An Excerpt from
Oliver Goswick, Viscount Rathburn, needs money, but only marriage to a proper miss will release his inheritance. There’s just one solution: a mock courtship with a trusted friend. Miss Emma Danvers knows nothing good can come of Rathburn’s scheme. Still, entranced by the inexplicable hammering he causes in her heart, she agrees to play his betrothed despite her heart’s warning: it’s all fun and games . . . until someone falls in love!
“Shall we shake hands to seal our bargain?”
Not wanting to appear as if she lacked confidence, Emma thrust out her hand and straightened her shoulders.
Rathburn chuckled, the sound low enough and near enough that she could feel it vibrating in her ears more than she could hear it. His amused gaze teased her before it traveled down her neck, over the curve of her shoulder, and down the length of her arm. He took her gloveless hand. His flesh was warm and callused in places that made it impossible to ignore the unapologetic maleness of him.
She should have known this couldn’t be a simple handshake, not with him. He wasn’t like anyone else. So why should this be any different?
He looked down at their joined hands, turning hers this way and that, seeing the contrast, no doubt. His was large and tanned, his nails clean but short, leaving the very tips of his fingers exposed. Hers was small and slender, her skin creamy, her nails delicately rounded as was proper. Yet when she looked at her hand covered by his, she felt anything but proper.
She tried to pull away, but he kept it and moved a step closer.
“I know a better way,” he murmured and before she knew his intention, he tilted up her chin and bent his head.
His mouth brushed hers in a very brief kiss. So brief, in fact, she almost didn’t get a sense that it had occurred at all. Almost.
However, she did get an impression of his lips. They were warm and softer than they appeared, but that was not to say they were soft. No, they were the perfect combination of softness while remaining firm. In addition, the flavor he left behind was intriguing. Not sweet like liquor or salty like toothpowder, but something in between, something . . . spicy. Pleasantly herbaceous, like a combination of pepper and rosemary with a mysterious flavor underneath that reminded her . . . of the first sip of steaming chocolate on a chilly morning. The flavor of it warmed her through. She licked her lips to be certain, but made the mistake of looking up at him.
He was staring at her lips, his brow furrowed.
The fireflies vanished from his eyes as his dark pupils expanded. The fingers that were curled beneath her chin spread out and stole around to the base of her neck. He lowered his head again, but this time he did not simply brush his lips over hers. Instead, he tasted her, flicking his tongue over the same path hers had taken.
A small, foreign sound purred in her throat. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Kissing Rathburn was wrong on so many levels. They weren’t truly engaged. In fact, they were acquaintances only through her brother. They could barely stand each other. The door to the study was closed—highly improper. Her parents or one of the servants could walk in any minute. She should be pushing him away, not encouraging him by parting her lips and allowing his tongue entrance. She should not curl her hands over his shoulders or discover that there was no padding in his coat. And she most definitely should not be on the verge of leaning into him—
There was a knock at the door. They split apart with a sudden jump, but the sound had come from the hall. Someone was at the front of the house.
She looked at Rathburn, watching the buttons of his waistcoat move up and down as he caught his breath. When he looked away from the door and back to her, she could see the dampness of their kiss on his lips. Her kiss.
He grinned and waggled his brows as if they were two criminals who’d made a lucky escape. “Not quite as buttoned up as I thought.” He licked his lips, ignoring her look of disapproval. “Mmm . . . jasmine tea. And sweet too. I would have thought you’d prefer a more sedate China black with lemon. Then again, I never would have thought such a proper miss would have such a lush, tempting mouth either.”
She pressed her lips together to blot away the remains of their kiss. “Have you no shame? It’s bad enough that it happened. Must you speak of it?”
He chuckled and stroked the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip as his gaze dipped, again, to her mouth. “You’re right, of course. This will have to be our secret. After all, what would happen if my grandmother discovered that beneath a façade of modesty and decorum lived a warm-blooded temptress with the taste of sweet jasmine on her lips?”