Dancing With Danger (Goode Girls #3) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,17

a man twirling his partner in a waltz.

He ducked them into the alcove of a door and slanted his mouth over hers, desperate to taste her before she could take in enough breath to protest.

Chapter 5

But she didn’t.

She didn’t struggle or fight.

The first time he’d kissed her, he’d taken her by surprise. She’d been unerringly sweet and obviously untried.

And still she’d captivated and aroused him more than the most skilled of courtesans.

She was artless. Guileless. And in her presence, he was something he’d never been before.

Helpless.

She didn’t remain still or soft in his arms. She didn’t become rigid nor limp with fear nor anger.

She went wild.

Her fingers were claws in the lapels of his jacket. At the taut muscles of his back. Then suddenly scoring his scalp as she turned his impulsive seduction into a battlefield. Her lips pulled tight against her teeth. Her tongue went on the offensive, thrusting into his mouth and tangling with his.

God, he’d only meant to pilfer a sip of her. Sample her particular confection of flavor and savor it.

But she devoured him.

Raphael’s blood pounded in a deafening roar, screaming through his veins with a victorious thrill. His entire body was consumed with the taste of her, like a crisp, sparkling Alsatian summer wine, both tart and sweet, with a sultry bite.

She intoxicated him.

Her ferocity called to something inside of him.

Because he knew it for what it was. Both an attack and a defense. He’d cornered her, and so she would make certain she was in control by claiming the kiss.

And he didn’t want that.

What he wanted was her to enjoy it.

Bracketing her face with his hands, Raphael brushed tender thumbs over the downy curve of her cheekbones as he fought back the savage lust that hardened his body. He longed to take her. To possess and invade her, to thrust into her with the same abandon she showed now.

Images tormented him. Of her bent over things, tied to other things, writhing at the wickedness he could wreak upon her.

It tantalized him to the brink of madness.

And yet.

Some foreign sort of affection welled within him. While his body was hard, inside his rib cage, something loosened.

Softened.

This was not a moment to conquer.

But to seduce.

He brushed his thumbs to where their lips met, and nudged at the corner of her mouth, drawing it open and slack. He broke the seal, unhooking their tongues. Instead, he dragged his slick lips over hers in languid, gliding motions. Once. And again. Coaxing her to respond.

She reacted just how he’d hoped, her arms more embracing than clutching. Her hands kneading rather than clawing.

God, he could live to make this kitten purr.

Had there ever been a woman so perfectly rendered for kissing?

Her curves were more pronounced next to the hard planes of his own body, her breasts straining against his chest, her hips flaring dramatically when his hands charted the indent of her waist to rest there.

Somewhere in the distance, a lion roared. A child squealed.

The sounds broke her of whatever thrall he might have held.

Small hands flattened against his chest before she gave a mighty shove.

Raphael allowed it, retreating several steps.

Glowering in his direction, she wiped at her lips with the back her gloves, as if scrubbing the taste of him away. “You must stop doing that,” she commanded. “It’s—It’s—”

“Delicious?” he supplied helpfully.

“Disgusting,” she spat.

“You did not seem disgusted to me,” he taunted. “What I think you are, is afraid.”

“I am not afraid of you.” She circled him like he might be a predator about to attack, inching toward the entrance to their intimate alley.

Raphael tried not to examine why he felt the small distance between them in the very essence of himself. The pads of his fingers, the fine hairs of his body. They seemed tuned to her by some magnetic force, drawing him forward.

“Are you afraid you’ll like me?” he challenged. “That you’ll want more?”

“N-no.” Her eyes darted this way and that as she took two more steps backwards.

“Why are you retreating, then?”

She froze. Blinked. Then squared her shoulders, drawing herself up to her full—if less than impressive—height.

“I’m not retreating, I’m—I’m leaving. There’s a difference.” Spinning on her bootheel, she hurried until she reached the end of the alley, and flounced around the corner.

When Raphael caught up, she was strolling toward the entrance, quite obviously doing her level best to keep her footsteps steady so not to appear as though she fled.

He should let her go.

He should turn around and put her behind him. Focus on the task