His hand rose to touch the nape of her neck. “Your hair is the vibrant color of flame. I wondered. It looked darker-almost auburn-when it was wet.”
Feeling unsettled, Brynn held herself rigidly. She didn’t care for what his featherlight touch on her skin was doing to her senses.
“I liked it better down, though.” His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “I would like even more to see it flowing over my pillow.”
Vexed by the seductive note in his voice and what she saw as a deliberate attempt to taunt her, Brynn shot up from the settee and turned to face him. “I will not allow you to trifle with me, Lord Wycliff.”
His eyes had darkened slumberously. “I assure you I am not trifling, siren. I am merely being honest. I want you in my bed, I fully admit it. I would hardly be a man if I didn’t.”
Brynn pursed her lips impatiently while she hugged her book to her chest. “I don’t doubt you want me. It is a very common sentiment. But there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for your lustful urges.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I am cursed.”
“Indeed?” The word held a wealth of skepticism.
“It is quite true. Ask anyone in these parts and they will confirm it. One of my ancestors was a legendary beauty who stole a Gypsy woman’s lover. In revenge the Gypsy put a curse on her. Her female descendants are doomed to have remarkable allure and the power to enchant men, but if they dare give their hearts, their love is fated to end tragically with the death of their beloved.”
“And you believe in this… curse?”
“Completely,” she replied with all seriousness. “There have been too many inexplicable incidents to believe otherwise. Nearly every generation of women in my family has experienced a tragedy in love.”
“ Including you?”
An arrow of pain lashed through Brynn at the memory. “My first suitor died when I was sixteen, drowned at sea. I am surprised no one warned you about me,” she added, unable to quell a hint of bitterness.
His doubtful expression never wavered, and Brynn felt a surge of frustration. “You needn’t take my word for it. Everyone here knows of the danger we present. It is indisputable that we cast spells over men. We attract them in droves.”
“Droves?” Wycliff’s amusement was edged with cynicism, or perhaps his disdain was merely the result of a natural sense of arrogance bred into him. “Let me see if I comprehend you correctly. Because of a Gypsy curse, I am likely to first lose my head over you, and then my life?”
“Not your life. Not unless I came to love you. But it is certain you wouldn’t be able to resist me.”
A warm, intimate smile touched his chiseled mouth. “You realize, of course, that you are disparaging my powers of control.”
Brynn’s fingers clenched around her book. “I can understand why you would be skeptical, but I assure you, it would be foolish of you not to take the curse seriously.”
“I think you will have to prove it.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Prove it?”
“Yes. We should put this claim of yours to the test.”
“And just how do you propose we do that?”
“Kiss me.”
Brynn stared at him. “You are jesting, of course.”
“Not at all.”
“I should think the last time we kissed would have been proof enough. You must remember how it ended when you-”
“I remember quite well,” he said dryly. “You tried to unman me.”
“Only,” Brynn returned, flushing, “because I was forced to save myself from your overamorous attentions. Admit it, my lord, you refused to release me because you became carried away.”
“I think I can manage to curb myself this time. Put your book down and come here, love.”
When she remained immobile, Wycliff lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “Would you care for your acquaintances to hear how I found you at the cove, Miss Caldwell? Your brothers, perhaps? I doubt they would countenance your parading around in a state of near undress.”
Her eyes narrowed in disbelief, then in anger. “That is extortion.”
“I consider it merely leverage.”
“Why? For revenge?” Her expression turned scornful. “Because I dared to resist you? Because I failed to fall at your feet in a swoon?”
A half smile claimed the corner of his mouth. “I admit you bestowed an incalculable blow to my male esteem, but no, I am not seeking revenge. I am merely interested in conducting an experiment. You’ve aroused my curiosity with this talk of curses.”
She stood there defiantly, regarding him in frustration. Wycliff merely waited patiently with the sort of supreme confidence that set her teeth on edge.
Finally, however, when she refused to do his bidding, his expression changed; his mouth curved in a smile that was slow and tender and all enveloping.
Brynn could well understand why so many women had been seduced by him. His smile held a wickedly irresistible appeal. That, along with his raw magnetism and devastating charm, was a potent force indeed.
Against her will, she felt herself being drawn to him. And she had little doubt that he was ruthless enough to make trouble for her if she failed to do his bidding.
Capitulating with a silent oath, Brynn returned to sit beside him on the settee, yet she kept her spine rigid and refused to look at him. “I should think a rake of your legendary skill would be able to find more willing females,” she grumbled, “instead of trying to ravish me at every turn.”
His soft laugh was a velvet rasp. “I hate to disappoint you, darling, but this is not ravishment. Only a kiss.”
Only a kiss, Brynn thought wildly. Then why was her pulse so erratic?
Her senses assailed by his nearness, she focused all her effort on resistance, summoning every ounce of willpower she possessed. The earl had leaned toward her, his lips nuzzling her neck… her earlobe.
“So sweet,” he murmured. “As delicate as spun sugar.”
“Will you please simply be done with it?” Brynn said through clenched teeth.
His long fingers came to cradle her cheek as he turned her face toward his. “You will have to unlock your jaw first,” he murmured softly, a sensual undertone of laughter in his voice. “How can we test your claim if you won’t participate?”
“I have no need to test my claim. I don’t consider it in dispute. And I don’t wish to kiss you.”
“Then simply humor me. Part your lips, treasure, and let me taste you.”
“I really do not want-” Her protest was cut off by the soft, erotic pressure of his mouth. It touched hers lightly, brushing across her flesh like silken warmth.
She murmured another protest, yet the feelings that rose in her put the lie to her words as his kiss deepened. His fingers drifted over her face and throat, making her quiver, making her breasts feel heated and full. At the glide of his tongue within her mouth, a sigh of surrender whispered from her throat.
He thrust deeper and sent a shocking surge of fire curling hotly inside her. Brynn felt herself weakening, yielding to him. Helplessly she lifted her arms to slide her fingers in his hair. It was soft and satiny and as sensually arousing as his kiss.
She gave him no resistance when he drew her to him. Her senses burned. She was melting against him. He sucked at her tongue until she whimpered a breathy sound of capitulation. Then he eased back on the couch, pulling her with him.
Desire, wild and irrational, lanced through her trembling body as she found herself draped over him. She could feel him beneath her, the warmth of lithe muscles, the supple play of hard masculine flesh. An intense yearning flooded her, as if she were the one caught in the Gypsy’s spell…
She gave a strangled moan against his tender mouth. This was wrong. Her hand came up between them, pressing against his chest. She should not, could not let this happen. Yet it was all she could do to push him away.
Summoning all her strength, Brynn sat up with a jerky motion. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her head swimming, yet Wycliff didn’t appear to be nearly as affected as she was.