Nina Beaumont - Surrender The Heart

“Excellent.” Pleased and relieved, she smiled. She could not have wished for a better reaction, she thought. “Nor am I looking for a husband. I, too, find the institution of marriage quite hideous. Unfortunately, my father is deaf to reason, so I would like to enlist your help.”

“My help?”

She nodded. “Could I interest you in the role of suitor to throw him off the scent, so to speak? You pretend to court me until others lose interest and my father decides to let me go home. I give you my word,” she continued quickly, “that there are no hidden traps here.”

Her smile was so dazzling, her eyes so sincere that for a moment he found himself speechless. Because his reaction troubled him, he drew back into himself and raised an eyebrow.

“And what is in it for me?”

Vaguely dissatisfied with his flippant question, Ariane shrugged. “The same, I suppose. The moment word gets around that you’re rich—if you are indeed rich—you’ll have to beat off all the daughters of impoverished counts and dukes with a stick.” She did not add that she suspected it would be no different if he were as poor as the proverbial church mouse.

“Ah, yes?” His mouth curved in a smile Ariane might have recognized as predatory if she had been more experienced—or known him better. “Is that all?”

“Isn’t it enough?”

“No.” He smiled. Now that the first shock was past, he was beginning-to enjoy himself. “What else do you have to offer me?”

She stopped and gave him a long, serious look. He was smiling that lethal smile of his, and she needed to remind herself that she had sworn to be immune to it. But there was something in his pale green eyes that had not been there before. She did not know what it was and that alarmed her as much as the fact that, whatever it was, it seemed to touch her where she had never been touched before.

“I’m not very good at games,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me what you want.”

“And here I thought I’d be a gentleman and let you offer first.”

“A gentleman?” Her tone was bland, but the curve of her eyebrows left no doubt as to her meaning.

“You wound me.” He touched his hand to his heart. “And here I thought my manners were impeccable.”

Because the curve of his tawny eyebrows was cynical and the tone of his voice just bordering on insolence, she discounted the flicker in his eyes that she might otherwise have interpreted as hurt.

“Your manners are impeccable, if you wish them to be,” she added, thinking of his bold touch earlier that evening. “But I have the distinct feeling that the real you lurks somewhere beneath those manners and is not quite civilized.” She thought of her first impression of him as a lion among tomcats, and before she knew it, the words had found their way to her tongue.

He threw back his head and roared with laughter, cementing that impression thoroughly.

His laugh was so luxurious, so full of life that Ariane could not suppress her smile. “Good. Now that I seem to have complimented you so lavishly, perhaps you will tell me what it is you want from me.”

“A sporting chance of seducing you.” He spoke lightly and the smile that still played around his mouth was easy.

“What?” Ariane stopped so suddenly that her crinoline swayed like a boat in distress.

Her exclamation had the chatter around them stilling as all eyes turned toward them.

“You heard me.” Chris covered her hand, which still lay on his arm, with his and gave it a small tug. “Come along now and keep your voice down unless you want to create a scene.”

Skillfully, he navigated them through the crowd. Deciding to forgo refreshments, he guided her onto the gallery that ran around the main staircase. The moment he closed the door to the ballroom behind them, Ariane snatched her hand away from his arm and spun around to face him.

“How dare you?”

He leaned against the marble balustrade, which was richly veined in reddish brown and black, and crossed his ankles, the very picture of relaxed, self-confident masculinity.

“I thought you appreciated direct speech.” The corners of Chris’s mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. “Was my impression mistaken?”

“I do appreciate direct speech. But I do not appreciate indecent proposals”. She pushed away the uncomfortable suspicion that she sounded priggish.

“I didn’t ask you to become my mistress, Ariane,” he said softly, “although that thought has its own appeal. I asked for a sporting chance to seduce you. There is a world of difference between the two.” He allowed his mouth to curve fully. “If you like, I’ll explain it to you.”

“I’m not a child.”

“My thought exactly.”

“Don’t be coarse.” She glared at him. He looked so at ease, so sure of himself, and her insides felt like a mass of not-quite-settled aspic.

“I have no wish to entrap you. I have no intention of using flattery or wine to get you into my bed.” He leaned forward a little. “Look, it’s like a card game with two players doing their best with their skill—” he paused for a heartbeat “—and their luck.”

His wicked grin infuriated her. “I am not interested in your games.”

“Oh, but Ariane, they are such pleasant games.” His smile warmed. “You have just finished telling me that you are not looking for a husband. What good reason do you have then to deny yourself a little pleasure? Pleasure should be taken when it is offered. Life is too short for anything else.”

Damn him, she thought, he knew far too well just how attractive he was. His velvet voice alone was enough to conjure up all manner of delights.

Bracing herself against the impossible images that assaulted her, her voice was cold. “Your conceit is gargantuan. Pleasure, indeed. How do I know that it will be a pleasure?” She tilted up her chin, defying him, but even more defying her own terrible premonition that he spoke the truth.

“I guarantee it, comtesse.”

In one swift, supple movement he straightened, captured her hand and brought it to his lips.

“I guarantee it personally.”

She tried to free her hand, but Chris did not relinquish it. Instead, keeping his eyes on hers, he began to remove her glove—slowly tugging it off finger by finger, making as sensual a ritual of it as if he were divesting her of some intimate article of clothing.

Ariane forgot to breathe as he slipped the glove off and tossed it aside. Then he raised her hand again and pressed his mouth to the center of her palm.

Heat. That was all Ariane could think of as Chris’s mouth pressed against her palm, as his breath skimmed over her skin like a hot desert wind. When he touched the tip of his tongue to her hand, she jolted as if she had been burned. And, indeed, an unfamiliar ache swept through her like a firestorm.

“Don’t” Her voice was so low and smoky that she barely recognized it, and something resembling panic licked at her nerves.

“Don’t what?” Chris asked.

His lips shifted seductively over her skin as he spoke. She knew that she should pull her hand out of his grasp, but it was as if she had lost command over her body.

“Don’t do this,” she managed.

“This?” He traced the width of her palm with his tongue. “Or this?” Moving his mouth downward, he nipped at the fleshy pad beneath her thumb.

She managed to suppress the soft sound that rose in her throat, but she was helpless to prevent the sinuous curl of heat that spread through her to pool in her belly. The desire to close her eyes, to savor this new sensation was so strong that she almost gave in to it. But some last shred of wariness had her bracing against it.