He caught her gaze. “I’m in deadly earnest.”
Her eyes flared, then her lids fell as he lowered his head the last inch, and kissed her.
Pressed his lips to hers, fully expecting some degree of chilly resis-tance, fully prepared to overcome it, overwhelm it. Instead… while she certainly froze, and didn’t respond, there was no resistance in her either.
Nothing to overcome, to overwhelm, to sweep away.
No attempt to hold aloof, much less break away.
No icy, haughty chill. Nothing. Simply nothing.
Caution whispered through his mind, laid a restraining hand on his intentions. Puzzled, he moved his lips gently, teasingly, over hers, trying through that simple touch to gauge, to sense her feelings. Instinct directed him to keep his hands locked at her waist, at least until he understood her, and her unexpected, elusive response.
It came eventually, so hesitant and uncertain he nearly drew back—just to check that this was Caro. Caro—the confidently assured ambassador’s wife of more than a decade’s standing.
The woman in his arms… if he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn she’d never been kissed. He kept the caress light, lips skating, brushing, beckoning… it was like breathing life into a statue.
She was cool, but not cold, as if waiting for warmth to find her and bring her to life. The fact focused him as nothing else could have— certainly as no other woman ever had; what he was discovering through the kiss, through the slow gradual warming of her lips, all he learned from exploring their rosebud softness, all he suddenly realized from the tentative pressure she eventually returned, was so utterly out of kilter with what he’d expected—with what any man might have expected— she seized and fixed his attention completely.
After that first, brief, uncertain response, she stopped—waited. He realized she was waiting for him to break the kiss, raise his head, and let her go. He debated for a heartbeat, then, moving slowly, angled his head and increased the pressure of his lips on hers. If he let her go too soon… he was politician enough to see the danger.
So he teased and cajoled, used every wile he possessed to draw a response again from her. Her hands shifted, restless, on his chest, then she gripped his lapels and abruptly kissed him back, more firmly, more definitely. A real kiss.
Got you.
He swooped and returned the caress, quickly engaged her in a real exchange—kiss for kiss, sliding, tempting pressure for pressure. While she was distracted, he eased his fingers, and slowly slid his hands around, loosely—carefully—taking her in his arms. He wanted her there, secure, before he let her escape from the kiss.
Caro’s head was starting to swim. Quite how she’d got trapped into this strange kissing game she didn’t know. She couldn’t kiss—she was perfectly aware of that—yet here she was, leaning against his chest, her lips beneath his… kissing him.
She should stop. Some panicky little voice kept telling her she should, that she’d regret it if she didn’t, yet she’d never been kissed like this before—so gently, so… temptingly, as if her response was something he actually wanted.
It was strange. Of the others who’d pursued her, few had ever got close enough to steal a kiss. The handful that had had wanted to devour her; her revulsion had been immediate and ingrained—she’d never questioned it, never felt the need to.
Yet now, here, in the safety of her childhood home with Michael… was it simply that combination of the familiar that had failed to trigger her usual reaction, that instead had left her open to…
This strange and intoxicating exchange.
This tempting and beguiling exchange.
Just how tempting, how intoxicating, how thoroughly beguiling she learned a moment later, when fraction by fraction he slowly drew back, until their lips parted and he lifted his head. Not far, just an inch or so; enough for her to raise her lids and look into the bright blue of his eyes half hidden behind the tracery of his lashes. Just enough for her to draw in a quick breath, and realize his arms were around her—not crushing her or mauling her, yet trapping her all the same.
Enough for her to experience a rush of pure impulse—crazy and thrilling and wholly wanton—that had her pressing closer, stretching up, and touching her lips once again to his.
In the instant she did, she sensed his pleasure. A definite masculine gloat that he’d tempted her so far.
What was she doing?
Before she could pull back, he tightened his arms about her, held her close as he took over, and kissed her again.
Slow, easy, a warm and confident caress. His tongue touched her lips, traced, tantalized… she parted them, tentatively, curious… not even truly sure it was by her own will and not his.
His tongue traced the soft inner faces of her lips, not so much bold as assured, certain. Then he probed further, found her tongue and stroked, caressed…
Warmth seeped through her, unraveling her tensed nerves, soothing and smoothing away her hesitations, her uncertainties, her fears…
Michael felt her relax, felt the last of her coldness melt away. Grappled with his desire to take more, to press further, to claim, caged it so artfully she wouldn’t know it was there. Regardless of how experienced his rational mind told him she had to be, his instincts knew better than to scare her—to at this stage give her any excuse to flee.
It was he who called an end to the engagement; he was gratified that that was so—she was so caught, now so involved in the pleasurable exchange that returning to the real world—the world in which she was the virtuous Merry Widow—had temporarily lost all appeal.
Drawing back, feeling their lips part, hearing the soft exhalation she gave as they did, he had to fight to hide his triumph.
He let her ease back, steadied her within his arms until she was firm on her feet. She blinked and her eyes met his. A frown came to life, slowly grew until it shadowed the silvery depths of her gaze.
Then she blushed, glanced away and stepped back—remembered she couldn’t and stepped to the side. He let his arms fall, turned with her, trying to read her face, wanting to know…
Caro sensed his gaze, forced herself to halt, draw in a huge breath, and meet it. She frowned, warningly, at him. “So now you know.”
He blinked. A second passed. “Know what?”
Looking ahead, nose in the air, she headed for the summerhouse’s door. “That I can’t kiss.” It was imperative she bring this interlude to a rapid end.
Naturally, he kept pace, falling in, strolling easily beside her. “So what was it we were doing just now?”
He sounded faintly puzzled, also faintly amused.
“By your standards, not a lot, I imagine. I don’t know how to kiss.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m no good at it.”
They descended the steps and set off across the lawn. Head up, she walked as fast as she reasonably could. “I daresay Geoffrey will be back by now—”
“Caro.”
The single word held a wealth of, not just feeling, but beguiling promise.
Her heart leapt to her throat; determinedly, she swallowed it. The rnan was a consummate politician—she shouldn’t forget that. Please—spare me your sympathy.“
“No.”
She halted, turned to stare at him. “What?”
He met her eyes. “No, I won’t spare you—I fully intend to teach you. His lips curved; his gaze dropped to hers. ”You’re perfectly teachable, you know.“
No, I’m not, and anyway…“ Anyway what?
“Never mind.”
He laughed. “But I do mind. And I am going to teach you. To kiss, and more.”
She humphed, shot him another, more dire, warning glance, and walked on even faster. Muttered beneath her breath. “Damn presumptuous male.”
“What was that?” He strolled patiently beside her.
“I told you—never mind.”
On reaching the house, she discovered Geoffrey had just returned; with immense relief, she all but bundled Michael into his presence and escaped.