One Forbidden Evening. Jo Goodman
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ONE FORBIDDEN EVENING
A chill slipped under her skin and Cybelline shivered.
“You’re cold?” asked Ferrin. He made to go the fire again, but Cybelline stopped him.
“No, it’s nothing. The odd shiver. Do not trouble yourself.” In spite of her words, she shivered again.
This time when Ferrin got to his feet he put himself directly in front of her. Without asking permission to do so, he placed the back of his hand against her forehead, then her cheek. His touch lingered in spite of his intention for it to be otherwise.
“I told you it is nothing.” Cybelline’s skin tingled under his fingertips. She did not ask him to remove his hand. How was it possible that he could evoke such a response from her? The merest brush with him arrested her heart. She glanced upward and saw the dark centers of his eyes were wider than before. She suspected it was the same for her.
“You feel it, don’t you, Cybelline?”
She did not ask him to explain. She simply nodded.
He took one of her hands in each of his and raised her up. “It is like completing a circuit.”
“Electricity,” she said softly.
His mouth was gentle on hers, the tug of his lips infinitely soft. Opposites. Attraction. His words came back to her as he nudged her lips apart. The kiss was long and slow and deep, and when he raised his head she felt herself being pulled toward him…
Books by Jo Goodman
The Captain’s Lady
Crystal Passion
Seaswept Abandon
Velvet Night
Violet Fire
Scarlet Lies
Tempting Torment
Midnight Princess
Passion’s Sweet Revenge
Sweet Fire
Wild Sweet Ecstasy
Rogue’s Mistress
Forever in My Heart
Always in My Dreams
Only in My Arms
My Steadfast Heart
My Reckless Heart
With All My Heart
More Than You Know
More Than You Wished
Let Me Be the One
Everything I Ever Wanted
All I Ever Needed
Beyond a Wicked Kiss
A Season to Be Sinful
One Forbidden Evening
Published by Zebra Books
One Forbidden Evening
JO GOODMAN
Contents
One Forbidden Evening
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue
London, June 1817
He was coming to bed. At last. She smiled sleepily and raised the quilt and coverlet just enough for him to slide in beside her. Her body conformed to the depression in the mattress, then again as he closed the distance between them. She could feel his warm breath on her face, the nearness of his mouth, a hint of whisky on his tongue as he kissed her.
“You work too hard,” she whispered. “You have been gone an age.”
“I’m here now.”
“Mmm. Yes, you are.”
Their kiss deepened. She felt him stirring against her, and she rocked her hips forward, cradling him. Her arms lifted, circled his shoulders. When he lifted his head she buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed deeply. The hem of her nightgown grazed her calves and thighs as he raised it with his fingertips. His touch was light, intimate, and familiar. Her breasts swelled against his chest.
“I’ve missed you,” she said against his mouth.
“It is the same for me.”
Yes, she realized, it was the same for him. Sometimes she doubted it, but not just at this moment, not when his lips moved so sweetly across hers, not when the scent of him enveloped her and the weight of his body secured her.
“Of course it is the same for me,” he said, just as if he knew there were times when uncertainty plagued her.
Her fingers mussed the curling ends of hair at his nape. She felt him shiver, and it made her smile. His response was most surely an invitation to do it again, so she did.
“Ahh.”
She raised her head. It was too dark to see him clearly. She thought she could make out the fine line of his profile against the pillow, but perhaps it was just that she knew how sharply defined his features were. Of a sudden it seemed important that she see him. She could not explain it, understanding only that the fleeting desire had become need and she should not ignore it. She began to draw back, intending to sit up.
“No,” he said, catching her by the arms. His thumbs massaged her flesh as his grip tightened a fraction. He pulled her back, his touch insistent but still more gentle than not. “Stay here. Stay…close.”
Resistance, such as there was, dissolved. She allowed herself to be pulled back into his embrace. It was where she wanted to be, she told herself. Still, she said, “Permit me to light a candle.”
He chuckled softly. “Do you think I don’t know where to put my hands? That I cannot find my way around your body? I have not been gone so long as that, and my sense of direction has always been good.”
She sucked in a breath sharply as he palmed her bottom and brought her in full intimate contact with him once again. “Yes,” she said on a thread of sound. “Oh, yes.”
His mouth was on hers, this time engaging her tongue. She felt a fullness in her breasts, another in her heart. How careful he was with her, even when his own need was great. The kiss took on a languid, leisurely quality, and she was reminded of a kiss shared out of doors when they were but newly married. The manor was some distance behind them, the lake close enough to hear the rhythmic lap of water. On that occasion there had been sunshine and ducks preening on an outcropping of rocks. She could hear the snap of the rug as he laid it down on the uneven tufts of grass. A pleasant aroma rose from the picnic basket: warm bread and cheese and a skin of red wine.
Perhaps