Free Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake by Sarah MacLean Page B

kiss for which she had come.
    He broke off the kiss then, running his lips across her cheek and setting them to her ear, taking the soft lobe between his teeth and biting gently, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body as he laved the sensitive skin there. From far away, Callie heard a whimper…and belatedly realized that it was her own.
    His lips curved at her ear as he spoke, his harsh breathing making the words more a caress than a sound, “Kisses should not leave you satisfied.”
    He returned his lips to hers, claiming her mouth again, robbing her of all thought with a rich, heady caress. All she wanted was to be closer to him, to be held more firmly. And, as though he could read her thoughts, he gathered her closer, deepening the kiss. His heat consumed her; his soft, teasing lips seemed to know all of her secrets.
    When he lifted his mouth from hers, she had lost all strength. His next words pierced through her sensual haze.
    “They should leave you wanting.”

    Four
    Callie woke late, an instant feeling of nervous apprehension roiling deep within her. For a few, brief moments, her scrambled thoughts failed to pinpoint the reason for the odd sensation—until the events of the previous evening came flooding back, hurling her into vivid consciousness. She shot straight up in bed and froze, eyes wide, hoping that the whole night had been a wild, ridiculous dream.
    No luck there.
    What had she been thinking traipsing off in the middle of the night to Ralston House? Had she honestly approached the Marquess of Ralston in his bedchamber? Had she really made an overture toward London’s most notorious rake? Surely she hadn’t asked him to kiss her. Remembering her actions, Callie flushed, feeling a wave of heat wash across her face, causing her to drop her head into her hands, groaning in abject mortification.
    She would never touch another drop of sherry. Ever again.
    Her thoughts raced for a few brief moments, until she raised her head and spoke aloud to the room in horror. “I asked him to kiss me.” Callie flopped back to the bed with a sigh and willed the universe to strike her dead or, at the very least, infirm. She simply could not risk ever facing Gabriel St. John again. Not after that kiss.
    But what a kiss it had been. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed at the thought but was unable to avoid the flood of memories that came with it. The kiss had been everything she had ever imagined. It had been more. Ralston had been larger than life, looming above her, his dark hair tousled, his eyes glittering in the soft candlelight of the room, then he had kissed her, all warm lips and strong hands and exquisite man.
    Moving of their own volition, Callie’s hands ran down her torso as she remembered the soft stroke of his tongue, the firm grip of his arms. She felt a flood of warmth as she remembered the delicate way his lips had played across hers, the shiver of excitement she’d felt at his breath on her neck. He had been everything she’d ever dreamed.
    And when he was through, she had been reduced to rubble. He had said that kisses should leave one wanting…but she had not been prepared for the emptiness that spread through her when he’d stepped back from their embrace, looking as calm and collected as though they’d just been to Sunday services.
    She had wanted. She still did.
    The whole experience, as embarrassing as it had been, was so fierce and freeing and like nothing she’d ever experienced before, and like everything she’d ever dreamed. And it had been Ralston! It had been a kiss to make up for ten long years spent on the edges of ballrooms, watching him with an endless run of beauties on his arm, a decade of her ears pricking up anytime she heard whispers in ladies’ salons about his latest affairs, an age of tracking his long line of mistresses with what she’d always told herself was idle interest. Of course, there had never been anything idle about her interest.
    She shook her