moan and sank against him, her yielding body melding to his from shoulder to thigh. Her woman’s scent mingled with the smell of incense and passion, intoxicating him, driving him full-throttle toward desire. He forgot about the church, Papa Guinea, the money, the farcical wedding—nothing mattered except the fact that she was warm and real and in his arms. It didn’t matterwhy he’d started kissing her. He only knew that kissing her filled up an empty place inside him, a place that hadn’t been touched in a long, long time.…
I’ll kill him! she thought, her face burning with embarrassment as his mouth erotically plundered hers. When this wedding was over she was going to make him pay for this—for pulling her against the length of his rock-hard body, for making her aware of his strength, his heat, his musky masculine scent, and for turning her blood to pure fire with every slow, deliberate stroke of his intimate invasion.
Her forbidden fantasy was a joke compared with reality. Violent emotions ripped through her, creating an ache in deep and secret places. His power roared into her like a tidal wave, crashing through her brittle reserve, shattering her barriers in a single pounding heartbeat. She couldn’t breathe. She raised her fists to push him away, but instead found herself twining her arms around his neck. Just another second, then I’ll kill him, she promised as she wove her fingers through the thick hair at the base of his neck, pulling him closer. Her rock-solid Puritan morality dissolved like gritty smoke in the hurricane of his passion, making her feel aching and vulnerable, and wildly, shamelessly alive.
It’s the sugar water. It’s got to be the sugar water.
But the reason didn’t matter. She parted her lips, starving for his caress, aching for a deeper, more wicked embrace. She felt as if another woman had stepped into her skin—the secret sinner she’d kept locked deep inside her since her childhood. All herlife she’d walked the straight and narrow. She’d lived her life by rigid standards, afraid that one slip would bring out the reckless, devil side of her nature. Well, she’d slipped all right—big time. Now, wrapped in a virtual stranger’s fiery embrace, the woman who’d always done the “right” thing found herself wanting to do the wrong thing. She wanted to be bad—wonderfully, hedonistically, unforgivably bad with Sam Donovan. And she wanted to do it over and over again.…
In slow motion Donovan lifted his head and looked down at her with an intensity that left her weak. He stared at her in a kind of confused wonder, like a small boy who’s just been presented with an incredible toy that he can’t quite figure out how to use. The look cherished her beyond words, and shattered her more completely than his kiss. She stared up at him, every bit as confused as he was. For the first time in her life she felt as if someone was looking at her—at
her
, not a Revere descendant, not her father’s daughter. For the first time she felt as if she mattered to someone because of who she was, not what she—
“Jolly-mon!”
The booming voice startled them both. Noel looked up, and met the black, laughing eyes of the man who’d stood beside Donovan during the ceremony.
“Jolly-mon,” he cried in battered and broken English. “And Mrs. Jolly-mon. You two big happy. Make big …”
He made a gesture that would have sent her well-bredgrandmother into a swoon. Noel was less shocked—though she still colored to the roots of her hair. But embarrassment was only a small part of what she felt. She was flushed from the drink and giddy from the kiss, and warm all over from the way Sam had just looked at her. She glanced back at him, smiling shyly.
She met the cold eyes of a stranger.
“You’re a hell of an actress,” he said grimly as he got to his feet. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
“But I wasn’t …” Her words dwindled off. Regardless of how it had
I’ll kill him! she thought, her face burning with embarrassment as his mouth erotically plundered hers. When this wedding was over she was going to make him pay for this—for pulling her against the length of his rock-hard body, for making her aware of his strength, his heat, his musky masculine scent, and for turning her blood to pure fire with every slow, deliberate stroke of his intimate invasion.
Her forbidden fantasy was a joke compared with reality. Violent emotions ripped through her, creating an ache in deep and secret places. His power roared into her like a tidal wave, crashing through her brittle reserve, shattering her barriers in a single pounding heartbeat. She couldn’t breathe. She raised her fists to push him away, but instead found herself twining her arms around his neck. Just another second, then I’ll kill him, she promised as she wove her fingers through the thick hair at the base of his neck, pulling him closer. Her rock-solid Puritan morality dissolved like gritty smoke in the hurricane of his passion, making her feel aching and vulnerable, and wildly, shamelessly alive.
It’s the sugar water. It’s got to be the sugar water.
But the reason didn’t matter. She parted her lips, starving for his caress, aching for a deeper, more wicked embrace. She felt as if another woman had stepped into her skin—the secret sinner she’d kept locked deep inside her since her childhood. All herlife she’d walked the straight and narrow. She’d lived her life by rigid standards, afraid that one slip would bring out the reckless, devil side of her nature. Well, she’d slipped all right—big time. Now, wrapped in a virtual stranger’s fiery embrace, the woman who’d always done the “right” thing found herself wanting to do the wrong thing. She wanted to be bad—wonderfully, hedonistically, unforgivably bad with Sam Donovan. And she wanted to do it over and over again.…
In slow motion Donovan lifted his head and looked down at her with an intensity that left her weak. He stared at her in a kind of confused wonder, like a small boy who’s just been presented with an incredible toy that he can’t quite figure out how to use. The look cherished her beyond words, and shattered her more completely than his kiss. She stared up at him, every bit as confused as he was. For the first time in her life she felt as if someone was looking at her—at
her
, not a Revere descendant, not her father’s daughter. For the first time she felt as if she mattered to someone because of who she was, not what she—
“Jolly-mon!”
The booming voice startled them both. Noel looked up, and met the black, laughing eyes of the man who’d stood beside Donovan during the ceremony.
“Jolly-mon,” he cried in battered and broken English. “And Mrs. Jolly-mon. You two big happy. Make big …”
He made a gesture that would have sent her well-bredgrandmother into a swoon. Noel was less shocked—though she still colored to the roots of her hair. But embarrassment was only a small part of what she felt. She was flushed from the drink and giddy from the kiss, and warm all over from the way Sam had just looked at her. She glanced back at him, smiling shyly.
She met the cold eyes of a stranger.
“You’re a hell of an actress,” he said grimly as he got to his feet. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
“But I wasn’t …” Her words dwindled off. Regardless of how it had
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