Page 25 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

She could not help but think of that kiss. Perhaps there was a charm for that. Something to help her compartmentalize it. “I’m perfectly well, Lord Coventry.”

He continued to study her cut as though it were a spell in an ancient language. His spectacles were no shield against the intensity of his eyes. She had thought them whiskey colored before, but they seemed lighter now, nearly amber. “I need to know who did this to you.”

“I really couldn’t say. A crow? A dog? A rosebush?” A hedgehog? A tree branch? An ogre? Honestly, the possibilities were nearly endless. But the ogre seemed the most likely culprit. Not that she would tell Aidan that.

He glanced down the alley, shifting to shield her from even the most accidental of glances, although no one was looking at them. The only people who tended to linger in the alleys of the University were overworked students trying to remember why they had decided studying here was such a good idea. The corners were littered with torn-up lecture notes, the ends of cheroots, broken quills, burned anise seed pods for help with concentration. “It’s not safe,” Aidan insisted through his teeth.

She nearly laughed. Being led into an alley by an earl with a solemn brow and spectacles was the safest thing she had done thus far, and possibly in her entire life.

Except…

He stepped closer, jaw clenching as though he were in pain. The warm stones of the wall behind her were suddenly pressing into her back. She could only stare at him, at the flecks of gold in his irises. He bent his head toward her, looking every inch a man about to kiss her so thoroughly that she might not recover.

Except that he didn’t.

He drew his nose along her throat, up to the spot under her earlobe, inhaling deeply. His lips were soft, dragging against her skin, teeth barely grazing, just a suggestion. She struggled not to whimper. Who would have guessed her neck could be so sensitive? Or that the sound of a single, ragged breath in her ear would set her on fire? She felt the waves of anticipation all the way down to her toes. Her thigh muscles fluttered. Something deep in her belly went warm and liquid.

And then he bit down, gently, inexorably. She jerked in his grasp, that heat kindling in her core so deeply that she was embarrassingly close to climaxing with her back against the wall and nothing but the scrape of teeth. Not even a kiss, or a single filthy promise whispered in her ear.

Just this moment. Charged, confusing. Electric.

And then over nearly as soon as it had begun.

“I beg your pardon,” he said hoarsely. His jaw clenched again, and she had the impression of flashing teeth even though he did not open his mouth. His muscles shifted under his warm skin in a manner that suggested pain.

And then he was gone.

She nearly clutched at him to keep him close, to demand more.

Clearly the night spent running through the rain and stealing family heirlooms had taken more of a toll on her than she had assumed. Being curious about him against her will was not the same as letting a man bite you. Or grabbing an earl because you very much wanted to bite him right back, thank you very much.

Even if he inhaled you like you were air and he was drowning.

She reached up to touch the tender spot. He had not broken the skin.

Even if he had bitten you.

Just a little.

Even if you had liked it.

More than a little.