“Let me show you several things?”
When she repeated his words, she lifted her voice at the end as though it were a question. And she accompanied that question with a raised eyebrow as well as a slight tilt to her mouth. As though she were in on a secret joke.
He swallowed. The Ana Maria with the question and the wicked smile was not the Ana Maria he knew. Had known for most of his life.
This Ana Maria was more like a siren, an alluring maiden whose very expression made it impossible to resist.
He froze in place, not quite sure what to say. What did one say to the sister of one’s best friend when one wished that she were anything but a best friend’s relative? When one wished she were, in fact, a woman with no personal ties to him that he could fuck with abandon?
Far better to stay frozen. Though one part of him, at least, had not heeded the warning. His cock was stiffening in his trousers, an aching reminder of what he was beginning to believe would end up a full-blown never-realized desire. He couldn’t give in to what he was feeling because that would be to betray both his best friend, his next closest best friend, and his own determination not to care for any person of the female persuasion. Her especially.
But he had not counted on what she might want.
“I do want you to show me things,” she continued, sounding both hesitant and alluring. An intoxicating combination. She took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about what I want you to show me. And now, for example, I want you to show me how to kiss.”
And before he could react, she was leaning up on her toes, putting her hands on his biceps to steady herself, and placing her mouth—her luscious, soft, sweet mouth—on his.
His hands went automatically to her waist, curling his fingers around her body. He felt her shudder, and he froze again, but then she slid her hands down his arms all the way to his fingers and placed her hands on top of his, squeezing them in reassurance.
And then she took her hands away, but immediately put them at his waist, giving a tiny tug so he inched toward her.
Their bodies were nearly—nearly—touching.
And still, her mouth stayed pressed on his. Just there. Not moving, not doing anything.
She wanted to know how to kiss? She was asking for his help? For his instruction?
He’d give it to her.
He pressed his lips more firmly against hers, then slid his tongue across her mouth, making her gasp. Which resulted in her opening for him, and his tongue, which slid in slowly as she shuddered some more.
He kept still for a moment, letting her grow accustomed to it.
All the while his cock was thickening, lengthening, straining against the fabric of his trousers. If their bodies were touching she would be able to feel it, too, and he fought the urge to yank her against him so she could feel what this was doing to him. And he could feel her.
She made a tiny noise in her throat, and then her tongue met his, cautiously sliding against it, the only noise in the room their breaths and the faint whisper of fabric as their fingers clenched the other’s body.
Her hands were exploring his back, her palms spread wide against the thin fabric of his shirt.
Thank God he wasn’t wearing a jacket.
The only thing standing between his upper body and her fingers was his shirt. A shirt he wore to box in, a shirt that didn’t matter at all, he likely had hundreds more just like it in one of his numerous wardrobes.
It took seconds to remove one of his hands from her waist to reach to the neckline of his shirt, yanking it down so it shredded with a satisfying noise. She jumped, breaking the kiss, and he took advantage of that moment to shrug out of the shirt and toss it over his head. Standing absolutely still so she could decide what she wanted to do now.
“Oh,” she sighed, and there was so much emotion in that one sound he nearly staggered. Curiosity and desire and passion and a certain hesitancy.
“Do you want to touch me?” he asked. He didn’t move. Her lips were redder than before, and her cheeks were flushed. Her dark eyes glowed with a heady sparkle.
He didn’t allow his gaze to go lower than her face.
“I do.” She stepped forward so they were nearly touching again. “I want to kiss you some more, too. I liked it.”
He released his breath and took her hand, placing it in the middle of his chest. Her fingers twitched, and he resisted the urge to hold her hand down. She wasn’t a dog to be soothed. She was a woman who needed to know her own mind.
Her fingers tangled in his chest hair, and then began to explore, sliding across the planes of his chest slowly, her eyes tracking her hand’s movement.
And then she looked up into his face, that maddeningly sensual smile on her mouth again.
“Your skin feels very different from mine.”
He swallowed.
She kept her gaze locked with his, moving her hand across his chest, her palm grazing his nipple, making him gasp. She tilted her head and paused then. “You like that?”
He nodded, since he couldn’t speak.
“Hm.” She moved her hand to his side, clamping her hand on him and urging him forward with the pressure of her fingers. He came willingly, hoping there would be more of this, but hesitant to do anything that would make her feel obligated.
She raised herself up on tiptoes again, her lips an inch away from his. “I liked what you were doing before. When you were kissing me. Do it again.”
And he exhaled in relief, clasping his hands at her waist again, pulling her body into his so he could feel every delicious curve as he placed his mouth on hers.
This was possibly the best idea she’d ever had, and that included when she’d chosen magenta silk to cover the wall in her salon.
After all, she was determined to discover things she liked and didn’t like, on her own terms, and she definitely knew she wanted to find out if she liked kissing.
Asking him to kiss her was perfect; he would not expect anything more, nor would he expose her. He was the only one she could experiment with without consequences.
She should know how to kiss, shouldn’t she? Along with being able to punch gentlemen she most definitely did not want to kiss. This was just more instruction, albeit completely inappropriate instruction.
She wanted more of that achy feeling that came when he’d—surprisingly—put his tongue in her mouth. She hadn’t gotten very many specifics when learning what happened between men and women when she’d been a servant, because the focus then had been what to do to prevent that.
Thank goodness for that, since if she’d known it felt so glorious she might have wanted to start sooner. And then she would have missed having her first kiss with him.
His tongue was in her mouth again, and she nearly groaned at how delicious it felt. He was licking her lips, sucking her tongue gently into his mouth as his fingers tightened on her waist.
Her breasts felt heavy and full, and she gave in to the urge to press them close to his body. The body she’d thought about when she’d imagined—and then seen—him fighting, but hadn’t realized was so brutally handsome. His chest was broad, with dark hair curling on the upper part, a narrow trail of hair on the lower part leading lower still, down into his trousers.
Mm. She wanted to follow that trail with her tongue.
She gripped his biceps with her fingers as their tongues sparred. It was hard and clearly strong, and she wondered what it would be like if he picked her up to kiss her.
Should she ask him?
But that would mean stopping kissing, and she didn’t want to do that. She never wanted to do that.
Her fingers slid up further, up to his strong shoulders and then dipped onto his chest, her palm tickling from the hair there. Her other hand was at his waist, and she ran her hand around his side to the small of his back. His skin was warm, and smooth, covering planes of muscles she seriously doubted she had. Or if she did have those muscles, they were not nearly as well developed as his.
Just imagining everything he could do with those muscles made her shiver.
She felt a spark of rebellion curl inside her, a dangerous, wicked flame that made her want to do everything that had been previously forbidden.
Even though those things were also currently forbidden, what with her being a single lady of great fortune now. Even more forbidden. Because a forgotten servant could do all sorts of things, have all kinds of freedoms, not that Ana Maria had ever taken advantage of that.
Perhaps she should take advantage. Or more advantage. Perhaps this should be the moment when Ana Maria, suddenly thrust into the spotlight, didn’t shy away from it, but took it. Did what she wanted to, when she wanted to.
So she did what she wanted to. She moved the hand at the small of his back down onto his arse, which was hard, like the rest of him, curving into the palm of her hand.
And he groaned into her mouth, holding her arms to steady her as she was still up on her tiptoes, their mouths fused together, their bodies pressed together, her whole self feeling lit up by touch.
Touching him, his touching her, their bodies touching.
It was almost too much.
And then, as she was losing herself in his kiss and her roiling emotions, he pulled away suddenly, harshly, his expression aghast.
Making her doubt the wisdom of starting all this in the first place.
She swallowed as he stared at her, his dark eyes seemingly filled with despair and confusion and horror.
No, please, she wanted to say. Don’t look at me that way. Don’t ruin this moment by regretting what I’ve done.
“I started it,” she said. Her voice didn’t sound like her voice; it was lower, breathier, and made it sound much more damning than she meant.
“I started it,” she said again, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze head-on. Her voice sounded more normal now. “I apologize I took advantage of you—”
At which he snorted, but didn’t say anything.
“But I thought I should learn some things, and I have always wondered what it would be like.” With you, she didn’t add. She shrugged. “And I wanted someone I could trust to teach me, someone it wouldn’t mean anything with.” She paused, trying to slow her beating heart. “And now I know.”
She took a deep breath and dragged her gaze away from his, focusing on looking just past his shoulder. Much easier. “I will have a glass of water, and then perhaps we can work on some of my defensive maneuvers? Now that I know what I am in danger of having happen to me.”
“It’s not—” he began, then shook his head.
She waited, but he didn’t continue; instead, he looked grim, raking a hand through his hair. He was still bare to the waist, and she allowed herself a quick peek at all that glorious expanse of male chest.
He really should pose for a statue. But his body wasn’t godlike. It was entirely man-made, formed by his own strength. She could see him as Hercules, or Hephaestus, a powerful brute of a man vaunted for his power and perseverance.
“Stop looking at me like that.” His voice was ragged.
She started guiltily. “Like—?” she asked.
“Like you want to finish what we started.” He shook his head again. “We can’t, Ana Maria. There are so many reasons why we can’t.” He sounded desperate, nearly forlorn, and she felt even worse for luring him into the kiss in the first place.
“It didn’t mean anything,” she said firmly. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, and we won’t tell anybody, and we can make certain it doesn’t happen again.” She spoke in her “well now that’s decided” tone, and she hoped it would convince him, even though she knew full well she wasn’t convinced—it meant something, it meant everything, and it was already breaking her heart that she couldn’t let it happen again.
Not because she didn’t want it to, of course, but because she cared about him too much to allow him to have that look on his face ever again. To hear that pained tone in his voice.
He still looked pained. “This was my choice, Nash. Mine. It might be a poor one, but let me own it.” His expression didn’t change.
So this wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had. It wasn’t necessarily the worst—following Lord Brunley into that room might be, or perhaps the time, soon after Sebastian gave her funds for clothing, that she wore a butter-yellow gown that made her look like a wilted sunflower.
But it was among those unfortunate decisions. Even though it was also now going to feature as one of the best memories of her life. Contradictory oxymoron.
Drat.
“I think we’ve had enough instruction,” Nash said at last. He didn’t add anything, didn’t move, just stood and waited.
Even though that was the last thing he wanted to do. Which meant it was the only thing he could do.
Kissing her had been—well, he shouldn’t think about it. Not now, not when she was still here, alone in the room with him.
His cock throbbed, and he wished he could just give in to what he and his cock wanted, which was to strip her bare and have her on the floor of his training room.
But he could not.
She was the last person in the world he could get involved with. He already knew he liked and cared for her, and now he was realizing he desired her as well. That meant involvement, and involvement meant emotion, and emotion meant passion, which resulted in violence.
You take after me. In every way.
He would not and could not care for anyone with whom he was intimate. It was the quickest way to following in his father’s fiststeps, and he would not do that.
She opened her mouth as if to reply, but didn’t. He ached to hear what she might have said, even as he dreaded it. But she’d already said the most damning thing aloud, hadn’t she? It didn’t mean anything.
To him, it meant everything. It meant he knew he would never be entirely happy with his life, that his world would continue to be colored in muted shades because he didn’t trust he could handle the full, glorious color of things. Like her, whose skin was soft gold, and whose hair was dark chestnut, and whose eyes were like melted chocolate.
“I’ll go. Your grandmother requires your presence, after all.” She swung her head up, looking defiant. “Does this mean you no longer wish to instruct me at all?”
“No. We’ll just—I’ll ask Finan in next time.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Because I am not to be trusted.” It was not a question.
“No, I—” And then he stopped, because of course he couldn’t think of what to say. Everything else had changed, but at least that hadn’t. He never knew what to say.
She shrugged. “Fine. You can let me know when you can find time in your very busy schedule to teach me what you insist on teaching me.” Her tone was derisive, and he flinched in response. She was hurting, clearly, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Or nothing he could do about it that didn’t involve resuming their previous activity.
“Oh, and you might want to put a shirt on. It could get cold.”
She wasn’t just hurting, she was furious.
And glorious in her anger—he wanted to bathe in it, to have her unleash all of her emotions onto him so he could feel their intensity, allow himself to feel all of it instead of locking it down or channeling it for a fight.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t even let her know how he felt, not even a minuscule amount of it, because then she would push at him, forcing him to reveal more and more, to talk, for God’s sake, and he could not allow himself to do that.
He was afraid that if he started talking to her, he would never stop.
So he had to ensure their relationship was limited to what he would show her, guiding her to live her life without his protection. Because he knew, as much as he knew he could not be with her, that seeing her with some other man would break him.
So she had to be rendered safe before then.
“I’ll send Finan with a note.”
He leaned over to pick up his shredded shirt, then walked to the door, only turning back to her when he had his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll ask Richardson”—his butler and also his half brother who was at least a decade older than he—“to escort you to your carriage.”
She didn’t say a word in reply, just kept her narrowed gaze on him as he left the room, closing the door gently behind him.
And then he heard it. A crash, as though something made of glass had been smashed on the floor.