On a Wild Night by Stephanie Laurens

His eyes held hers; she didn’t dare look away. Barely dared to blink.
    He leaned closer still, lowered his head. She lost sight of his eyes, fixed her gaze on his lips.
    Behind her, she felt the side of the window frame, was grateful for its immovable support.
    His head ducked and his lips brushed hers, cruised gently as if testing their resilience, then, not with a swoop but with the confidence of one sure of his welcome, he settled them over hers.
    She felt that first kiss all the way to her toes. In response, sweet heat swept up from her soles to her heart. Her breathing locked. She swayed—raised a hand, locked it on the steely arm beside her.
    Felt his other hand firm about her jaw, tipping her face up to his.
    Alarm bells were ringing in Martin’s head with the wild abandon of banshees. He blocked them out; he knew what he was doing, knew that, in this arena, he wielded absolute control. Instead of retreating, he turned his considerable talents to savoring her luscious lips, then teasing them apart.
    Within seconds, he realized that although she’d been kissed, she’d never yielded her mouth to any man. He wanted it. Ruthless but still gentle, he shifted his fingers about her chin, pressed—her lips parted. He surged in—sensed her gasp, felt the sudden tensing of her spine.
    Lowering his arm, he locked that hand at her waist, steadying her, fingers pressing to her spine, then soothingly shifting along the slender muscles framing it, distracting her, quieting her. Easing her into the caress.
    Until she was kissing him back, luring him in, inexpertly but definitely returning each caress. Growing bolder by the minute.
    He angled his head and deepened the kiss.
    She tasted sweet. Delicate. Vulnerable.
    He wanted more—couldn’t get enough to appease his sudden need.
    Every muscle strained to draw her to him, against him. He resisted, reminding himself just what he was doing—demonstrating to her the dangers in her plan to seek excitement. Drawing her to him would be tempting fate.
    No matter how desirable that fate might be.
    He took her mouth again, glorying in the softness, the subtle beckoning that, innocent though she was, seemed to have come to her instinctively. He let them both sink into the kiss, let the pleasure seep to their bones.
    Kept his hand locked at her waist, refused to let it shift up, or down.
    Ending the kiss, lifting his head, letting his hand fall from her face, took more effort than he’d expected. It left him slightly dizzy, blinking down into her wide eyes.
    â€œExcitement enough?” He heard the gravelly tone in his voice and wondered to whom the question was addressed.
    She blinked dazedly, then awareness flowed into her eyes.
    Amanda dropped her gaze to his lips, felt her own tingle. Still felt the thrill of the invasion of his tongue, and all the sensations that had followed. Felt, recognized, her hunger for more. Knew she couldn’t have it—yet.
    â€œFor the moment.” She wondered at her tone—a beguiling, still confident purr she couldn’t have bettered if she’d tried.
    She glanced up, met his gaze. Saw a frown in the darkened green. Looking away to hide her satisfaction, she slid her hand down his arm to the hand at her waist, eased it away.
    He straightened as she stepped out of his shadow. The waltz in the ballroom had just ended; no one else had yet joined them in the gallery.
    She started toward the doors. “Incidentally, you were wrong.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    She slowed, glanced back; he’d swung to watch her but hadn’t moved from the window. “I do need to travel to Richmond.” She held his gaze for a moment, then turned and continued to the nearest doors.
    â€œAmanda.”
    She halted, then faced him. Across the room, she met his gaze.
    Silence stretched.
    â€œWhen?”
    She considered his tone—flat, unforgiving. “We can discuss when tomorrow morning. In the