Free Starlight by Carrie Lofty

face?”
    She swallowed. He was simply . . . overwhelming. Yet Polly fell back on her old faith. She began with man’s most obvious weakness: desire. The occasional glances at her body—he knew she was a woman, just as she was affected by his masculinity. Had he wanted to attack her in a manner more suited to Livingstone, he would’ve done so by now. Instead, his wrath was leashed.
    His limit was the fairer sex.
    She was ready to bet her body on it.
    “I see fatigue, yes.” He held perfectly still as she lifted her hand. Not even his eyes moved. She dared trace the throbbing vein at his temple. Only then did he gently flinch. Surprise registered in the slight lift of his brows. “I see fury. And I see you’re in deadly earnest, Mr. Christie.”
    He closed those troubling eyes. “I am.”
    Polly touched the golden-brown locks that occasionally fell across his brow. In his office, he had done the same to her hair. That echo felt important. As if fated. She tucked her fingers deeper into roughened blond silk.
    “Alex, you don’t want to do this any more than I do.” His name felt strange on her tongue, but she earned the desired effect: it was his turn to shudder. “Yet we’re both caught in this mess. It’s madeyou ready to rip out a man’s kidneys . . . or ready to kiss me.”
    Polly had hoped her dare would be enough to rouse some sort of passion, just enough to guarantee that this particular gambit had a future.
    But she had not expected a kiss—hard and swift and certain.
    He swept his mouth down over hers and delved inside. No prelude. No breath of hesitation. Warmth coiled through her chest and trickled down her spine. Alexander Christie kissed like a man. A real man. And she had never before felt its like.
    Arguing with him had been a test of wills. This was another sort of battle. She fought his hold, bringing her hands into the fray. His hair, his scalp, his nape. He groaned into her mouth when she tugged. His grip trailed along her sides before he boldly palmed her arse.
    Polly squeaked. His tongue plunged in, sleek yet rough. Minty, salty tooth powder added layers to his natural taste. Both of them inhaled with rough, quick breaths. The strong hands on her backside pulled their bodies flush. Another gasp from Polly as she realized exactly how their kiss affected him. Alarm edged her pleasure like a too-bright halo.
    His mouth was too persuasive. He kissed as if the next seconds of his life depended on turning her bones to liquid. Polly dropped her heavy head back against the door. Alex followed, kissing down her jaw and throat. Only the prim, buttoned collar of her working gown kept him from venturing further.
    A hard pounding at the door shattered their blendof mouths, hands, eagerness. Alex pushed back. His hair was a scrambled mess. He must have realized the direction of her gaze because he pushed his fingers through those unruly strands.
    Polly smiled softly. “Your hands are shaking.”
    The pounding continued, followed by Hamish’s deep bellow. Alex glared daggers. “And you look as if I deserve what punishment they’re here to dispense.”
    She tilted her head to one side. “Well kissed, maybe. But not accosted. Surely you know the difference.”
    “I know the difference,” he said grimly. His expression assumed a stoic detachment. Smooth, tan skin. Icy distance. The seriousness in his words made Polly frown. For a moment he appeared . . . haunted. Old ghosts in dark places, deep in those gold-green eyes.
    She took a deep breath and smoothed her gown. The tartan she pulled over her shoulders felt like a shield. “Well, then, we’re merely back to matters of my reputation. Luckily Hamish will behave himself.” She winked. “I hope.”
    Polly opened the door to a very angry man. His face was nearly as red as his beard and curly, curly hair. “What the hell has he done?”
    “Talked.” She could not help but run her tongue over her lower lip, where her skin still tasted of Alex.