was warm, the brush of his thumb unexpectedly gentle as it traced the edge of her mask.

“My lord,” she breathed.

“Considering we are about to become kissing friends,” he murmured, “you must call me Sebastian.”

“Is that a species of friendship you have only just invented?”

“Only for ladies in urgent need of instruction.”

A soft, incredulous laugh escaped her. “I would not presume any sort of friendship between us, my lord.”

“That is only because,” he said, his gaze lingering upon her mouth, “you are wholly unacquainted with the wicked satisfaction that may exist between friends.”

His thumb shifted ever so slightly against her skin, a subtle reminder of his touch against her flesh.

“Particularly,” he added, more softly still, “the kissing sort.”

Sebastian.

His name moved quietly through her mind, though she did not dare speak it aloud. Darcy was bemused by the way he made her feel, as though she longed to know him in every particular despite knowing he was a scoundrel devoted to carnality.

“First,” he murmured, his voice now no more than a whisper between them, “there is the kiss of comfort.”

Sebastian did not rush her. He did not claim her mouth at once. Instead, he bent slowly, granting her every opportunity to turn away. A tremor moved through Darcy, sharp and undeniable. She caught the faint, intoxicating scent of him, something warm and masculine, touched with spice and night. It seemed to wrap about her senses, drawing her in. Heat gathered between them, close enough now that Darcy could feel it against her skin, could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath.

Her heart began to pound, hard and insistent, until she was certain he must hear it

Yet she did not move. Anticipation coiled low in her belly, tight and unfamiliar, threaded with something that quickened her pulse and scattered her thoughts.

Darcy waited. Her breath trembled over parted lips as she lifted her face the slightest fraction, caught between hesitation and a quiet, undeniable wanting. His lips touched hers softly, barely more than a breath, a quiet and steady press without demand or hunger.

Darcy’s eyes fluttered closed, startled by the tenderness of the gesture. Such unexpected gentleness stole the air from her lungs, tightening her throat and bringing a sudden ache behind her closed lids. There was no urgency or consuming heat, only a soft warmth and a strange, soothing closeness that made something deep within her chest ache and ease at once. It felt as though every worry, every fear she had carried these past years, was gently lifted, replaced by the fragile illusion of warmth and safety in the soft press of his mouth against hers.

How dangerous you are, Lord Raine.

When he drew back, it was only a fraction.

“You see,” he murmured, his breath grazing her lips, “that kiss is not meant to take, only to give.”

Darcy’s fingers curled faintly at her sides. “I felt safe,” she whispered, astonished by the admission.

“That is its purpose.” His hand did not leave her face. “This,” he continued, his tone deepening slightly, “is the kiss of discovery. The first whisper of desire. Part your lips for me.”

This time, when he leaned in, his lips lingered. He neither pressed nor retreated, offering one teasing brush and then another before gliding his tongue against her bottom lip. He repeated the caress. Darcy inhaled sharply as his mouth moved against hers—slowly, exploring and testing. As if acquainting himself with the shape of her lips, the softness of them. Darcy’s heart began to race. Something unfamiliar unfurled within her, tentative yet insistent.

Heat pooled low in her belly. When his lower lip caught hers, only enough to hold and coax, a soft, startled sound escaped her.

“This,” he murmured against her mouth, “is where longing begins.”

Another low sound escaped her, and he swallowed it. Darcy swayed as her hand lifted without permission and came to rest uncertainly against his chest. Beneath her palm, she felt his solid strength and the steady beat of his heart.