Read Online Brimstone Seduction by Barbara J. Hancock - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara J. Hancock
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table. She held the sudden gasp in her lungs because to exhale might cause her body to brush his reaching arm. And one touch might betray her. The air filled her chest, tight and unexpressed, as he lifted a tiny pastry from her plate and brought it to her lips. When it was so close to her mouth that the scent of vanilla cream teased her nose, she exhaled softly, meeting his eyes over the proffered treat.
It was a confession, that exhalation. And his eyelids drooped over his eyes in response.
âYou didnât enjoy your own pastry,â she said.
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and back again.
âIâve eaten them a thousand times a thousand. But you chew as if nothing so perfect has ever touched your lips and tongue. Theyâre dust to me. Watching you enjoy them is delicious.â
Katherineâs head grew light as blood rushed to her lips and the tips of her breasts. He knew. He must. His jaw relaxed, and he brought the pastry to her mouth. He touched the pursed bow of her lips with a light, teasing tickle of sugary cream.
She licked out, instinctively dipping into the residue of icing with her tongue. He watched as she tasted it once more. It was even more decadent when combined with the intensity of his attention.
âIâve tasted cream a thousand times a thousand, but Iâve never tasted it on you,â he said.
Had she known? Had her head gone light because she knew her nibbles of delicate pastry had overwhelmed any decision on his part to keep his distance? Or on her part to stay calm and controlled?
Earlier in the evening, heâd given her a calla lily instead of a kiss. The lovely flower had been no substitute at all. Its soft petals were nothing compared to...
He sucked the sweetness of cream from her lips. He sought its remnants on her tongue. He pressed into her until her bottom was on the table and his impossibly muscular body was between her legs. The pastry was forgotten as his mouth took its place, a much more decadent treat. Forbidden. Bad for her. Crazy. She tasted sweet cream and pastry and fire and a wicked hint of wood smoke that must be the never-before-tasted burn of Brimstone heat on her tongue.
She opened to him. She didnât resist. Their tongues twined. Their bodies melded as closely as clothes would allow. He tasted her completely, plundering every gasp, every sugar-sweetened sigh.
And when he finally pulled back, as she clung to him so she wouldnât fall, she finally saw the flush of pleasure on his face and neck that the pastry alone had failed to give him. Heaven help her, but she instantly ached to give him more. It wasnât his marbled perfection she wanted to caress; it was his vulnerability. She wanted to explore the chink in his armor that had allowed him to taste her.
âGood night, Katherine. You heard Sybil. Itâs time for bed,â Severne said.
He backed away. She straightened. In his deep, smoky voice, the suggestion of bedtime was much less utilitarian.
It had been only a kiss.
Only.
She walked by him on quaking legs. He let her go. But between them was so much more heat than could be blamed on hellâs fire.
Her whole life sheâd hidden in music. Perhaps being excellent at hiding made her also long to seek. Severne hid many things behind his mystery and his muscle. His hardness was his armor. But he was capable of softening. Heâd softened tonight. For one stolen moment, his mouth had softened on hers. She couldnât risk losing herself in the search for the softness he hid from her and from the world.
Victoria was missing, and she couldnât afford to lose herself in John Severne before her sister was found.
Chapter 5
T he next day John left the opera house as much to escape the memory of Katherineâs taste as to fulfill his duties. The house he visited was small, but neat, in a row of older bungalow homes in Roseland Terrace, a part of Baton Rougeâs Garden District that had been
It was a confession, that exhalation. And his eyelids drooped over his eyes in response.
âYou didnât enjoy your own pastry,â she said.
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and back again.
âIâve eaten them a thousand times a thousand. But you chew as if nothing so perfect has ever touched your lips and tongue. Theyâre dust to me. Watching you enjoy them is delicious.â
Katherineâs head grew light as blood rushed to her lips and the tips of her breasts. He knew. He must. His jaw relaxed, and he brought the pastry to her mouth. He touched the pursed bow of her lips with a light, teasing tickle of sugary cream.
She licked out, instinctively dipping into the residue of icing with her tongue. He watched as she tasted it once more. It was even more decadent when combined with the intensity of his attention.
âIâve tasted cream a thousand times a thousand, but Iâve never tasted it on you,â he said.
Had she known? Had her head gone light because she knew her nibbles of delicate pastry had overwhelmed any decision on his part to keep his distance? Or on her part to stay calm and controlled?
Earlier in the evening, heâd given her a calla lily instead of a kiss. The lovely flower had been no substitute at all. Its soft petals were nothing compared to...
He sucked the sweetness of cream from her lips. He sought its remnants on her tongue. He pressed into her until her bottom was on the table and his impossibly muscular body was between her legs. The pastry was forgotten as his mouth took its place, a much more decadent treat. Forbidden. Bad for her. Crazy. She tasted sweet cream and pastry and fire and a wicked hint of wood smoke that must be the never-before-tasted burn of Brimstone heat on her tongue.
She opened to him. She didnât resist. Their tongues twined. Their bodies melded as closely as clothes would allow. He tasted her completely, plundering every gasp, every sugar-sweetened sigh.
And when he finally pulled back, as she clung to him so she wouldnât fall, she finally saw the flush of pleasure on his face and neck that the pastry alone had failed to give him. Heaven help her, but she instantly ached to give him more. It wasnât his marbled perfection she wanted to caress; it was his vulnerability. She wanted to explore the chink in his armor that had allowed him to taste her.
âGood night, Katherine. You heard Sybil. Itâs time for bed,â Severne said.
He backed away. She straightened. In his deep, smoky voice, the suggestion of bedtime was much less utilitarian.
It had been only a kiss.
Only.
She walked by him on quaking legs. He let her go. But between them was so much more heat than could be blamed on hellâs fire.
Her whole life sheâd hidden in music. Perhaps being excellent at hiding made her also long to seek. Severne hid many things behind his mystery and his muscle. His hardness was his armor. But he was capable of softening. Heâd softened tonight. For one stolen moment, his mouth had softened on hers. She couldnât risk losing herself in the search for the softness he hid from her and from the world.
Victoria was missing, and she couldnât afford to lose herself in John Severne before her sister was found.
Chapter 5
T he next day John left the opera house as much to escape the memory of Katherineâs taste as to fulfill his duties. The house he visited was small, but neat, in a row of older bungalow homes in Roseland Terrace, a part of Baton Rougeâs Garden District that had been
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