Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,41

him.

Before she could draw breath, his mouth was on hers.

Chapter 13

Once as a child, Phoebe been caught outside in a summer storm, and had seen a butterfly knocked from the air by raindrops. It had fluttered and fallen to the ground, bombarded from every direction. The only choice had been to fold its wings, take shelter and wait.

This man was the storm and the shelter, pulling her into a deep, encompassing darkness where there was too much to feel—hot soft firm sweet hungry rough silken tugging—She strained helplessly in his arms, although she didn’t know whether she was trying to escape or press closer.

She had craved this, the hardness and heat of his body against hers, the sensation familiar and yet not at all familiar.

She had feared this, a man with a will and power that matched her own, a man who would desire and possess every last part of her without mercy.

The storm ended as abruptly as it had begun. He tore his mouth away with a rough sound, his arms loosening. She wobbled, her legs threatening to fold like paper fans, and he reached out to steady her.

“That was an accident,” Mr. Ravenel said over her head, breathing hard.

“Yes,” Phoebe said dazedly, “I understand.”

“The book was falling . . . I was reaching for it, and . . . your lips were in the way.”

“Let’s not speak of it again. We’ll ignore it.”

Mr. Ravenel seized on the suggestion. “It never happened.”

“Yes—no, it was—forgettable—that is, I’ll forget about it.”

That seemed to clear his head rather quickly. His breathing slowed, and he drew back far enough to give her an affronted glance. “Forgettable?”

“No,” Phoebe said hastily, “I meant I wouldn’t think about it.”

But he looked more disgruntled with each passing second. “That didn’t count as a real kiss. I’d just started.”

“I know. But all the same, it was very nice, so there’s no need to—”

“Nice?”

“Yes.” Phoebe wondered why he looked so insulted.

“If I have only one chance in a lifetime to kiss you,” he said grimly, “I’ll be damned if it’s going to be second rate. A man has standards.”

“I didn’t say it was second rate,” she protested, “I said it was nice!”

“The average man would rather be shot in the arse than have a woman call his lovemaking ‘nice.’”

“Oh, come, you’re making too much of this.”

“Now I have to do it over.”

“What?” An airless giggle broke from her, and she shrank back.

West reached out and hauled her against him easily. “If I don’t, you’ll always think that was the best I could do. I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.”

“Mr. Ravenel—”

“Brace yourself.”

Phoebe’s jaw slackened in astonishment. He had to be teasing. He couldn’t be serious . . . could he?

There was a gleam of laughter in his eyes as he saw her expression. But then one of his arms slid securely around her back. Oh God, he meant it; he was really going to kiss her. A rush of confusion and excitement made her dizzy.

“Mr. Ravenel, I . . .”

“West.”

“West,” Phoebe repeated, looking up at him. She had to clear away the nervous catch in her throat before she could continue. “This is a mistake.”

“No, the first kiss was a mistake. This one’s going to fix it.”

“But it won’t,” she said anxiously. “You see, I . . . I don’t doubt your lovemaking skills, I doubt my own. For more than two years, I haven’t kissed anyone over three and a half feet tall.”

A breath of amusement fanned her cheek. “Then you should probably aim your gaze at least two and a half feet higher than usual.” Gently he adjusted the angle of her chin. “Put your arms around me.”

Inexplicably, the quiet command sent ripples of interest and excitement through her. Was she actually going to let him . . . ?

Yes, some reckless inner voice insisted. Yes, don’t stop him, don’t think at all, just let it happen.

The dreamlike stillness was disturbed only by the fitful pattern of her breathing. Her hands went to his sides and slid around to the powerful surface of his back. He cupped the back of her head securely, and in the next moment his mouth caught at hers, a light pressure that kept nudging and settling, as if he were trying to find the exact fit between them. Uncertain how to respond, she stood there with her face uplifted while his fingertips stroked her throat and jaw as tenderly as sunlight moving over her skin. She wouldn’t