Scandal At The Christmas Ball. Marguerite Kaye
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Название: Scandal At The Christmas Ball
Автор: Marguerite Kaye
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
Серия: Mills & Boon Historical
isbn: 9781474054263
isbn:
‘I’m thinking no such thing.’
‘What is it then, that’s going on behind those big brown eyes of yours? Though they’re not actually brown.’ He trailed his fingers down her cheek to tangle in her hair, caught up loosely at the nape of her neck. ‘They’ve a sort of golden light to them, did you know that?’
‘No.’
She was staring, as one mesmerised, into his eyes. Was he imagining the passion smouldering there? ‘And your hair,’ Drummond said, gently easing her closer, sliding his arm around her waist. ‘I thought that was brown too, when I saw you first, hiding yourself away in the gloom, but brown is far too dull a colour to describe it. Chestnut maybe, or chocolate.’
Her laugh sounded breathy. ‘One cannot describe hair as chocolate.’
‘Yet it is permissible to describe lips as cherries?’
She shivered as he caressed the back of her neck with his thumb, and her shiver set his pulses racing. ‘Ridiculous,’ Joanna said, twining her arm around his neck, closing the gap between them, her skirts brushing his legs.
‘You’re right,’ Drummond said softly. ‘Not cherries, but rose petals.’ His lips touched hers. ‘Soft pink, warmed by the sun, with a promise...’ He groaned, pulling her tight up against him. ‘With a promise I cannot resist.’
This kiss was just as delightful as the first one, only more so, for their mouths moulded to each other without hesitation. Not a tasting kiss, but something more raw, more sensual. He closed his eyes, a frisson of desire shooting through him as the tip of his tongue touched hers, and angled his head to deepen the kiss. With a soft moan, she leaned into him, her breasts brushing against his chest, sending the blood rushing to his shaft.
When they broke apart they stared at each other, eyes clouded, cheeks flushed, lips parted, astonished by the passion which had swept them up. From the ballroom, he could hear the Duke ordering the servants to dim the lights. ‘Would you like to play with fire?’
‘I thought we just had.’
He laughed. ‘That is not what I meant. Come with me.’
Drummond opened the door, edging them both through the darkness to the crowd gathered by the flaming bowl of hot punch and raisins. He eased them to the front. ‘Do you trust me?’
Joanna eyed the flaming bowl. ‘Implicitly.’
‘Good.’ In the crush, no one noticed that he slid one hand around her waist, that she pressed herself back into his embrace, that he pressed his lips fleetingly to the delicate skin at the nape of her neck. ‘Now take off your glove, and do exactly as I say, and I’ll show you that it’s possible to play with fire, without getting your fingers burnt.’
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