Living London - By Kristin Vayden Page 0,33
I wouldn't mind finding myself in a compromising situation with had too much integrity to do anything about it. Well, things could certainly be worse, but they could also be better.
Glancing around, I made sure that we were completely alone. Lord Ashby was still berating himself for something or another, so I decided I'd brighten his mood a little… at least I hoped it would brighten his mood. I knew it certainly would make my night. I reached forward and placed one finger to his lips to silence him, then pulled him by his coat sleeve into the tiny alcove next to us.
He paused for a moment, glanced around, and followed my lead. "Miss Westin, do not tempt me." He glanced at my lips as he spoke, and his expression turned hungry, making my stomach clench.
"Lord Ashby? May I please call you by your first name?" I knew it simply wasn't done, but I also knew given my background that he wouldn't take offense. He'd be shocked for sure, but wouldn't take offense. It was getting tiresome always having to say Lord Ashby, which seemed so old-fashioned, when Morgan was what I thought of when I pictured his face.
"Of course if…" He paused, seeming unsure of himself for a split second. His hesitation changed in an instant to bold confidence that took me by surprise. "May I, in turn use your given name as as well?" I nodded, a grin tugging at my lips.
He sobered slightly, furrowing his brow. “Only when we’re speaking alone. It could damage your reputation.” His eyes were sincere.
"Or your own," I added, watching him, waiting for his reaction. Gone was the surprised expression I had been accustomed to finding on his face whenever I spoke honestly or out of character for a lady. "You hardly seem shocked by any of this," I added after a moment of scrutinizing his features, feeling oddly disappointed by his lack of response.
"I'm growing accustomed." He spoke through a grin.
I played along. "Really? Somehow I feel insulted."
"We both know you're not," he answered, his one eyebrow rising in disbelief.
But I rather liked how I kept him on his toes. His reactions were so very amusing. A smile crossed my lips as I thought of a way I could easily wipe the smug grin off his beautiful face. "Morgan?" I asked, whispering his name so he had to bend in slightly to hear me. It worked like a charm, and I wondered why I hadn't thought of it before.
"Yes, Jocelyn?" His words were spoken softly, with a husky quality I found attractive. Bending farther forward, I placed the lightest of kisses on his lower lip, lingering only for a moment, afraid if I stayed longer I'd be discovered by someone. And as thrilling as the danger was, I didn't want to trap him.
I leaned back to await his reaction, but I didn't make it far. "Oh, no you don't," he said hoarsely as he wrapped a strong arm around my waist and pulled me deeper into the shadows. "You have no idea how long I've waited to do this."
Soft lips molded against mine, teasing them and temping them to open to his desire. Warm hands moved up my back, bracing it and pulling me closer and flush with his body. The lines of his coat pressed into my dress and the scent of cloves and honey surrounded my senses. He kissed me like I was water and he was a nomad in the Sahara. While the fierceness of his lips was overwhelming, his touch was gentle. I pressed against him, allowing him to deepen the kiss further. I released a breath.
His body tensed, and I felt the hard lines of his shoulders bunch under my caressing hands. He broke the kiss abruptly, breathing heavily. I watched him, studying his features and the clenching of his strong jaw. His eyes appeared black in the shadows, reflecting a small amount of candlelight. He reached up, tracing the outline of my face. His fingers left a warm trail I knew I'd feel hours later, and I closed my eyes in response, memorizing the feeling of his arms around me, feeling his chest brush mine as he caught his breath. I didn't want to go back to the ball, ever. I wanted to say right here.
It's not like I'd never been kissed before — if you count kissing Bobby Thornton in the sixth grade behind the gym on a dare. Or the one date I'd