intimate. As if he was about to twirl her into a waltz.
Her heart beat a little faster. Her breathing quickened. “I don’t understand.”
He cupped her chin and tilted her face upward. “You looked at him the way you look at me.”
“That’s impossible.” Montague incited none of this turmoil.
“I need you to regard me in the same manner with which I regard you.”
She was arrested by the way he looked her over. So intent. With a gaze that was fierce. Fervent. His fingertips followed the path of his perusal. Touching her forehead. Tracing her brows. Following the bridge of her nose.
Eliza, in turn, studied him unabashedly. His features were so perfectly formed, beautiful in their symmetry but masculine in their lines. It was such a pleasure to look upon him; he made her want to stare.
“How do I regard you now?” she queried breathlessly.
“Too aware. Trying to reason your way out of this attraction. Stop thinking,” he murmured. Tilting his head, he lowered his mouth toward hers. The approach was slow and deliberate. His grip was loose and without force. “Let yourself feel it.”
She stumbled back, panting because she couldn’t breathe when he was so close.
Jasper watched her retreat with hooded eyes. She was nearly beyond arm’s reach when he growled and caught her back. His lips sealed over hers with a boldness that stole what was left of her air. With one hand at her nape and an arm around her waist, Jasper took her mouth as if he owned it. Undeniably skilled and . . . hungry. A slanting, suckling, ferocious possession that stunned her completely.
Eliza sagged into him, unable to comprehend the ardor with which he kissed her. His body was astonishingly hard, like warm marble. From shoulder to thigh, he pressed unyieldingly against her. Without the barrier of her stays the sensation was . . . Dear God, she couldn’t describe the need she had to touch more of him. Her hands clenched and released at her sides, reaching for him, then falling away.
Where should—could—she touch him?
As if he understood, Jasper’s hand at her nape followed the length of her arm down to her wrist. His fingers circled it, then lifted her hand to his chest. Between his coat and waistcoat he urged her palm to splay over his heart. His skin burned through the layers of clothing between them. His heartbeat raced with the same recklessness as hers.
Her other hand clenched the hem of his coat. She whimpered, overwhelmed.
Her capitulation gentled him. The press of his lips softened and his grip slackened enough to allow her lungs to expand. Teasing rather than taking, Jasper licked the lower curve of her lip, goading her to taste him back. She did, trembling, uncertain.
At the first flick of her tongue, he captured it with soft suction. Startled, Eliza jerked in his arms, her breasts flattening against his chest. His groan vibrated against her, tumbling across sensitized nerve endings.
“Eliza.”
The clock on the mantel began to chime on the half hour, but Eliza was lost to time, focused instead on the luxuriant licks stroking deep into her mouth. Her hand moved across Jasper’s torso, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch. A sound escaped her, a soft plea.
Jasper lifted his head, breathing hard. With heavy-lidded eyes, he studied her face.
“This,” he said gruffly, “is how you should look at me, the way you look at no one else. As if you long for me to finish what I’ve started. As if you ache to feel my mouth on you, my hands on you.”
She did ache. And felt unappeased, as if she had an unquenched thirst. Her skin was too sensitive. Her fingers trembled. She was far too hot.
He stepped back and turned away in a motion as elegant as it was powerful. She couldn’t help but follow him with her gaze. He was such a large and finely built man, yet he moved with such grace.
“Jasper.” Her pulse leaped at the look he shot her. “Tomorrow night . . . I will save the first waltz for you.”
She
Her heart beat a little faster. Her breathing quickened. “I don’t understand.”
He cupped her chin and tilted her face upward. “You looked at him the way you look at me.”
“That’s impossible.” Montague incited none of this turmoil.
“I need you to regard me in the same manner with which I regard you.”
She was arrested by the way he looked her over. So intent. With a gaze that was fierce. Fervent. His fingertips followed the path of his perusal. Touching her forehead. Tracing her brows. Following the bridge of her nose.
Eliza, in turn, studied him unabashedly. His features were so perfectly formed, beautiful in their symmetry but masculine in their lines. It was such a pleasure to look upon him; he made her want to stare.
“How do I regard you now?” she queried breathlessly.
“Too aware. Trying to reason your way out of this attraction. Stop thinking,” he murmured. Tilting his head, he lowered his mouth toward hers. The approach was slow and deliberate. His grip was loose and without force. “Let yourself feel it.”
She stumbled back, panting because she couldn’t breathe when he was so close.
Jasper watched her retreat with hooded eyes. She was nearly beyond arm’s reach when he growled and caught her back. His lips sealed over hers with a boldness that stole what was left of her air. With one hand at her nape and an arm around her waist, Jasper took her mouth as if he owned it. Undeniably skilled and . . . hungry. A slanting, suckling, ferocious possession that stunned her completely.
Eliza sagged into him, unable to comprehend the ardor with which he kissed her. His body was astonishingly hard, like warm marble. From shoulder to thigh, he pressed unyieldingly against her. Without the barrier of her stays the sensation was . . . Dear God, she couldn’t describe the need she had to touch more of him. Her hands clenched and released at her sides, reaching for him, then falling away.
Where should—could—she touch him?
As if he understood, Jasper’s hand at her nape followed the length of her arm down to her wrist. His fingers circled it, then lifted her hand to his chest. Between his coat and waistcoat he urged her palm to splay over his heart. His skin burned through the layers of clothing between them. His heartbeat raced with the same recklessness as hers.
Her other hand clenched the hem of his coat. She whimpered, overwhelmed.
Her capitulation gentled him. The press of his lips softened and his grip slackened enough to allow her lungs to expand. Teasing rather than taking, Jasper licked the lower curve of her lip, goading her to taste him back. She did, trembling, uncertain.
At the first flick of her tongue, he captured it with soft suction. Startled, Eliza jerked in his arms, her breasts flattening against his chest. His groan vibrated against her, tumbling across sensitized nerve endings.
“Eliza.”
The clock on the mantel began to chime on the half hour, but Eliza was lost to time, focused instead on the luxuriant licks stroking deep into her mouth. Her hand moved across Jasper’s torso, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch. A sound escaped her, a soft plea.
Jasper lifted his head, breathing hard. With heavy-lidded eyes, he studied her face.
“This,” he said gruffly, “is how you should look at me, the way you look at no one else. As if you long for me to finish what I’ve started. As if you ache to feel my mouth on you, my hands on you.”
She did ache. And felt unappeased, as if she had an unquenched thirst. Her skin was too sensitive. Her fingers trembled. She was far too hot.
He stepped back and turned away in a motion as elegant as it was powerful. She couldn’t help but follow him with her gaze. He was such a large and finely built man, yet he moved with such grace.
“Jasper.” Her pulse leaped at the look he shot her. “Tomorrow night . . . I will save the first waltz for you.”
She