Devil's Daughter by Lisa Kleypas

Author:Lisa Kleypas
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-02-19T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The kiss was cool and wine-sweet, swiftly gaining intensity. She felt the urgent stroke of his tongue, as if he were trying to gather as much of her taste as he could before she stopped him. He gathered her closer, and she couldn’t help yielding, letting her head fall back against his supportive arm. This was the truth her body couldn’t hide—she wanted this, his hunger, his heart pounding against hers.

West’s mouth slid from hers and followed the line of her throat. Finding the throb of her pulse, he kissed and nuzzled it ardently. “You’re not a possession,” he said raggedly. “You can’t be passed from one man to another like a painting or an antique vase.”

Her voice was faint. “That’s not how it is.”

“Has he told you he wants you?”

“Not the way you mean. He . . . he’s a gentleman . . .”

“I want you with my entire body.” West dragged his mouth over hers, shaping her lips before settling in for a rough and ardent kiss. He hitched her up against him until her toes barely touched the floor. “You’re all I think about. You’re all I see. You’re the center of a star, and the force of gravity keeps pulling me closer, and I don’t give a damn that I’m about to be incinerated.” He rested his forehead against hers, panting. “That’s what he should tell you.”

Somewhere in Phoebe’s mind, there were practical thoughts, sensible words, but they were drowned in a tide of sensation as his mouth covered hers again. He kissed her with the fullness of a man’s passion, slow and relentless, consuming her as if he were fire and she were oxygen. She opened for him, clung to him, her body melting into his. She was surrounded by arms so powerful he could have crushed her. Her blood raced at a speed that made her light-headed and weakened her knees.

West lowered her to the floor, easily controlling their descent. He knelt over her, stripped off his coat and tossed it aside, and roughly unknotted his necktie. She knew she could stop him with a word, but instead she lay there trembling with anticipation for things she couldn’t even name. Reaching down, he pushed back the hem of her skirts a few inches to uncover her ankles. He removed her low-heeled slippers, his fingers curving gently beneath her heels, and then . . . he bent to press his lips over the silk of her stockings, kissing each foot in turn.

Phoebe could only stare at him, stunned by the tender, worshipful gesture.

He held her gaze, his eyes a shade of blue she’d seen only in dreams. He bent over her, the solid, exciting weight of him urging her legs apart beneath the skirts. One of his arms slid beneath her neck, and his mouth sought hers again. He was so careful, so assured, absorbed in her every response. His fingertips wandered over exposed skin wherever he could find it—her wrists, her throat, the shadowed places behind her ears.

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