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Christina Dodd

Christina Dodd Books

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Love Never Dies

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Tongue In Chic

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Wilder

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“Again he reached for her. Again he brought her up against him. But this time he showed her how very much he'd restrained himself before. Sliding his hand along the base of her neck, he thrust his fingers in her shorn hair and cradled her skull. He put his open mouth on hers, demanding response at once with the thrust of his tongue, and when she didn't open to him, he nipped at her lower lip. She cried our, an incoherent, startled sound. He was inside. Their first kisses had been exploration, a chance for him to taste her, a chance for her to grow used to him. His tongue thrust rhythmically into the cavity of her mouth. Her lips grew tender under his assault. She hardly knew what to think, what to do... but it didn't matter. He had taken control. The care he'd used the first times he'd kissed her was absent now. This time he sought satisfaction, and he sought it angrily, passionately.”

KissingPassionateEleanor And Rem
Book:One Kiss From You
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“Again he reached for her. Again he brought her up against him. But this time he showed her how very much he'd restrained himself before. Sliding his hand along the base of her neck, he thrust his fingers in her shorn hair and cradled her skull. He put his open mouth on hers, demanding response at once with the thrust of his tongue, and when she didn't open to him, he nipped at her lower lip. She cried out, an incoherent, startled sound. He was inside. Their first kisses had been exploration, a chance for him to taste her, a chance for her to grow used to him. His tongue thrust rhythmically into the cavity of her mouth. Her lips grew tender under his assault. She hardly knew what to think, what to do... but it didn't matter. He had taken control. The care he'd used the first times he'd kissed her was absent now. This time he sought satisfaction, and he sought it angrily, passionately.”

KissingPassionateEleanor And RemRemington Knight
Book:One Kiss From You
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“The imposter's long, sturdy traveling cloak covered plain, dark, modest traveling clothes. Like the duchess, she was tall and well-rounded, and she spoke with the duchess's aristocratic accent. Also like the duchess, she wore her black hair smoothed back from her face. Yet for the discerning eye, the differences were obvious. The imposter had a sweeter, rounder face, dominated by large blue eyes striking in their serenity. Her voice was husky, warm, rich. Her hands rested calmly at her waist, and she moved with serene grace, not at all with the brisk certainty of the duchess. She was slow to smile, slow to frown, and never laughed with glorious freedom. Indeed, she seemed to weigh each emotion before allowing it egress, as if sometime in the past every drop of impulsiveness had been choked from her. It wasn't that she was morose, but she was observant, composed, and far too quiet.”

SweetSereneDuchessEleanor De LacyComposed
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“You didn't even know of my existence a month ago." "But I did. I've known your existence for over eight years, ever since my man of business returned to Boston from England and told me that the duke of Magnus had been blessed with a daughter. A most beautiful daughter." He placed the book back on the shelf, and he didn't need the stool. "My man of business did not exaggerate." Disconcerted, Eleanor said, "Well... thank you." Although he was speaking of Madeline, he was looking at her. She knew, without conceit, that she was attractive. One less-than-honorable Englishman, who'd seen the opportunity to seduce a pretty girl, had told her she was more handsome than her cousin. But when Mr. Knight gazed at her, that tiny flame his touch had ignited spread though her veins. That flame, and the attendant warmth, were bad things. Very bad things.”

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“As long as your father's alive, you aren't yet the duchess. All that deference isn't truly warranted, is it?" In an oppressive tone, Lady Gertrude said, "My niece is the marchioness of Sherbourne and the future duchess, a position that warrants great respect among the ton. She is, in fact, frequently called Her Grace, and given all the privileges of her future rank." He had been soundly rebuked, and he bowed his head in recognition of a worthy adversary. "Whether or not he gives me the respect due to a duchess is of no importance," Madeline said with a flick of scorn. "Americans are not impressed with the aristocracy, or so they claim. One hopes, however, Mr. Knight behaves with suitable courtesy to other women he encounters- in all walks of life." Yes, Lady Gertrude had rebuked him, but it was the contempt from his future wife that stung. "I'll do my best not to embarrass you." "Do your best not to embarrass yourself," she said with icy composure.”

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“She heard nothing but experienced a sensation that prickled along her spine like a warm touch caressing her skin. Slowly, with the care of prey beneath a predator's survey, she turned her head- and met the gaze of the elegant gentleman lounging at the door. In her travels, she had seen many a striking and charming man, but none had been as handsome as this- and all had been more charming. This man was a statue in stark black and white, hewn from rugged granite and adolescent dreams. His face wasn't really handsome; his nose was thin and crooked, his eyes heavy lidded, his cheekbones broad, stark and hollowed. But he wielded a quality of power, of toughness, that made Eleanor want to huddle into a shivering, cowardly little ball. Then he smiled, and she caught her breath in awe. His mouth... his glorious, sensual mouth. His lips were wide, too wide, and broad, too broad. His teeth were white, clean, strong as a wolf's. He looked like a man seldom amused by life, but he was amused by her, and she realized in a rush of mortification that she remained standing on the stool, reading one of his books and lost to the grave realities of her situation. The reality that stated she was an imposter, sent to mollify this man until the real duchess could arrive. Mollify? Him? Not likely. Nothing would mollify him. Nothing except... well, whatever it was he wanted. And she wasn't fool enough to think she knew what that was. The immediate reality was that she would somehow have to step down onto the floor and of necessity expose her ankles to his gaze. It wasn't as if he wouldn't look. He was looking now, observing her figure with an appreciation all the more impressive for its subtlety. His gaze flicked along her spine, along her backside, and down her legs with such concentration that she formed the impression he knew very well what she looked like clad only in her chemise- and that was an unnerving sensation.”

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“After all, what was the point of showing trepidation? It would merely be another proof that, although Eleanor had traveled across war-torn Europe as the duchess's companion, she hadn't acquired the verve and confidence that characterized Madeline's every move. This wasn't from lack of trials; the two women had faced trials aplenty. It was because- Eleanor sighed as she allowed the butler to take her cloak- Eleanor was born timid. She never remembered a time when her father's shouting hadn't paralyzed her with fright, or when her stepmother's narrow-eyed glare hadn't had the power to turn her into a bowl of quivering blancmange. Which is why Eleanor cultivated a serene facade- she might be a coward, but she saw no reason to announce the fact.”

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“Furthermore, she poured tea on a regular basis. Madeline didn't care to, while Eleanor found comfort in the scent, the warmth, the routine. But right now, with all of Mr. Knight's attention focused on her, the task became an ordeal. The pot seemed to weigh too much. The cup rattled in the saucer as she picked it up. She tilted the pot, aimed the spout toward the cup- And in that same, smiling, deceptively pleasant voice, Mr. Knight said, "I like having a duchess wait on me." Both of Eleanor's hands shook. The hot liquid splashed on her fingers. She dropped the cup. As she reached for it, it shattered against the table. A shard jabbed into her palm. She yanked her hand back and closed her fingers. In a rush, he came and knelt beside her. "Are you hurt? Did you burn yourself?" "No, no, I'm fine." She wasn't fine. She was embarrassed. She cultivated the graceful moves of a lady for a reason. She hated making a spectacle of herself- and now her nerves had betrayed her. "Please, Mr. Knight, stand up." For all the notice he took of her, she might not have spoken. Turning her hand to the light, he at once detected the slight cut beneath her little finger, oozing a sullen drop of scarlet blood. "You've cut yourself." "Only a little." She tried to tug her hand back. "I was clumsy. I broke your beautiful cup." "To hell with the cup." He pressed his finger lightly on the cut. She winced. "You're lucky. There's nothing in there." Lifting her hand to his mouth, he sucked the small wound. Shocked, she stared at him. His head bent over her hand, his chiseled features were intent, serious. His mouth was warm, wet, and the suction he used made her feel... odd. More animal than human, pain and intimacy mixing... never, ever had a man's mouth touched her on any part, in any way.”

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“It's that when the best hostesses pluck someone to be their new original, they can sometimes drop him as swiftly." "I hold in my palm a guarantee they will not." Lifting her hand to his again, he pressed his lips to the back of her fingers. This was awful! Awful that he flirted with her. Awful that she relished his attentions. "I wish you wouldn't... court me. It makes me uncomfortable." Taking no notice of her appeal, he remained on his knees before her. In a voice both low and curious, he said, "You're not what I expected." "No," she whispered. "I suppose not." Time seemed to slow and stretch. He observed her with intensity, as if she were a songbird he had trapped and would cage forever.”

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“From his observation so far, she was not the typical English noblewoman. He had been prepared to break her, like a spirited horse who had never worn saddle or bridle. Instead, when he looked at her, he saw a diffident woman without any sense of her own consequence. Her face was gently rounded, with dimples in her cheeks, an indent in her chin, and full, supple lips. She swept her black hair into an unfashionable roll at the back of her head, and if he knew his women- and he did- when unpinned it would reach to her waist with a natural wave that made a man want to coil his fingers in the living strands. Her body was bound in dark, unsightly clothes, but that camouflage couldn't conceal a generous bosom, and when he had wrapped his fingers around her waist, he had discovered how narrow that waist was, and beneath that, the graceful flare of her hips. He looked down at his hands and smiled. The feel of her had burned through her petticoats to his flesh, and he thought- no, he knew- the same flame had licked at her, for she'd examined him as if he were wild and unruly.”

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“But I fear my senses can't be trusted in this new land." Eleanor sneaked a glance at his harsh and handsome features. No matter how much she wanted to dislike his presumption and his arrogance, she found herself drawn to him. She would have noticed him if he'd been courting Madeline, and quivered over the most careless glance. But with all his attention focused on her in the belief she was Madeline, her mind was blank. She couldn't taste her food. She could only see and smell and crave to taste Mr. Knight. "I'm sure your senses are fine," Eleanor said. Both Mr. Knight and Lady Gertrude turned to look at her. Eleanor stared down at her plate, where the cold, dressed crab waved its claws at her, and she thought that it, too, gawked at her from its beady little peppercorn eyes and wondered at her incredible triteness. Then she thought about what she'd said, and she slumped in her seat. His senses? She had commented on his senses? In a deep, controlled voice, which, she feared, masked his amusement, he said, "I trust your bedchamber is to your liking." He wasn't supposed to be talking about her bedchamber. He was her... Madeline's... betrothed! Those who weren't married didn't mention bedchambers or beds or anything of a personal nature. Yet he was her host. It was proper he should ask. "Yes. It's lovely. It..." Eleanor realized she was being conciliatory when she should be taking a stand. As Madeline had said, Whenever you are in doubt, think, What would Madeline do in this situation? And do it. Straightening up, Eleanor stared forbiddingly at Mr. Knight. "It's in the wrong house, however. I should be in my father's home in Chesterfield Street." He stared back at her, waiting... waiting. The silence stretched out, long and dreadful. As he must have known she would, she began to crumple. "That is, I liked the colors. The chimney draws well. It's clean. It's... it's very clean. I do like it." Eleanor had warned Madeline that she was unable to talk to men. Eleanor had warned Madeline she was timid and easily cowed.”

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“You did this on purpose." For the first time, he saw the flash of anger in her blue eyes. "Of course. Did you really think I would meekly wear the clothing you had procured for me, as if I were some light-o'-love you rented for the month?" Lady Gertrude gasped and covered her mouth. Gradually, her shocked expression changed, and her eyes began to twinkle. Then the truth was borne in on him. He had lost. It was a small battle, unimportant among his schemes, but he lost so seldom he could scarcely comprehend it. He had lost. Lost to this quiet, diffident, stubborn duchess. Very well. He would remember, and in the future, he would fine-tune his tactics and never underestimate her again. "I would never make the mistake of thinking you a light-o'-love, Your Grace. I would more likely think you a chess master." She inclined her head, accepting his tribute as a matter of course.”

Eleanor De Lacy
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“In a deep voice, he called her name. "Madeline." Still she ignored him. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and, at the last minute, he turned it and kissed her wrist. That got her attention. She looked at him, her eyes as wide and startled as those of a doe who had never seen a human before. All around them, the tittle-tattle of gossip grew louder. "Mr. Knight!" Lady Gertrude used her most disapproving tone. She didn't care whether she was overheard. "You will not do such a thing again. That is quite improper." "Until we are wed," he answered. He didn't care, either. "Ever," Lady Gertrude said with crushing certainty. Then she amended, "In public." Madeline said nothing but ducked her head and blushed, and he would have sworn he saw the glitter of tears on her lashes. For a moment, just a moment, he felt guilty. Damn her. Most women of his experience used weeping like a weapon, to get their own way. His duchess seemed embarrassed by her tears and wanted no one to see. Not him. Not anyone else in the crowd.”

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“The consequence of the duchess of Magnus is so great, even arriving at a ball on your arm, Mr. Knight, cannot damage it." She smiled as she made the claim, as if she were amused by her own temerity. Under the influence of that merriment, her skin glowed, her eyes lit up, and her delightful dimples quivered in her cheeks. With a start, he thought, She's charming. He had expected to be challenged by this woman, not captivated. She surprised him, and surprise made him vaguely uneasy. Yet she was only a woman, and a woman whose father cared so little for her that he was willing to gamble her life away. Remington needed to remember that. He had the matter well in hand. Touching his white gloved finger under her chin, he lifted her face to his. "You smile too seldom. I wonder why.”

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“I'm Lady Codell-Fitch, and like so many of us, I wish to offer congratulations on your betrothal." "Yes, congratulations." "Congratulations!" "Amazing betrothal!" The felicitations were insincere and accompanied by many an ogling stare, but Eleanor pretended, as Madeline would, to be pleased. Taking Mr. Knight's arm, she pressed it. "He is quite handsome." She found herself daring to defy them all with an up-tilted chin. "I wish you all could be so lucky." The lushly garbed and overly perfumed people were obviously taken aback. They must have expected her to align herself with them, the English nobility, and with a wink and a sigh show how very much she hated this match. But she didn't even have to wonder how Madeline would react to this situation, for in this instance the two cousins thought as one. Neither of them would allow Mr. Knight to suffer the slights of society. They might not wish for this marriage, but the de Lacy pride wouldn't allow them to let anyone else know. Close by her ear, Mr. Knight said quietly, "A pretty pretense, yet lest you imagine I'm impressed, let me assure you I remember this morning when you tried to escape. Tonight you defied me in the matter of your hair and your clothing, and lied to me to get your way. I take your words with a grain of salt." He chuckled deeply.”

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“But perhaps, tonight, Eleanor should do as Madeline would do- and live for the moment. Tonight, she would abandon her fears and behave as any young lady would who danced her first dance at her first ball with the most handsome man in the room. Catching a glimpse of the dancers in one of the mirrors, she admired one young lady who moved with grace, who dressed with flare and whose hair looked dashing and sophisticated. As Eleanor watched, the lady imitated Eleanor's movements. She wore Eleanor's clothing. And Eleanor realized... the dashing female was herself. She was the one who danced like a dream. Her haircut had transformed her face. She appeared younger, joyful, strikingly modish. She looked less like Madeline and more like... like Eleanor might have looked if her stepmother had never made her appearance in Eleanor's life. Eleanor laughed at herself. Foolish to think a simple cut could change her, but spying herself unaware made her realize that looks were deceiving. No matter how frightened she felt inside, no one could see past the fashionable facade. No one except Mr. Knight. He took her hand for the promenade and looked into her eyes. He had a way of dancing that was almost like... making love. With him, she felt like the finest dancer in the world. They moved together, and when the music ended, she couldn't restrain her smile. She was happy. Tonight, for this moment, she was happy.”

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“His duchess rode like a woman born to the saddle, moving gracefully with the horse. Here, on the riding path in Green Park, her smooth mask of serenity slipped, and she became a woman saturated in bliss. It was as if the wind in her face and the great beast beneath her made her forget who she wished to be- and instead made her who she was. Remington wanted her to look like that for him, too. He wanted her to rise and fall above him, her face absorbed in pleasure, as she took him inside her again and again...”

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“I had a great many adventures on my trip." She glanced back at him, her eyelashes fluttering in womanly enticement. "You'd be astonished to hear them all." How did she do that? Beckon him with a glance, ensuring that he would trail after her like a lovesick swain? Two days ago she'd scarcely had the courage to look him in the eyes. A few kisses- a few very good kisses- and she was flirting. She added, "Someday I'll tell you... if you ask nicely." A cascade of climbing roses blossomed on trellises they passed, and she stopped and, with tender fingers, lifted a blossom. She smiled down at the furling petals, then, closing her eyes, she sniffed it deeply. "I love roses, especially yellow roses. They're not cherished like red roses, but they're invariably cheerful. Add them to a bouquet of lavender, and they make a heavenly smell and a beautiful display. Put them in a vase by themselves, and they nod and smile at everyone who passes.”

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“What in Hades were you doing, lady? I almost hit you." Remington rose to confront him, but before he could say a word, Madeline came up like an infuriated wasp. "What was I doing? What were you doing? You almost hit this dog." Her cheeks and the tip of her nose glowed scarlet with fury. Her eyes sparked with brilliant blue. She had a smudge on one cheek and her hat was askew, but that didn't matter, for all the passion she had revealed in the morning's kiss she put into the defense of a mutt she had never before seen. Surly with guilt, the youth said, "It was just a flea-ridden stray." Then her loveliness registered. He jerked to attention, back straight, shoulders back. He stared with avid fascination into her face. "I believe we may have met, although I can't quite remember-" She rampaged on, "Is that the way you were taught? To run over defenseless animals?" Stepping back, Remington folded his arms. This youth didn't stand a chance. Her eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. I recognize you. You're Lord Mauger!" "Yes, I... I am. Viscount Mauger, humbly at your service." Whipping his hat from his head, the youth bowed, eager to make a belated good impression on the beauty before him. "And you are...?" She wasn't impressed or interested. "I know your mother, and she would box your ears for this." Dull red rose in Mauger's cheeks. "You won't tell her." "Not if you promise to be more careful in the future. I won't be around to rescue the next dog, and I remember what a fine lad you were. You love animals, and you'd feel guilty if you killed one." "You're... you're right." Mauger's pleading eyes looked much like the dog's. "I just bought the chestnut, and came into town, and I wanted to show him off, but that's no excuse..." As Mauger dug his toe into the dirt, Remington realized he was observing a master at work. She had taken the young man from fury, to infatuation, to guilt in one smooth journey, and Mauger adored her for it.”

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“He did not need to be distracted by a woman. A gorgeous woman, yes, but just a woman. He didn't understand her. That was the problem. She was beautiful but unaware of her beauty. She was rich but not grasping. She was timid, yet she rode fearlessly, and for a scroungy dog she roared like a lion. Because of her, he'd had his best boots nipped by a mutt's sharp teeth. Because of her, he'd ordered all flower arrangements changed from red to yellow roses.”

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“You aren't wasting any time getting to the altar. Is there a reason for the hurry?" Every jaw within hearing dropped. Mr. Knight twisted around like a vengeful whirlwind. In unison, the guests stepped back. But for the first time, Lady Shapster hadn't the power to shame or terrify Eleanor. Maybe Eleanor had matured. Maybe the last four years, the last few days, the last few minutes, had shown her real adversity. For whatever reason, a rush of fury chased anxiety out of her mind. She didn't need Mr. Knight to defend her. She could stand up for herself. With a smile that was more tooth than benevolence, she said, "Lady Shapster, I arrived in England less than a week ago. If you wish to spread rumors, that isn't one that will take." Lady Shapster blinked, as if a kitten had attacked her ankles and drawn blood.”

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“What an expression of relief, my dear fiancée. However did you make your way through London society with such a revealing face? Not that I object, you understand." Leaning toward her, Mr. Knight smiled with the kind of intimate bewitchment that made her swallow to relieve her suddenly dry mouth. "When a woman is as beautiful as you are, she's usually adept at hiding her emotions. With you, I'll always know what gives you pleasure, and strive always to do as you wish.”

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“His silence made her lift one shoulder defensively. If he was trying to intimidate her, he was doing a first-rate job. Just when she was going to say something else- she didn't know what, but something that would crush this beast and his pretensions- he started forward. At once she realized she had named him correctly. He was a beast. He moved like a panther on the prowl, all smooth and leggy- and he prowled toward her. The closer he got, the bigger he seemed, tall and broad at the shoulder. He seemed an element of nature, a rugged mountain, a powerful sea- or a beast, a huge, ruthless beast who kept his claws hidden until he chose to use them. In a moment of panic, the imposter thought, My God, Madeline, what have you let me in for?”

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“Now that you're here, you cannot leave." He leaned close and whispered, "My future wife stays in my house- with me." Trapped. Eleanor was trapped in this man's house. "I can't stay here." She shrank from Mr. Knight, from the visions he inspired. Visions of villainous seduction and of social banishment. And beneath it all, a desperate excitement, an excitement that she wouldn't admit to, but it was there nonetheless. If he came to her bedchamber in the dark of night, would she do the proper thing? Would she fight? In a soft voice, she said, "I'm... unwed." "For the moment." His words, his voice, his gaze made clear his intentions toward her- or rather, toward his bride. He intended their marriage to be not one of convenience but one created of passion and tangled emotions. "We will be wed. That I promise you." If she believed that, she wouldn't fight his seduction at all. Her mouth dropped open at her own lascivious notion.”

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“Staring into his cold, pale eyes, she felt the chill of the future. Slowly, as if irresistibly drawn, he slid his fingers into her hair, loosening the already drooping chignon at the base of her neck. Leaning his face toward her, he spoke, his voice gravelly with desire. "I love your hair. It's as thick and rich as sable. I'll see this spread over my pillow before a fortnight has passed. I'll bury my face in it and drink in the scent. I'll use it to hold you in place while you thrash beneath me and moan with pleasure." She was shocked by every word. By every threat and every promise. But more than that, she watched his soft, tempting lips move with his words, and she wanted those lips on hers.”

Eleanor And RemRemington Knight
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“Look, Madeline," Lady Gertrude said, "everyone's gaping at you!" "I know." The future duchess stared straight ahead, her shoulders stiff, her back straight. Never had Remington seen a woman less comfortable with her own distinction. Never had he enjoyed the success of his own plan quite so much. The ton adored only one thing more than a romance, and that was a scandal. He had- and would- give them both. "Maybe it's because of your hair," he murmured. Madeline shot him a glare.”

TeasingRemington Knight
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“Diriday is the perfect mount for me." In that low, deep, beastly growl, he replied, "It's good to know you'll... ride... as I wish." She flushed. Her toes curled, and her nipples tightened into firm beads that ached to be touched. How had he done it? She'd said the most obvious thing, and he'd made it clear he wasn't talking about the horse. He pried her bare fingers from the rail of the stall and kissed them. "I find Lady Gertrude is a good chaperon," he said. Eleanor nodded, stricken dumb by the brief brush of his lips that had sent goose bumps racing up her arms. He placed her hand on his shoulder. "So good, you and I haven't had a moment alone together." "We're alone now." Unwise to remind him! He crooned with satisfaction, "So we are." "So we should go now." She tried to step away, to obey her instincts and flee. Mr. Knight maneuvered her so that her back was to the post. "Fortunately, Lady Gertrude doesn't ride, and doesn't see that our being together now is a cause of concern." "It's not." Eleanor tried to speak firmly, yet she ended on a questioning note. "Lady Gertrude has no imagination." In the dim light, his eyes watched her relentlessly, like a falcon watches a fleeing morsel. In slow increments, he extended his free hand and wrapped it around her waist. "I find myself wondering about you." When had the situation turned dangerous? "I'm easily understood." "You're a mystery, one I find myself compelled to solve. I want to know whether you like to kiss with your mouth closed... or open." She gasped in shock. "Where you find most pleasure when a man's mouth, my mouth, roams your body." She wanted to gasp once more, but the gratification she saw in his face stopped her. Yes, he shocked her. He enjoyed shocking her. But she hated being so craven. She yearned to take him back, and out of the depths of that need, she found the nerve to reply, "You may ask me those questions, and mayhap, if I wish, I'll reply. But don't imagine you yourself can discover the answers." "Ask. What a novel idea." A small smile played across his velvet lips. "Yes, you could tell me, of course, but I find I like to make discoveries on my own." Pulling her close against his body, he sealed them together. Discoveries? She could tell him about discoveries. She did like being embraced so tightly that her breasts pressed against his chest; and that, and the amusement in his gaze, were reasons enough to leave- at once. With a twist, she freed herself and ran. He sprang after her. Two stalls down, he caught her by the waist. He swung her against the gate and held her hard against him. She stared into his pale blue eyes and with all her heart wished she had some experience in these matters, for she had never felt so helpless in her life. "I'm not going to hurt you." His voice was deep and heated. "I'm not going to ravish you. I'm just going to kiss you.”

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“I don't... we can't..." His white teeth flashed in his tanned face, and he pulled her up against him so that she stood on her toes, so that her balance depended on him. "I can't believe I've managed to wait so long." What did he mean, so long? They'd met only two days ago. Then she saw his expression as he lowered his head to hers, and she realized that for this man, two days of restraint were an eternity. The man saw what he wanted and he went after it- and he wanted her. Her eyes closed as his lips touched hers. Close-mouthed, gentle, seeking. She tried to pretend this wasn't happening. Madeline didn't want him and wouldn't wed him, yet it wasn't right for Eleanor to kiss her cousin's fiancé. But the crackle of hay beneath her feet and the scent of the horses gave this moment an unrelenting reality. The buttons on Mr. Knight's jacket dug into her sternum. His arms handled her with an expertise that bespoke familiarity in handling an unwilling woman, and he kissed... like a beast of sensual powers. His lips were silky soft, skilled in the art of love, giving pleasure with the lightest touch. He barely brushed her lips, yet she found herself lifting her face, seeking his touch like a flower follows the sun.”

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Book:One Kiss From You
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“You must think I'm... unchaste." He didn't laugh at her, or even look amused. "No, I think you're lonely." "What?" Lonely? "I'm not lonely." She had her duties. She had her relatives. She lived a productive life. "You kiss like a woman who stands on the outside, always peering in the window of life and wishing she were there, yet never having the guts to demand entrance." "That's not true." Curse him, it was exactly true. He paid her no heed. "Those days are over. Whatever you're afraid of, you should be more afraid of me." He didn't have to insist. She was. His brows were lowered, his jaw firm, his eyes flinty. "Listen to me. From now on, you're going to be at my side every minute. No matter what happens, no matter how objectionable the events, no matter how unhappy you make yourself, at the end of the day you're going to go home with me. And at night... I'll show you all the wonders of desire. Our nights will be passionate and grand beyond your wildest dreams, and I'll take you to the edge of passion again and again. You'll squirm beneath me and atop of me, you'll touch every inch of my skin, you'll live for my kisses. Until one day you'll wake up and all you can think of is me. Of the pleasure I bring you. Of how it feels when I'm inside you. All the sorrow will fall away, and you'll be mine forever.”

Passionate LoveEleanor And RemRemington Knight
Book:One Kiss From You
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“Lady Shapster pointed a long finger at Eleanor. "You don't aspire to marry her." Eleanor wanted to leap at her, to stifle her and that dreadful, smooth, accusatory tone. Mr. Knight's lips drew back from his teeth, and his voice was scarcely audible when he said, "Do not tell me what I aspire to do. You know nothing about me or my aspirations. Now- you want to leave. I'll escort you to the door." "Such a scene," Beau Brummel murmured. "So sad when a noted beauty fades to infamy.”

Eleanor And RemRemington Knight
Book:One Kiss From You
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