Jacquie ’Alessandro - Confessions at Midnight

His gaze flicked to her throat then returned to hers. Heat and mischief gleamed in his eyes. "I see you are not wearing any expensive baubles. That presents a bit of dilemma for a highwayman such as myself."

She swallowed and managed to dredge up her voice, no easy task with his fingers still wrapped warmly around hers. "You would steal from me?"

"I must live up to my costume, I'm afraid."

"You said you weren't a thief."

"Normally I'm not. But in this case I fear it cannot be helped." He glanced down at his black attire and heaved a dramatic sigh. "Here I am, all dressed up in my mask and cape, yet without a diamond in sight."

Amused in spite of herself, Carolyn said, "I must confess, I'm not overly fond of diamonds."

"I must confess that's something I've never heard any woman say." He flashed a wicked grin. "You realize we've just exchanged midnight confessions. And you know what they say about those."

"I'm afraid I don't."

He leaned a bit closer and her pulse jumped. "They say that they're dangerous-but in the very best of ways."

Carolyn suddenly realized that this interlude was a perfect example of "dangerous in the very best of ways."

"The women in the ballroom are adorned with more baubles than you could possibly carry away," she pointed out.

"I've no interest in any woman other than you, my lady."

His words whispered over her, heating her, exciting her. In a way that both distressed and secret!) thrilled her.

"I have no jewels," she whispered.

"You are the jewel. Still, in the absence of any diamonds or pearls, I am forced to improvise and will therefore steal…" He took a step closer, then another, until only a mere ribbon of space separated them."… a kiss."

Before she could react, before she could so much as blink or draw a breath, he bent his head. And slowly brushed his lips over hers.

On the outside, her body went perfectly still. But on the inside… inside, it felt as if everything shifted and changed speed. Her stomach swooped downward, her heart stumbled then quickened its pace. Her blood seemed to thicken, yet somehow run faster through her veins. And her pulse… she felt it everywhere. In her temples. At the base of her throat. The folds between her thighs.

He lifted his head and their gazes met. No trace of amusement remained in his eyes. Instead they seemed to burn like twin braziers, igniting an ache, a yearning in her she hadn't felt in so long she barely recognized it.

He studied her for several seconds, then, with a low growling sound, he yanked her into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers. Her lips parted, whether from desire or surprise or both, and everything instantly faded into insignificance-except him.

Heat seemed to pump from his body. He was so incredibly, lusciously warm. Wrapped in his strong arms was like being enveloped in a fire-warmed blanket. His clean, masculine scent filled her senses, weakening her knees with a delightful sensation of light-headedness, one that encouraged her to skim her hands up his broad chest, to wind her arms around his neck and hold on tight.

And thank goodness she did because the first bold stroke of his tongue against hers turned her bones to porridge. A groan rose in her throat, half shock, half heated desire, and she pressed herself closer, absorbing every nuance of his passionate onslaught.

The darkly delicious taste of his mouth. The strength of his one arm that kept her firmly anchored against him-most welcome, as she otherwise would have slithered to the flagstones. The heat of his other hand as it slowly ran up and down her back, as if trying to learn every inch of her. The solid wall of his chest flattening her breasts. The unmistakable jut of his arousal pressing against her abdomen.

Desire, so long forgotten, sizzled through her, a bolt of lightning that ignited her skin. She opened her mouth wider beneath his, mating her tongue with his, desperate to know more of his taste, his touch. Her fingers tunneled through the hair at his nape and she cursed the gloves that prevented her from feeling the thick, silky texture.

And then, as suddenly as it began, he lifted his head, ending their kiss. This time there was no stopping her moan of protest. With a great effort she dragged her eyes open.

He stared at her, his breaths as rapid and erratic as her own, his eyes as glazed as she knew hers must be.

Lifting one hand, he gently cupped her face. "I knew it would be like that," he said in an unsteady whisper.

His voice penetrated the sensual fog engulfing her, and the reality of where she was-who she was-smacked her like a cold, wet rag. With a gasp she stepped back, out of his grasp. Her shaking find gers flew to her mouth, whether to wipe away Lord Surbrooke's kiss or to seal it to her lips, she didn't know.

Dear God, what had come over her? What had she done?

I'll tell you what you've done. Her inner voice dripped with condemnation. You've tarnished Edward's memory.

A cry of distress rose in her throat and she clamped her lips together to contain it. She desperately tried to recall the tender wonder of Edward's kiss, but it remained elusive and out of reach. How could she, when the taste of another man remained on her lips? When she still felt the imprint of his hard body pressed against her? When her mind, her senses, were still too inundated with the tempestuous, passionate kiss she'd just shared with-

A man who wasn't her husband.

A plethora of emotions, led by confusion, guilt, and shame, bombarded her, followed by the overwhelming need to escape. "I… I must go," she said, sounding as stricken as she felt.

"Wait." He reached for her, but she shook her head and backed away.

"No. I… please, let me leave."

Without waiting for his response, she darted around him and swiftly made her way back into the party, where she was immediately swallowed by the crowd. She didn't pause to search for her sister or friends, but hurried to the foyer, where she requested her carriage. The five minute wait felt like an eternity, one she spent in a nearby shadowed alcove with her hands pressed to her churning midriff.

The instant she was ensconced in the dark interior of her carriage, she covered her face with her hands, and the sob she'd managed to swallow until then broke from her throat.

What had she done? How could have allowed that to happen?

Everything inside her cried out and reached for the memory of Edward she carried in her heart, of his gentle smile and tender touch, of the sweet love they'd shared. But the beloved memories proved elusive. Instead, all she could envision was a devilish highwayman with intense eyes and a captivating mouth who had weakened her knees. Despite her determination to move on with her life, she hadn't anticipated anything like this. Hadn't expected this overwhelming flood of unexpected passion.

Yet there was no denying it, and again she cursed her reading of the Memoirs, which had set on this ruinous sensual path. So the question remained: What did she intend to do about it?

The morning after the masquerade, Daniel sat in his dining room and stared at his uneaten breakfast. His head pounded from a combination of lack of sleep and too much brandy, both of which had proven spectacularly unhelpful in veering his thoughts away from his interlude with Carolyn.

With a groan, he tipped back his head and squeezed his eyes shut. A mistake as far as forgetting her was concerned for she instantly materialized in his mind's eye. An alluring masked goddess who'd fit in his arms as if she were fashioned exclusively for him. Never in his life had he found a waltz so arousing. Her exhilaration, her smile and sense of wonder as they'd circled the floor… he couldn't have taken his eyes from her if his very life had depended upon it. She'd utterly captivated him. And without even trying. What the bloody hell would happen to him should she put some effort into it?

He blew out a long sigh, opened his eyes, and reached for his coffee. Damn it, he knew exactly what would happen. He'd lose control, just as he had in the garden.

Bloody hell. He'd meant to simply give her a teasing kiss. A light brush of his lips over hers. A tantalizing taste to make her want more. But the instant his mouth touched hers, his finesse vanished, replaced by a hunger so primal, so deep, so completely overwhelming, he'd been helpless to stem the onslaught. He never lost control like that. He'd desired many women, but never once had one of them shattered his command over himself.

Indeed, it was nothing short of a miracle that he'd managed to stop himself from pressing her against the wall, lifting her skirts, and satisfying the unstoppable craving she inspired. He knew, in his heart, that if they'd been somewhere that afforded them a modicum of privacy, he would have given in to the temptation. And given her heated response to their kiss, he didn't doubt she would have allowed it. Welcomed it. She'd felt the same desperate need, the same hot, sharp stab of desire as he. He'd tasted it in every nuance of her kiss. Felt it with every shudder and quiver that had trembled through her.

He'd expected her to affect him strongly, but never, not even in one of his numerous fantasies about her, had he ever anticipated the impact of that single kiss. He'd intended to seduce her slowly. Obviously their encounter, as well as her ardent response, had caught her equally as off guard, because he knew she wasn't the sort of woman to welcome overt advances. Or a quick grope in the garden. No, that certainly wasn't the way to tempt her. Unfortunately, that's precisely what he'd done, and had accomplished nothing save frightening her off. The profound distress in her eyes when she left the terrace was a look he wouldn't soon forget.