Free Taken by Storm by Danelle Harmon Page B

the sack, opened it, and peered within. “Let’s see . . . we have apple . . . plum . . . blackcurrant—”
    “Plum’s fine.”
    “Plum it is, then.”
    She reached into the bag and pulled out a thick, sugary wedge of pastry oozing globs of fruit filling. A mischievous smile curving her mouth, she held the pastry up to his lips. “Open your mouth, sir—”
    Colin had no choice but to comply, and opened his jaws exaggeratedly wide so as to avoid having her fingers touch his lips.
    The chaise hit a bump and they did anyhow. Sweet, sticky fruit and flaky pastry jammed against his teeth, and with them, her fingers.
    An electric charge rocked him at the contact.
    She blushed, and laughed. “Oh! Well, let’s try that again. Open up, good doctor! Say, aaaaah !”
    God, help me, he thought, every cell in his body beginning to throb, to ache, to burn.
    He shut his eyes, briefly, and again opened his mouth. This time she got enough of the pastry in that he was able to get a bite of it. One of Shareb’s ears was straight back, listening, and immediately the horse slowed its pace.
    Colin rapped the reins against the powerful hindquarters.
    “Another bite, Dr. Lord?
    “Just one,” he managed, swallowing, “then give the rest to Bow.”
    She held the pastry up to him once again, her gaze fastened on his mouth, her fingers touching his lips. He caught the scent of horse sweat on her sleeve, the hint of lavender wafting from her skin. Her eyes sparkled with humor, as though she knew just how difficult she was making his life, as though she knew just what she was about. In all probability, he thought wryly, she did.
    God help you, young lady. You can’t rattle me that easily.
    “Has anyone ever told you that you have very beautiful eyes, Dr. Lord?”
    Colin nearly choked on his pastry.
    “You’re a very handsome man, you know. And I think you should smile more often, as it is such a direct contrast to that intent look you usually wear. Are you sure you don’t have a lady friend? Or two? I cannot imagine that you spend your life all alone.”
    “This conversation is most inappropriate.”
    Ariadne felt her lips twitching helplessly, for she’d discovered the chink in this stoic, unflappable man’s armor, and, still smarting over his high-handed attitude, she was determined to press home her advantage. “Don’t you like it when a lady pays you a compliment?”
    He didn’t answer, merely directing his gaze straight ahead, a nerve twitching along his jaw.
    “Well?”
    He turned his quiet, direct stare on her, letting it rake heatedly over her face, down her neck, and to her bosom, where it lingered long enough to make her feel as though she wasn’t wearing anything at all. Her throat went dry, and her face felt suddenly hot and damp.
    “As a matter of fact,” he said slowly, raising his gaze back to hers, “. . . I do.”
    Coloring furiously, Ariadne looked away.
    “So . . . no more compliments?” he said, lifting one brow in warning.
    “You’ll get them when you deserve them,” she snapped. “Drive on.”
    He shrugged, leaving her to squirm uncomfortably on the seat and wish there were ten miles separating their thighs instead of a mere two inches. She was uncomfortably aware of his male power and heat, the scent of his clean clothes and body, the way the sun slanted down through his eyes and found the purple in them.
    Five minutes passed. Ten.
    She rubbed at her palm, raw where the reins had chafed it. The chaise hit a dip in the street and the doctor’s thigh bumped her own.
    She moved over, trying to get away.
    He glanced at her, watching her with a look of high amusement.
    “Conversation,” he said mildly, “can go far to make a long and boring trip into one that is a lot more interesting.”
    Conversation. Yes, that would take her mind off of how close together the seat forced them to sit.
    And how that closeness was making her feel.
    “How long do you think it will take us to reach Norfolk?” she