Free Judith Ivory by Angel In a Red Dress Page A

conversation.” She turned away. “I should go.”
    A boot came across the narrow corridor of plants—she collided against his leg. And, at the same time, collided directly with the first tremors of genuine alarm. He had braced his leg on the rim of a citrus pot, blocking her exit. Her hands fell lightly on his thigh—lightly on the strong, solid muscle that, unabashed, could hold her where he wanted her….
    “Don’t play games,” he murmured. “I know part of you is interested. My God, you can’t conceive. You’re not a virgin. You’re not married.”
    “And I’m not a trollop.”
    He sniffed at that. “I was suggesting something rather exclusive and private, not the Royal Navy.”
    She made an uncomfortable laugh. “I can’t believe you’re so frank in asking—I don’t know what to do in the face of such presumption.”
    “Give in.”
    Again she laughed nervously. But the only response that would come was to shake her head no. She stared down at her own hands resting on his leg—then watched as his fingers closed over hers. He tugged her around.
    Christina found herself standing directly between his legs.
    Emotion surged. Apprehension. Anxiety. Something more…She felt trapped by the workbench, a wall of plants, and an aura—a spell cast by the most charming, most forward man she had ever met. While he stood so close…Then closer. He leaned a forearm on the elevated thigh, his face a breath away.
    Christina glanced down at the barricading leg. Something about this must have amused him. He laughed.
    “Do you see yourself struggling on the floor,” he teased, “against my improper advances?”
    “No,” she said, too quickly.
    “Good.” There was a pause. “I would hate for you to struggle.”
    Her eyes grew wide. “But I assure you I would, if—” She couldn’t finish. Again she couldn’t look at him. A tension in her stomach knotted into something she couldn’t quite define. God, he was so bloody attractive. So damned close.
    An arm smoothed down her back, tried to pull her to him. She put out her hand. “Don’t—” she said. “I can’t—Not here.” Recognizing what she’d said, “Not anywhere.”
    “Anywhere you like. Lie with me.”
    “You’re mad.”
    His head tilted; his look for an instant was vaguely mean. She could imagine him angry. It gave her a sudden insight into something that Evangeline had said; that all his charm had a mark of tyranny running through it. He wanted his way, damn anyone else; never mind that he was pleasant about it. What she hadn’t understood though—a misjudgment that had put her where she was now, clearly in over her head—was that these words, tyranny, too-charming, a menace, had nothing to do with the cad proceeding against protest. They meant rather something much smoother; a gentleman—articulate, soft-spoken—proceeding to induce complicity.
    Her mouth trembled as he leaned to kiss her. But she didn’t turn away. She let him take her mouth. Dimly, timidly, she knew she wanted to feel this, sense this, taste this again.
    But this kiss became different. His mouth accepted her submission, then twisted and took a kiss from herin a way she couldn’t believe existed. His arms lifted her hard against him, the flat of his palm pressing her to him by the small of her back. Then, as his tongue came fully into her mouth, his palm rubbed downward over her buttocks—a slow slide of pressure. She could feel the whole length of his body against hers as he pushed her into him. And his body pushed back; a slow, deliberate movement.
    Christina had never known a less innocent kiss. She tried to be appalled. Through the bulky layers of clothes—her petticoats and skirts, his breeches, a flap of coat—she could feel him. Male, tumid, hard; his blatant intentions were outlined solidly against her own fluttering stomach. Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t be offended by the way he kissed her or the way he felt. Rather, she found herself