Ask For It - Sylvia Day Page 0,2
arms, and lowering his mouth to hers. He knew already that her lips, so erotic in their shape and plumpness, would melt into his. He wanted to trail his mouth down the slim column of her throat and lick along the ridge of her collarbone. He wanted to sink into her lush body and sate his driving hunger, a hunger that had become so powerful he was very nearly mad with it.
He’d once wanted everything—her smiles, her laughter, the sound of her voice, and the view of the world through her eyes. Now his need was baser. Marcus refused to allow it to be more than that. He wanted his life back, the life free of pain, anger, and sleepless nights. Elizabeth had taken it away and she could damn well give it back.
His jaw clenched. It was time to close the distance between them.
One look had shaken his control. What would it be like when he held her in his arms again?
Elizabeth, Viscountess Hawthorne, stood for a long moment in shock, heat spreading across her cheeks.
Her gaze had locked on the man on the staircase for only a moment and yet during that brief time her heart had increased its rhythm to an alarming pace. She was held motionless, arrested by the masculine beauty of his face, a face which had clearly shown pleasure at seeing her again. Startled and disturbed by her reaction to him after all these years, she had forced herself to cut him, to look away with haughty disregard.
Marcus, now the Earl of Westfield, was still magnificent. He remained the handsomest man she had ever encountered. When his gaze met hers, she felt the spark that passed between them as if it were a tangible force. An intense attraction had always existed between them. She was profoundly disturbed to discover it had not abated in the slightest.
After what he’d done, he should repulse her.
Elizabeth felt a hand at her elbow, jolting her back into the conversation. She turned to find George Stanton at her side, his concerned gaze searching her face. “Are you feeling unwell? You look a bit flushed.”
She fluffed the lace at the end of her sleeve to hide her unease. “It is warm in here.” Snapping her fan open, she waved it rapidly to cool her hot cheeks.
“I think a beverage is in order,” George offered and she rewarded his thoughtfulness with a smile.
Once George had departed, Elizabeth directed her attention toward the group of gentlemen who surrounded her. “What were we discussing?” she asked no one in particular. Truthfully, she hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation for most of the past hour.
Thomas Fowler replied. “We were discussing the Earl of Westfield.” He gestured discreetly to Marcus. “Surprised to see him in attendance. The earl is notorious for his aversion to social events.”
“Indeed.” She feigned indifference while her palms grew damp within her gloves. “I had hoped that predilection of the earl’s would hold true this evening, but it appears I am not so fortunate.”
Thomas shifted, his countenance revealing his discomfort. “My apologies, Lady Hawthorne. I had forgotten your past association with Lord Westfield.”
She laughed softly. “No need for apologies. Truly, you have my heartfelt appreciation. I’m certain you are the only person in London who has the sense to forget. Pay him no mind, Mr. Fowler. The earl was of little consequence to me then, and is of even less consequence now.”
Elizabeth smiled as George returned with her drink and his eyes sparkled with pleasure at her regard.
As the conversation around her continued, Elizabeth slowly altered her position to better secure furtive glimpses of Marcus navigating the clogged staircase. It was obvious his libidinous reputation had not affected his power and influence. Even in a crowd, his presence was compelling. Several highly esteemed gentlemen hurried to greet him rather than wait for him to descend to the ballroom floor. Women, dressed in a dazzling array of colors and frothy with lace, glided surreptitiously toward the staircase. The influx of admirers moving in his direction shifted the balance of the entire room. To his credit, Marcus looked mostly indifferent to all of the fawning directed toward him.
As he made his way down to the ballroom, he moved with the casual arrogance of a man who always obtained precisely what he desired. The crowd around him attempted to pin him in place, but Marcus cut through it with ease. He attended intently to some, offhandedly to others, and to a few he