Page 94 of His Wicked Charm

Lilah watched Con’s face, bright with his usual delight in something clever, and her heart rolled in her chest. He closed the lid and started to slide off the ring, but Lilah stopped him, her hand closing over the ring and his hand. “No. Don’t. It’s yours.”

“But, Lilah...”

“I want you to have it.”

“You’re giving it to me?” His face changed subtly.

She nodded, her hand dropping away. In the next moment Lilah realized how inappropriately she’d acted. A lady would never give such a gift to a gentleman who wasn’t her husband or a member of her family. Jewelry was too valuable, too personal, especially a ring, hinting as it did of commitment.

She blushed vividly. “Oh. I’m sorry. That was so forward. I shouldn’t—”

“No, you don’t.” Con tucked his hand behind his back. His eyes danced wickedly, matching his smile. “You can’t take it back now. It’s mine now, Miss Holcutt.”

“Yes, it is,” she murmured. As he was hers. Wherever he might go or whatever he might do or be, he was hers. Even if she never saw him again, Con was hers.

* * *

LILAH’S GIFT TOUCHED Con in a way he’d never felt. His chest flooded with warmth, and a host of emotions rose in him—desire, tenderness, a need to protect and shelter, all tangled together with an unaccustomed uncertainty, even trepidation.

“Lilah...” He curled his hand behind her neck and leaned closer. “Are you sure?” He wasn’t entirely certain what he was asking, knowing only that he could not make a misstep. There was so little room for error with Lilah.

“I am.” Lilah drove every thought out of his head by stretching up and nipping his lower lip.

Con groaned and kissed her, bearing her down to the floor, his mouth hard and hot on hers. His lips traveled down over her throat. Her bodice was the sort of modest dress she favored, with a high collar of lace. The faint scratch of the lace against his lips, her skin warm and soft beneath it, was intensely arousing. He lifted his head. “The door,” he managed to croak. “It’s open.”

“Well, then...” Lilah’s smile sent a shiver through him. She wriggled out from beneath him, rising to her feet and moving away. She paused and looked back at him over her shoulder, her mouth curving up playfully. “I propose we go elsewhere.”

Turning, Lilah sauntered out the door. Con stood for a moment, staring after her. Then, breaking from his paralysis, he grinned and started after her.

Lilah was standing in her open doorway when Con reached the top of the stairs, and he stopped just to look at her, to take in that smile, that hair, the long, slender figure in a prim dress that perversely increased his passion. Then in two long steps he was inside her room, closing the door behind him and twisting the key in the lock.

When he turned back around, Lilah was strolling away from him, reaching up to unpin her hair. Con leaned against the door to watch, hands thrust into his pockets as if to keep them from reaching out for her, his body outwardly relaxed and inwardly electric.

With every pin she tossed into the porcelain dish on her vanity, with every curl that slipped from its moorings and tumbled to her shoulder, the hunger in him swelled. Combing through her hair with her fingers, she looked back at him. “How are you at unfastening buttons?”

Con was across the room like a shot. “Taking things apart is one of my primary skills.”

He felt her low laugh all through him. Con gathered the bright fall of Lilah’s hair and moved it over her shoulder, letting it slide like silk through his palms. He undid her buttons slowly, letting his anticipation build.

The sides of her bodice sagged apart, and Con bent to place his lips gently on the delicate white skin revealed. He wanted to rush, to consume, to satisfy his need in a hard, bright burst of pleasure. Yet he held back, enticing them both with his slow caresses and the long, lazy journey of his lips.

“Lilah,” he whispered, sliding his hands over her body to cup her breasts as his lips roamed up her throat to tease at the cord of her neck, to nip at her earlobe.

Lilah made a breathy noise of surrender, melting back against him, and that almost undid him. Con shoved down her chemise, and the pop of the ribbon tearing loose sent a stab of lust through him. In the mirror above the vanity table, he could see his hand sliding over Lilah, and that, too, was amazingly erotic.

With infinite care, he continued to undress her. His own clothes he whipped off with considerably more haste. Slowly, languorously, they made love. Hands and lips exploring, testing. Laughter muffled against skin. Bodies moving in wordless invitation. Every breath, every moan temptation and satisfaction. At last he slid inside her, finally joining in heat and hunger, in a blinding explosion of pleasure.

Afterward, as Con held her in his arms, spent and at peace, the familiar words from the wedding ceremony drifted through his mind. With my body, I thee worship. He had never realized before how very apt that phrase was. He could, he thought, continue worshipping Lilah this way forever.

If only things were different, he would. And suddenly he wished they were away from here, living in some secluded cottage by themselves, with time stretching out in front of them. Nowhere to be, nothing to do, no catastrophes to prevent, no kidnappers, no threats. Just long lazy days spent discovering each other, talking, laughing, making love.

He let out a sigh. Maybe someday. But now they would have to catch their moments of pleasure when they could. They had to find a hidden key. They had to locate a secret room. Come up with two other keys that were or were not stolen. Renew some mystical bond with an unknown, unseen, but fiercely powerful entity. Avert catastrophe.

All by Midsummer’s Eve.

It was a good thing, Con thought, that he was an optimistic sort of man.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR