Page 22 of To Steal a Kiss

She frowned at him, not understanding.

“You hesitated,” he said, trailing a finger down her neck. “You don’t want to be seen with me?”

There was hurt in his voice, a surprising show of vulnerability that made tenderness swell in her chest.

“Oh, no, that’s not… not at all,” she said in a rush, horrified that he should think such a thing.

He snorted and shook his head, a darker expression flickering in his eyes now. “I’d not be surprised, I assure you. I’m not good ton.”

There was a bitter, mocking tone to the words and she felt wretched for having put it there.

She reached for his hand and pressed it to her mouth. “I don’t care for the ton’s good opinion,” she said firmly. “It’s only—”

“Tell me,” he said, removing his hand to slide it about her neck. The contact made her shiver.

“My parents,” she said with regret. “They’re the most frightful snobs.”

“Of course they are,” he said dully. “I can imagine the sight of their daughter in my arms would give them an apoplexy.”

Alice imagined he was spot on but held her tongue.

“I don’t care what they think, Nate,” she said, feeling bold and like she could do anything if a man like this believed in her. “I would love to dance with you.”

“You would?”

For a moment, Alice thought she heard doubt in his voice, but that was foolishness. She was making too much of this, of his attention. A man like Nathaniel Hunt was never anything less than confident and sure of himself. It was only silly creatures like Alice who dithered and prevaricated half their lives away before they woke up and realised what they’d missed.

“I can think of nothing I’d like more,” she said, smiling at him, and then blushing a little as she realised that wasn’t precisely true.

He chuckled and it felt like being caressed with a fur glove, the sleek touch gliding over her and making her shiver with pleasure.

“I think you’ve just thought of something else you’d like more than that dance, Miss Dowding,” he said, a teasing note to his voice.

She dared to hold his gaze. “I… I have,” she admitted, reminding herself she would speak her mind from now on.

“Shall I show you what it is?” he asked, the question low and heavy with the promise of pleasure and wickedness.

“Yes, please.”

His hands fell to her ankles, the warmth of his palms encircling them and sliding up the back of her legs.

“Tell me stop, Alice, and I’ll stop,” he said, never breaking her gaze. “Just say the word.”

Alice nodded, though she doubted her ability to breathe in the near future, let alone form actual words.

She closed her eyes as he moved closer, his hands sliding over her thighs now, pushing her dress higher and higher. Those strong hands grasped her hips and tugged her to the edge of the sideboard.

The movement forced her against him, and Alice gasped.

“Alice,” he whispered, kissing his way up her throat, as his hips pressed against her again, so close, so intimate. He pressed closer still, a slow rocking movement that chased away thought and the ability to breathe, just as she’d feared. “Alice, what have you done to me?”

She closed her eyes and surrendered to the moment, to the pleasure of his strength and his heat and his wonderful, wicked mouth as it sought hers again.

If she had a shred of sense left to her, she ought to ask him what his intentions were. Even though she already knew he wasn’t offering her anything, she should ask. Perhaps hearing the answer would wake her from this trance, this decadent dream. Only she didn’t want confirmation of that fact, not yet. She could wait a little bit longer.

Please let it last a little bit longer before the bubble bursts.

Chapter 8