Nina Beaumont - Surrender The Heart

Yet it was that very tension that had her fingers spreading and pressing against his cheek. The slight abrasiveness of his skin tempted her beyond measure, making her want to rub her fingertips against it to acquaint herself with this new texture.

“Go ahead,” Chris murmured, fascinated by her expressive eyes, which were able to conceal neither the curiosity nor the temptation. “It is not forbidden to touch.”

His words pulled her back from the sea of sensation where she had been foundering.

“Let me go.” The words that had been meant as a command came out sounding like a plea. Anger at her own weakness flared within her. Anger—and the traitorous desire to take the words back.

Slowly, his eyes on hers, he lowered her hand and released her.

Fighting an unreasonable sense of loss, Ariane grappled for the right words.

“Is this how your game of seduction is played?” Alarm, masked by indignation, colored her words.

“Would you care to be more specific?”

“Insidiously.” She filled her lungs with air in the vain attempt to soothe her raw nerves. “Unscrupulously.”

Even as she said the words, she understood that her accusation was excessive, but she was trembling. Trembling, damn it! And she had sworn long ago that she would tremble for no man.

“I played my hand with the cards a kind fate dealt me.” He shrugged, trying to rid himself of the sharp desire to feel her fingers on his skin again. “You are making me responsible for your own weakness.”

Ariane stared at him, appalled at his nonchalant words. How could he be so indifferent when he had turned her world and her vision of herself upside down with a few words and a touch?

Forcing herself to move, she paced a few steps away and linked her hands to steady them. A measure of self-control returned, reminding her that it was not her wont to blame others for her own mistakes.

Why was she having this absurd conversation? she asked herself harshly. What had possessed her to pick the most dangerous man she had ever seen for her scheme? Why had she not asked someone safe, someone like Roger de Monnier, or one of those baby-faced young men she had danced with?

But she hadn’t asked someone else, she reminded herself. She had asked the insolent, beautiful American. And she could not back away now, any more than she could have backed away from a wager or a card game simply because she had discovered too late that the odds were against her. Her pride would not allow it.

The turmoil in her eyes made Chris want to reach out and reassure her that he meant her no harm. Even though it occurred to him that his notion of harm was possibly very different from hers, he pushed away from the balustrade, his hand raised in a placating gesture. Before he could take more than a single step toward her, she whirled around to face him.

“Yes, my weakness. That is exactly the point, Monsieur Blanchard.” The fact that her voice was even, showing little sign of the agitation of a moment ago, settled her nerves still further. She was in control, she told herself. And she would stay in control. “You have challenged me to a game where you have an unfair advantage.”

The cool determination on her face made him wonder if he had imagined her confusion, her vulnerability a moment ago.

“If you think so,” he answered, “then perhaps we should lay down some rules.”

“It is not a question of rules,” Her voice was brisk. “The fact remains that you have challenged me to a game where you are apparently quite expert, while I have never played it before.”

“Never?” His body stirred at the thought. “I can hardly believe that you have never engaged in a little harmless flirtation.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Your demonstration just now had nothing whatsoever to do with harmless flirtation.”

“I’m flattered.”

“That was not my intention.” Because his velvet voice, coupled with his charming half smile, had her stomach fluttering, her tone was sharper than it might have been.

How could he have thought the little spitfire vulnerable? Chris asked himself. His conscience appeased, he prepared to enjoy himself.

“So tell me, ma chére comtesse —” he relaxed back against the cool marble “—have you been kissed before, or has no man braved your fury?” He grinned. “I do not ask because I am indiscreet. I merely want to know how high are the walls to be scaled.”

“Your effrontery appears to be truly boundless.”

“Assuming that as given, why don’t you answer my question.”

Because his cheeky grin made her want to smile back at him, she took refuge in a haughty look.

“Yes, I have been kissed before.” Clumsy kisses, she thought, or bland ones or simply dull ones. Before she knew it, her gaze had drifted down to Chris’s mouth. His kiss would be—Oh, God, if his mouth had created such delicious sensations when he had touched it to her palm, what would it feel like if he kissed her?

Suddenly aware of the direction of her thoughts, her cheeks flamed, but she did not avert her gaze, not even when she saw the knowledge in his eyes.

“Go ahead, Ariane.” Slowly he pushed away from the balustrade again and took a step forward and then another. “Go ahead and satisfy your curiosity.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar.” He took another step toward her. “Kiss me. Don’t say you don’t want to.”

“No.” That one small word seemed to cost her all her breath.

“Afraid?”

“Cautious.”

“One could think that you believe me a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Ariane gave Chris a long, slow look before she shook her head. “No. I don’t think you would ever bother disguising yourself with sheep’s clothing.” Giving in, she grinned. “At best you’re a wolf wearing a scrap of some poor sheep’s pelt who was too imprudent or too slow getting away.”

He laughed. “You have a wicked tongue, Ariane.”

One association led to another and his laughter died as he imagined taking her mouth, twining his tongue around hers, tasting it, feeling her passion come to life.

The heat in his eyes was so intense that Ariane would have sworn that she felt it on her skin. “So I’ve been told.” Her voice had grown softer and softer until she had only mouthed the last word.

They stared at each other, breath uneven, pulses racing.

“So where do we go from here, Ariane?” Chris asked when he was certain he could speak without babbling like a fool.

“I don’t know.” Her teeth worried her lower lip. “I still need help—yours or someone else’s.”

“Mine,” he said quickly, not recognizing the sharp emotion that sliced through him as jealousy.

“Yours,” Ariane agreed. With him, at least, she would know just where she stood.

“Even though I’m the big, bad wolf.” A corner of his mouth lifted.

“But I’m not Little Red Riding Hood.” She smiled, regaining her confidence now that she had seen that this time he had been as moved as she. Surely this had been only a random moment where they had unwittingly gotten under each other’s skin. “Nor one of those imprudent sheep.”

“And the other?” he pressed.

His gaze was so serious, so intense that she felt the dangerous breath lessness return. It occurred to her that perhaps the moment had not been such a random one after all, but she pushed the thought away, unwilling to believe it.

“And here I thought you were a gambler, Ariane. A risk taker,” Chris goaded, the urgent beat of his heart at odds with his flippant words. “A chance,” he said softly. “That’s all I’m asking for.” His voice lowered, grew huskier. “Surely you would not deny a man a chance.”

Ariane’s head made one more attempt to remind her that she was a reasonable person who had never made a decision without carefully weighing both sides of an issue. A sensible person who had never taken a risk that could not be calculated. But now her heart was pounding so madly, so loudly that she heard nothing else.