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Holly paused in the act of arranging a quilt she had discovered in one of the rooms to cast a sidelong glance at Brahm. His expression was pained, as though he had stubbed his toe against a bureau and was trying to be a man about it.
She hid a smile. Nothing would make him anything less than a hard, testy, browbeating male in the eyes of the world, but she saw more to him. He possessed a solid strength about him. His sense of honor extended to his determination to never dishonor a lady. His he-man behavior was just his protectiveness shining through. Besides, she rather liked his brooding ways. It was a terribly romantic trait, after all.
Brahm was, in many ways, the champion she’d always dreamed of, especially when it came to how he’d saved her from the duke. Honestly, Holly was not overly worried about the duke. Yes, the man made a formidable enemy, but Willow stood by his side. The fact remained that her sister was an ally. And she had faith that her sister would prove a challenge to the duke, too.
“Did you sleep well?” Brahm asked, interrupting her musings. There was a curious note in his voice.
Her gaze flicked to his. “Yes, thank you. I slept like a dream.”
He appeared amused by her words. “Dreams do not sleep.”
“True, but if I had slept terribly, then I would say, ‘I slept like a nightmare.’”
“Interesting reference. Do you know that you talk in your sleep?” he murmured, his voice deceptively low.
Holly stilled, her heart dropping into her stomach.
Oh, yes, she knew.
When they were young, her sisters had complained endlessly about the same thing. And, apparently, when she did talk in her sleep, she only ever talked about her latest love interest. They forever whined that they did not wish to know that John Braggart had the biggest cinnamon eyes or that Charleston Jordan had good strong arms to sweep her up into his embrace. They also told her they would rather not know that she had a childhood crush on a pirate, one she had read about in a book.
Mortification stained her cheeks.
The last thing she wanted to do was make Brahm wary with her ramblings . . . about him.
She turned to face him, admiring the vast expanse of his chest, his sharp jawline, and his thick brows set in his strong face. He also possessed big hands.
What if she had said something about those large hands gripping her waist? Or that his strong legs could easily carry her up any stairs?
Then Holly suddenly recalled that she had glimpsed him naked. What if she had remarked on his manhood?
Dear Lord, what if she had said something to the extent of, My, my, what magnificent virility you possess!
Holly’s ears burned. She racked her mind to recall what she had dreamed of last night. She could never know what she had said, but her dreams could usually give her some clue. Which meant, in this case, she could have uttered any number of things, like troll-duke or kissing under the midnight sky.
Holly shook her head to clear her mind. It was a moot point to deliberate over what she might have said when she could just ask him directly, however humiliating.
Inhaling a deep breath, she pushed out a strangled reply. “What did I say?”
He settled crossed-legged on the quilt, and she followed suit, arranging her skirts around her knees effortlessly, while he, no doubt, took note of her molten cheeks.
“You spoke my name.”
A breath of relief tore from her lungs.
His name did not warrant too much mortification. It was, however, extremely telling, should he wish to reflect on the matter.
“I had a dream about you,” Holly confessed after a moment, setting out the bread.
He took the steamy chocolate she handed him, his eyes never leaving hers as she brought her mug up to her lips. Her admission seemed to take him aback. It was more than mere surprise, though, for his lower jaw and neck flushed, and he went completely still.
Emerald eyes burned into hers with a tangible intensity. “You dreamed about me?”
Holly gave a shaky nod, gripping her hot mug to keep her hands from trembling.
“What did you dream?” he asked.
“Oh, this and that,” she murmured, offering him a small smile before taking a sip of her drink, which she promptly expelled back into the mug in the most unladylike manner.
“Mother Mary!” Holly exclaimed. “What did you add to this drink?”
He glanced down at his cup with a frown, sniffing it. “Whatever I could find.” His brows drew together as he took a sip and then grimaced.
“Perhaps if we add a touch of sugar it will lighten the taste? I can go retrieve some?”
His eyes narrowed on her. “First, tell me what you dreamed.”
“I cannot do that,” she murmured, dabbing at the bit of hot chocolate that had not landed back in her cup, hoping he would leave well enough alone.
But Brahm would not be distracted so easily. “Tell me,” he urged.
Her lips parted and shut again. How could she admit her steamy dreams to him? And it had been another delicious dream, not one she could ever confess. She might, however, admit to one small detail of her dream, even if only to test the waters with a tiny ripple. But dare she? What would he make of it? As simple as the act was, it would reveal so much of her desires.
“You kissed me,” she finally admitted, not meeting his gaze.
The words hovered between them just as the storm clouds above their haven did. Wild. Unpredictable. Tempestuous.
“I kissed you?” He sounded oddly stunned.
Her gaze lifted to his.
Holly bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his astonished expression; only she bit down too hard and grimaced. Once again he noticed and misunderstood the action.
“I see you are horrified by the prospect.”
“No!” she exclaimed. “That is, I meant it was pleasant enough.”
“Pleasant? That is how you would describe my kiss?”
He sounded so offended that Holly bit down on her lip. “How would you describe it, then?”
“It wasn’t my dream, so how would I know?”
“Well, you have kissed women before, have you not? How did they find it? As I’ve kissed my share of boys, I know my kisses are enjoyable, to say the least. And yours were. Enjoyable, that is. In my dream. Is enjoyable better than pleasant? Though, of course, compared to the rest of the dream—” her words died on her lips when she saw his eyes spark to life.
Holly was rambling, she knew, but being the subject of his hot regard had her floundering for words. How had she ever thought to tell him would be a good idea?
“There was more than kissing in your dream?”
Her gaze locked with his shocked one. Do not say anything else!
He appeared to be well and truly unsettled by the prospect. Already the color in his cheeks had deepened, burning down his throat and disappearing beneath his shirt. That was another thing Holly admired about him. He wore his emotions on his sleeve. Any other man would have hidden his reaction, schooled his features to a blank mask. But not Brahm.
“What did you dream?”
There was the flicker of complete knowing in his gaze that made Holly tear her eyes away from him and glance at their picnic spread.
She had always used this defense mechanism: whenever you wished to avoid a dangerous or unwanted topic, stuff something edible in your mouth, take a sip of a drink, or, if all else failed, descend into a coughing fit.
Holly snatched up a slice of cheese to delay any reply. But before she could part her lips, his hand manacled her wrist, his head lowering to hers.
“What did you dream?” Every inch of his focus fixed on her then, and Holly felt his words right down to her bones.
Your hands lifted my skirts.
You touched me, trailing your fingers from my feet up to my thigh.
She would not say it. It was out of the question.
“A lady does not kiss and tell.”
His lips twitched. “You told me about the kiss,” he pointed out. “Might as well tell me the rest of the dream.”
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “A kiss is a kiss.”
He leaned forward until his lips were bare inches away from hers. “Yet a dream is not just a dream.”
Oh! Chocolate tinged his breath. And his eyes blazed with heat.
“What else could it be?” she whispered, dazed by the effect he had on her.
“That I have yet to discover.” He paused, his expression painful. “Or perhaps your dream is to kiss every damn man in the kingdom to find your prince.”
“I only have the urge to kiss one man.”
Her confession stretched between them, the moment creating a distracting pull, drawing them together one breath at a time. It was impossible to tell what existed beyond the blaze Holly saw in Brahm’s eyes.
“You are a dangerous woman, Holly Middleton.”
Dangerous.
A thrill of excitement rippled down her spine. No one had ever referred to her as such. Silly, yes, outspoken, and often even irrational, but never anything as tantalizing as dangerous.
“How threatening can one woman be?”
“As perilous as one kiss,” he said, his eyes dropping to linger on her lips.
“I suppose there is only one way to find out exactly how treacherous,” Holly murmured, but in her mind, all thoughts revolved around two words: kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.
He jerked in response, as if it took all of his strength not to lean forward and claim her mouth.
“It is reckless to stir the waters of fate.”
Kiss me.
“Tempting fate might be wild and unpredictable, but it could be downright smashing, too.” Her voice had come out a breathless whisper, pleading for something more. For the leap of faith she wished for him to take, for the choice he had to make for himself.
He dragged one hand over his face before his dark eyes locked with hers once more. Perhaps it had been too much. Brahm was a man of strict moral code. Maybe he couldn’t see it as something other than a dishonor to her.
She was just about to scoot over and give him some distance when he cursed, tightened his fingers around her wrist, and tugged her onto his lap.
“Holly.”
His ragged whisper cascaded along her nerves, just as his lips came crashing down to seize hers in an achingly tender kiss.
She had been kissed before, many times, but never like this. Never this slow, this sensuous. For a moment she sat stunned, allowing his firm lips to mold over hers. Then her arms circled his neck, and she kissed him back.
And then everything else ceased to matter.
Then he pulled back slightly and their eyes met.
“Tell me to stop.”
“Not yet.” Not ever.
His lips brushed over hers again. “Is this how it was in your dream?”
“Almost.”
“Was there more?”
She was going to hell for encouraging this, but she nodded anyway.
He traced his tongue over her lower lip, and her world tilted. Or was that him? She suddenly felt the floor against her back.
Oh, yes, hell awaited her.
She was light-headed and dizzy, way past any rational thought—and so, apparently, was he, because the next thing she knew, Brahm’s hands were lifting the hem of her skirts and sliding the material upward.
“What about this? Did I do this?” He traced the length of her leg with his palm.
“Perhaps.”
Then his hand cupped her core. The shock of that erotic action stopped her breathing. As though she was suspended in time. Her spine tingled, and gooseflesh sprinkled over her entire body.
It was all Holly could do not to splinter into pieces when his consummate fingers parted the most intimate part of her and slipped inside. She felt a shudder convulse his body, and for a moment she feared he might stop, but blessedly, passion appeared to strip him of any constraint, because he began to stroke her instead.
“Tell me I did this.”
Holly closed her eyes. She hadn’t even known this was possible. She shouldn’t allow him to go any further. This was madness. Reckless. She had only wished for a kiss . . .
She sank her teeth into his lower lip then. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.
Brahm let out a slow, agonized breath. Her hips rocked against his hand as his fingers moved inside her. Every nerve in her body pleaded for something, some elusive release, and Holly whimpered in frustration.
“Does this please you?”
How could she answer him? She had no breath. The impassioned twirl of his tongue turned urgent, and his finger thrust in and out of her once more before, with one final flick over her little bud, he sent her over the edge in a blinding flash of pleasure.
She threw her head back and rode the wave of sensation, her body shaking with small spasms of ecstasy. A scream tore from her lips, muted by his ongoing kiss, as his finger teased every last tide from her.
She collapsed on the ground, her limbs numb.
A minute passed, then two, as she attempted to regain her breath and Brahm fought some battle for control, his jaw clenched and eyes shut tightly.
Holly savored this feel of him. For the rest of her life, she would remember this moment with him, would remember lying on an old ragged quilt as he introduced her to a pleasure she hadn’t known; she would never forget the weight of him or his woody scent that disoriented her senses.
I’m well and truly in love.
She projected the thought to his heart, his soul. He had so effortlessly captured hers. Now she understood, in all honesty, what love meant. There was no other man for her, nor would there ever be. She’d love Brahm Tremont until her last breath.
He pulled away, and the glance he gave her should have scorched her on the spot.
“Was that smashing enough for you?” he growled.
“I—” Why was he behaving this way?
“A word of advice, Miss Middleton,” he said flatly. “If you ever come within touching distance of me again, I will drag you to the nearest bed, and I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”
Holly lay stunned as he lurched to his feet and stalked from the room, leaving her on the ground with her skirts hiked up.