The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,60
him that stated very clearly she thought he should remain in the library conserving his strength while she did the honors, Ryder walked out to the front hall to farewell his Cynster guests. The ladies went ahead while Vane and Gabriel followed, leaving Devil and Ryder strolling more slowly in the rear.
Grasping the moment of relative privacy, Ryder murmured, “I’m rather surprised you’ve all taken this so . . . amicably, shall we say? I was anticipating a somewhat more hostile reception.”
His gaze fixed on those ahead, Devil fleetingly grinned—a flash of white teeth in his harsh-featured face. “Ah, but you are who, and what, you are, and given we know Mary rather better than you, we can appreciate just how much you deserve her.”
Ryder blinked. “That doesn’t sound comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to.” Devil’s grin returned. “Let’s just say all the Cynster males are distinctly grateful to you for volunteering to take her off our hands—the headache of dealing with her is now officially yours.”
Ryder pondered that, and the light it cast on his soon to be formally betrothed, but when, turning from waving her relatives off, allowing Pemberly to shut the front door, she immediately glided to his side, exasperated anxiety in her blue eyes, he smiled and decided that her challenge was one he was looking forward to meeting.
“You must be flagging,” she nagged.
Immediately seeing the possibilities, he reached a hand to the top of the hall table, as if bracing his weight, and lightly shrugged. “Perhaps a little.”
She made a disgusted sound. “Men—you’re all alike. Would it actually hurt to admit you’re in less than tip-top condition?”
Keeping his expression bland, he pointed to the hall stand. “Perhaps if I had my cane?”
She fetched it. “You should be using it all the time—at least until you’re back to full strength.”
Leaning on the cane, he took an awkward shuffling step.
Making another of her disapproving sounds, she swooped closer. “Here—let me help.” Grabbing his free arm, she draped it over her slender shoulders.
Ryder smothered a triumphant grin. Because he was so much taller—the top of her head barely reached his shoulder—the only way she could assist him was to brace his body with hers. Which she promptly did.
“Thank you,” he murmured. Letting her press as close as she wished, he allowed her to steer him across the hall and on down the corridor.
The feel of her against him—the svelte but definite curves pressing against the side of his chest, her feminine warmth seeping temptingly through the layers of fabric separating their skins, the pressure of her small hands on his chest and back—stirred him to an uncomfortable degree, but as they made their slow way back into the library, he decided this much nearness was worth every second of the resulting discomfort.
Especially as it gave him the chance, once they’d reached the middle of the library and Pemberly had shut the door behind them, to halt, shake loose the light hold she had on his arm, and slide it around her—and then he was holding her.
Wide cornflower-blue eyes stared up at him, her wits—if he was any judge—momentarily suspended. He seized the moment to indulge his senses, but the instant her lips started to firm and her eyes started to narrow, he said, “I haven’t yet thanked you for saving my life.”
Her eyes stopped narrowing, but the expression in them declared she didn’t intend to allow him the upper hand. “I’m still considering what I should claim as my reward.”
“Indeed. You must tell me when you’ve decided. For now, however, I thought I should start paying my dues . . . like this.” Eyes locked with hers, leaving his cane resting against his thigh, he raised his hand, tipped up her chin, and slowly, giving her plenty of time to anticipate the moment, lowered his head and, very gently, kissed her.
The first touch of his lips on hers . . .
Mary felt a shivery tremor slide deep, to her marrow. A tantalizingly delicate caress—more promise than substance, more lure than bait; he supped while she savored, and promptly wanted more.
Both of them wanted more. Without direction, she parted her lips, thrilled to her core when he angled his head and immediately accepted her invitation.
His lips firmed on hers, pressure and heat, veiled hunger and even more heavily screened desire—both were there. She unfurled and reached for him; even though all she did was lean more definitely into the kiss, that’s what it felt like, a physical unfolding and stretching.