For the first time in her life, Delaney stood perfectly still.
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even blink her eyes.
This couldn’t be happening. Griffin Croft wasn’t kissing her. He wasn’t lifting her to her toes in the middle of the conservatory, just steps away from the crush of the Dorset ballroom.
And yet . . . he was.
His warm, hard mouth slanted over hers. Wondrously heated breaths flared from his nostrils, igniting the air between them. Where his chin pressed into hers, she could feel the tiniest unshaven whiskers inside the deepest part of his cleft. Her breasts flattened hard against his chest, and the pounding of his heart felt like a fist threatening to break through a door. Only she was that door. Down the center of her back, his hand roamed. Fingers splayed, he touched every rib and vertebra as if committing her skeleton to memory. His exploration continued until that hand settled into the dip just above the rise of her derriere. And then, he drew her even closer.
If she’d worn stays, she was certain she wouldn’t be able to feel the buttons of his waistcoat. Wouldn’t be able to feel her nipples harden, sprouting to life beneath the layers of fine linen and silk.
The crackling that possessed her every time Griffin Croft was near burned hotter than before. Instead of pinpricks of heat, tiny flames licked over her flesh, threatening to char every inch. This time, she didn’t mind in the least.
“Open for me,” he growled against her lips, tilting up her chin.
It was only when she felt his other hand teasing the underside of her jaw that she realized he was no longer the one keeping her up on her toes. Well, not entirely. The hand nestled into her lower back was doing a fair job of holding her against him. Yet the arms she’d twined around his neck were doing the rest.
Impulsively curious, she did as he bade, wondering what new sensations would unfold. His staggered breath puffed against the damp underside of her lips. In that moment of hesitation, she opened her eyes, having no idea when they’d drifted closed.
What she saw in his gaze stole the last remaining breath from her lungs. It, too, came out staggered. Brown and blue colors swirled together in that beautiful lake water she’d noticed only days ago, but what she hadn’t noticed was how it seemed to churn and undulate beneath the surface, as if coming to a slow simmer. The heat of it was so potent she could almost touch it with her fingertips, sure they would come back blistered.
What startled her most of all was how his gaze seemed to reflect everything inside of her.
Suddenly, she wanted to push away. “Mr. Croft, I—”
A low sound tore from his throat as he captured her mouth again. His tongue swept inside, tangling with hers, teasing her enough to follow, to taste, to traverse the ridges and valleys of teeth and palate, leaving nothing unexplored. She knew the flavor of him now. Swallowed the essence of him—the tang that was slightly salty, slightly sweet, and more pleasant than she could have ever guessed.
Wanting more of this elixir, her hands found the back of his head and drew him closer. His soft wavy hair was cool at the tips but blazing with heat at his scalp. She slanted her mouth over his in the opposite direction. This time, she nudged his lips apart. She sought his tongue, butting up against his in a sudden frenzy of need that sent a swift jolt of warning through her.
Something within her had awakened. Something that fed off kisses and burned with an intensity she’d never known.
Something that threatened the life she wanted for herself.
Suddenly, she broke away from him, giving his shoulders a little shove in the process. He released her instantly and stared down at his hands as if they alone were the culprits of this whole affair.
“Miss McFarland,” he said, his breathing labored, his broad shoulders straining against the impeccably tailored tailcoat. “I want you to know that I had no intention of kissing you when I came in here. In fact, my thoughts were centered solely on making sure you understood the dangers of being alone with a man.”
She recoiled. His words were like a slap, and one hard enough to shake the last of the fog from her mind. Only now did she realize what a fool she’d been. He’d had no intention of kissing her . . . as if the mere idea were abhorrent to him. For a moment, she’d actually thought he’d found her desirable—not her fortune but her person, her entire being—so much so that he couldn’t help himself. And she’d responded in kind.
Hearing the truth wounded her pride more than she thought it could. “I’m ashamed to admit how well you’ve made your point, Mr. Croft.”
He shook his head, plowing a hand through his hair. “What I meant to say was—”
“I’m sure in our limited acquaintance we’ve both intended for each of our encounters to unfold differently. Let’s simply add this to our list of disasters, shall we?” She smoothed the front of her gown and hoped she didn’t look as wrinkled as she felt. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to return to the ballroom before our names are once again joined in scandal.”
As she passed, he reached out and grasped her arm. “I was speaking of Montwood. He’s not to be trusted. And if his creditors see him driving in the park with you, they’ll soon find a way to make him truly desperate. All I ask is that you take that under consideration.”
“While I appreciate your unsolicited advice, what I do or do not do with Lord Montwood is none of your concern.” She cast him a withering glare. “Now, if you’ll unhand me, I’ll bid you farewell.”
He released her at once.
Delaney held her head high as she walked out of the conservatory. She only wished she didn’t feel so cold inside.