Read Online To Distraction by Stephanie Laurens - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Laurens
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perhaps to her it was too much, too soon. They’d only set eyes on each other yesterday.
He wasn’t a patient man, but she wasn’t just any woman.
Reining in his impulses, he leaned closer. She tried to stiffen, to pull back, but that only made her feel his restraining hand at her nape all the more. She tensed, but he didn’t try to kiss her. Instead, he touched his lips to the sleek hair above her ear.
“Stop fighting this.” He waited while the whispered words sank into her mind, until the realization he wasn’t going to force a kiss on her allowed her to ease her locked muscles. “Stop fighting me. I can teach you more about pleasure than you can imagine.”
She frowned as he drew back. She opened her mouth.
“And don’t bother telling me you’re not interested in pleasure.” He caught her eyes. “With the type of pleasure we’re discussing, everyone is.”
They walked back to the house; Phoebe’s heart pounded the entire way. She felt as if she’d escaped being devoured by a dangerous beast, only to have that same dangerous beast dog her heels every step of the way back to safety.
The beast wasn’t him; it was what flared between them.As they crossed the lawn and the house rose before them, she was perfectly clear about that.
She didn’t know what to make of him, but what flared between them was more unnerving than he was.
Much more disconcerting than he was. For reasons she couldn’t elucidate, she—her female mind—increasingly viewed him as…interesting. He’d proved to be other than she’d thought, and her curiosity was piqued. And while what flared between them was beyond unsettling, when he’d seen she hadn’t wanted to be kissed, he’d stopped.
And hadn’t.
What shook her to the core was that at the time, at the precise instant he’d drawn back, she—some wild, incomprehensible, self-destructive part of her—hadn’t wanted him to stop. Had wanted him to disregard her leaping fear, brush aside her instinctive panic and…
And metaphorically take her hand and teach her all she didn’t know.
All he’d offered, quite specifically, to teach her.
Which was surely madness. A dreadfully tempting madness.
She marched up the steps to the terrace, then, dragging in as large a breath as she could past the constriction banding her chest, swung to face him. “Thank you for your company, my lord.”
He met her eyes, his gaze direct, a certain cynicism in the green.
Before she could incline her head and leave him, a bell sounded from inside.
His lips twitched. With a graceful gesture, he waved to the French doors. “That will be luncheon. Shall we join the others?”
She inwardly cursed, nodded, still tense, and swept through the door.
If asked, she would have said that the last thing she needed at that moment was to be surrounded by a chattering horde. As it transpired, pretending to listen to the gay outpourings of the others back from their ride to the ruins gave her time to regain her equilibrium. Many of said outpourings were directed at Deverell, their aim to make clear how much excitement he’d missed. She quelled a snort and kept her eyes on her plate; he was, of course, seated next to her.
As before, his nearness ruffled her senses, but the effect wasn’t actually distressing. It was…not calming, certainly not soothing…pleasant, insidious, unrelenting temptation was the best description she could muster. She might be able to ignore it, if she put her mind to it, but her mind seemed to have other ideas.
Among them dwelling on the intriguing fact that in that fraught moment at the lookout, even though he hadn’t needed to, he had indeed stopped. He’d had absolute control and had exercised it; she found that infinitely fascinating.
Unfortunately once lunch ended, it was impossible to escape. The others had organized their archery contest; everyone adjourned to the back lawn, sitting in the shade under the trees while the butts were set up under Peter
He wasn’t a patient man, but she wasn’t just any woman.
Reining in his impulses, he leaned closer. She tried to stiffen, to pull back, but that only made her feel his restraining hand at her nape all the more. She tensed, but he didn’t try to kiss her. Instead, he touched his lips to the sleek hair above her ear.
“Stop fighting this.” He waited while the whispered words sank into her mind, until the realization he wasn’t going to force a kiss on her allowed her to ease her locked muscles. “Stop fighting me. I can teach you more about pleasure than you can imagine.”
She frowned as he drew back. She opened her mouth.
“And don’t bother telling me you’re not interested in pleasure.” He caught her eyes. “With the type of pleasure we’re discussing, everyone is.”
They walked back to the house; Phoebe’s heart pounded the entire way. She felt as if she’d escaped being devoured by a dangerous beast, only to have that same dangerous beast dog her heels every step of the way back to safety.
The beast wasn’t him; it was what flared between them.As they crossed the lawn and the house rose before them, she was perfectly clear about that.
She didn’t know what to make of him, but what flared between them was more unnerving than he was.
Much more disconcerting than he was. For reasons she couldn’t elucidate, she—her female mind—increasingly viewed him as…interesting. He’d proved to be other than she’d thought, and her curiosity was piqued. And while what flared between them was beyond unsettling, when he’d seen she hadn’t wanted to be kissed, he’d stopped.
And hadn’t.
What shook her to the core was that at the time, at the precise instant he’d drawn back, she—some wild, incomprehensible, self-destructive part of her—hadn’t wanted him to stop. Had wanted him to disregard her leaping fear, brush aside her instinctive panic and…
And metaphorically take her hand and teach her all she didn’t know.
All he’d offered, quite specifically, to teach her.
Which was surely madness. A dreadfully tempting madness.
She marched up the steps to the terrace, then, dragging in as large a breath as she could past the constriction banding her chest, swung to face him. “Thank you for your company, my lord.”
He met her eyes, his gaze direct, a certain cynicism in the green.
Before she could incline her head and leave him, a bell sounded from inside.
His lips twitched. With a graceful gesture, he waved to the French doors. “That will be luncheon. Shall we join the others?”
She inwardly cursed, nodded, still tense, and swept through the door.
If asked, she would have said that the last thing she needed at that moment was to be surrounded by a chattering horde. As it transpired, pretending to listen to the gay outpourings of the others back from their ride to the ruins gave her time to regain her equilibrium. Many of said outpourings were directed at Deverell, their aim to make clear how much excitement he’d missed. She quelled a snort and kept her eyes on her plate; he was, of course, seated next to her.
As before, his nearness ruffled her senses, but the effect wasn’t actually distressing. It was…not calming, certainly not soothing…pleasant, insidious, unrelenting temptation was the best description she could muster. She might be able to ignore it, if she put her mind to it, but her mind seemed to have other ideas.
Among them dwelling on the intriguing fact that in that fraught moment at the lookout, even though he hadn’t needed to, he had indeed stopped. He’d had absolute control and had exercised it; she found that infinitely fascinating.
Unfortunately once lunch ended, it was impossible to escape. The others had organized their archery contest; everyone adjourned to the back lawn, sitting in the shade under the trees while the butts were set up under Peter
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