The Touch of Love Page 9

  But Poppy was shy by nature. She would not be comfortable using her sensual appeal to lure a man. Nor did he need her pointing her breasts at him to notice her in that way. To his dismay, he’d long since passed that point with Poppy. “Come in and have a seat.”

  Well, noticing Poppy as more than his sister’s friend wasn’t dismaying so much as surprising. She was easy to look at. Beautiful. That’s what worried him. She grew more beautiful in his eyes with each passing day. Each encounter.

  Hers was a subtle allure that crept up on you and swallowed you whole while you weren’t paying attention.

  How long before everyone noticed that he was attracted to Poppy?

  Thankfully, the Winthrows would arrive soon, and he’d be too occupied entertaining them and his other friends to make a fool of himself over this girl.

  Besides, he had not ruled out Charlotte altogether. She was a renowned beauty. Surely, he’d get over this inexplicable fascination with Poppy once Charlotte arrived.

  Poppy closed the door, this time showing no hesitation as she settled in the chair opposite his desk.

  Since he preferred not put distance between them as they spoke of Poppy’s anonymous suitor, he came around to the front of the desk and sat beside her. Instantly, he realized his mistake. The girl was stirring his senses again. He caught the scent of lavender on her warm skin and had the sudden urge to put his lips to the slender curve of her neck and soak in her intoxicating fragrance.

  “Nathaniel, the book doesn’t say anything about anonymous love letters.”

  He tore his gaze from hers and pretended to concentrate on the book. “I know. But the author has a good understanding of men, and since it appears you are attracting suitors, you need to be more aware of what’s really going on in a man’s brain whenever he speaks to you.”

  She was blushing again, for her cheeks were pink and so were the tips of her ears. “I’m not a simpleton. I understand men have physical urges. Sometimes they’re expressed poetically in letters such as these.”

  “Shakespeare wrote those words. The dolt who copied them is a dim-witted, lazy–”

  “Lazy because he could not come up with his own romantic words? Honestly, Nathaniel. You can’t condemn a man for that. And you needn’t be concerned about my response. It will take more than a few words of flattery to sway me. Give me some credit for being careful.”

  “I do. You know I think you’re clever. And you also know I’m not saying this just to be kind to you.”

  She nodded.

  “What you don’t understand is the power of these five senses that are explained in the book. You mentioned to me that you are an observer.”

  “Yes, but I don’t wish to be. I want to experience all these marvelous sensations. Not to the point of tossing caution to the wind, mind you. I intend to be careful, but what if I’m caught off guard and carried away in the moment? I need to know what to expect.”

  Nathaniel cleared his throat.

  The thought of Poppy being carried away with passion ought to have made him laugh. Instead, it just made him hot and curious.

  “This letter, for example,” she continued, unaware that he was struggling not to think of her in any mindless, low-brained way. “How do I know when a man’s affection is real and when it is feigned? Should I trust my instincts? Should I trust my response? What if I’m swept away by a bounder who only wants me for dishonorable purposes?”

  “You can always talk to me.” He arched an eyebrow, trying to keep his tone light and manner calm, but Poppy in the throes of passion was not a notion he could get out of his mind. Indeed, he couldn’t stop thinking of it to the point of obsession.

  Only with me, of course. And no one else. Ever.

  He’d kill any man who hurt Poppy.

  He’d kill any man who touched Poppy.

  Perhaps it was a small overreaction.

  She rolled her eyes. “Nathaniel, I don’t want talk. I don’t want to observe. I want to jump in and gain this knowledge through experience. So, will you?”

  “Will I what?”

  She frowned at him. “Must I say it?”

  He shook his head, clueless. He rarely felt this way, completely at sea and certain he’d missed something important in their conversation. “Yes, I’m afraid you must.”

  Now even her nose was pink as she said, “I would like you to kiss me. Just once and never again, because I understand your situation and I will never, ever impose on you like this after today. I know the request is impertinent. But I’ve given it quite a bit of thought and the problem is… well, if you don’t kiss me now, then it will never happen and I’ll never know.”

  “Know what exactly?”

  She rolled her eyes. “How it feels to be perfectly kissed. You do kiss well, don’t you?”

  Chapter Eight

  Nathaniel tried to keep his jaw from dropping open. “Poppy, are you asking me to kiss you?”

  She blushed furiously, her cheeks a bright, apple red. “I believe I just did. Repeatedly. How much plainer can I be?” They were still seated beside each other. He had only to lean forward and tip his head toward hers. “It seems an important first step, don’t you think?”

  A dangerous first step.

  No, it can’t happen.

  “What do you think is the second step?” he asked, feeling his throat constricting and irritated that this girl held any power over his heart.

  She licked her lips. “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten past the first. I hadn’t considered there would be a second. Why are you being so dense?”

  “I’m being protective. Why are you so determined to be ruined?”

  Her eyes widened and she gasped. “With a simple kiss? With a man I trust?”

  “Have you learned nothing from The Book of Love? No, Poppy. You cannot trust me. My thoughts about you are not fatherly in the least. Which is why I know exactly what the scoundrel who wrote you this letter is thinking. And by the way, every man is a scoundrel.”

  She pursed her lips. “You aren’t.”

  “Are you not listening? I am male.”

  She cast him a disbelieving glance. “And that makes you a scoundrel?”

  “Yes, and more dangerous than the others because you trust me.”

  “Shouldn’t I trust you?”

  He ran a hand across the back of his neck. Why were they having this conversation? “Yes, of course you should. But only so far.”

  She gazed down at the book again and began to leaf through its pages.

  “The book won’t tell you when to trust me and when to run away from me. Let me give you an example.” He reached for her hand. “If I were to take your hand and hold it, you would not be greatly alarmed.”

  She nodded, staring at his actions as he swallowed her hand in both of his. “What is going through your mind now, Poppy?”

  She sighed. “That it feels lovely.”

  Yes, damn it. It did.

  “Warm and comforting,” she elaborated.

  He let go of her hand, ignoring his own disappointment in releasing her. “But would you still trust me if I were to place my hands on your body and begin to unlace your gown?”

  She gasped. “Nathaniel, that’s a shocking thing to say. But if you were to do it? Of course, I’d trust you.”

  He groaned and shook his head in exasperation. “No, Poppy. You are missing the point entirely. If a man smiles at you. If a man bows over your hand. If a man takes your hand. If a man does any of these things, what he is telling you is, I want to put my hands on your body and strip you out of your gown.”

  She swallowed hard and gave a little eep.

  “Need I describe the rest of what he really wants to do?”

  She flipped open the book again and began to search through the chapters. “Oh, it must be here. Where is it?”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The answer.” She was creating a breeze off the pages as she shuffled through them with obvious desperation.

&
nbsp; “Poppy, stop.” He put his hands on hers again to still them. “I just told you the answer. Don’t ever trust any man. It’s as simple as that.”

  “That isn’t my question.”

  He frowned, not sure what she was going on about. “What is your question?”

  She took a deep breath and then another. “What if… now don’t be angry with me. But what if I want to let him unlace my gown?”

  The thought of putting his hands all over Poppy’s luscious body as he peeled her out of–

  His heart exploded.

  His vision blurred.

  He felt a tug to his chest and feared his lungs had exploded, too.

  “Nathaniel? Why are you looking at me so oddly?”

  He shot to his feet and brought her up along with him. Was she purposely trying to rattle his bones? She’d done an excellent job of it. He was shaken, stomped, tipped upside down, and then shaken some more before being hurled off a cliff. “Poppy, no. The answer is no. If this man loves you, he will refuse you.”

  “Why?”

  “The privilege is for a husband to claim. If this man loves you, he will offer to marry you before he takes you. He’ll protect you from this foolishness because he cares for your happiness more than he cares to satisfy his own urges. More than he cares for his own life.”

  “I see.” But her lips were still pursed in a tempting pout, and she did not appear pleased by his response. “If this man loves me, would he not attempt to claim at least one kiss?”

  “Why do you insist on making this conversation about kisses?”

  “Why are you so adamant that it shouldn’t be? What is so terrible about the simple act? Shouldn’t I know whether I would enjoy it? Or at least have something to compare it to? It seems foolish to wait until it is too late to fix one’s mistake.”

  She gazed at him, her eyes blazing. “No more lectures, Nathaniel.” She pointed to the letter. “If this was sent by Andrew Gordon, then it is likely he will attempt to draw me aside and kiss me at some point during your dinner party. You said it yourself. This is how scoundrels behave. How am I to know the difference between a good kiss and a bad one if I’ve never experienced one?”

  He cleared his throat. “The discussion is over. It is ridiculous.”

  “Did Olivia have this much trouble with Beast? I’m sure he was a more accommodating test frog.” She emitted a soft, ragged breath. “Don’t be angry, Nathaniel. You’re the only man I trust to be honest with me.”

  “Kisses lead to other things.”

  “Like removing one’s gown?” She cast him a wry smile. “Which is why I am safest learning these things from you. So, shall we get down to business? You agreed to this, remember? And if Andrew Gordon wrote me this note, then I certainly don’t want to trust him with a first kiss.”

  He groaned, suddenly feeling like a wolf who’d just trapped an innocent lamb. Or was he the lamb suddenly trapped by this beautiful wolf?

  No, he was the wolf. He was the worldly, jaded one. So how could he do this to the girl?

  Poppy trusted him so completely.

  You can do this. You are honorable. You care for her. You will protect her. This is why she chose you to be her first.

  “Very well, close your eyes.”

  She closed them.

  He watched them flutter shut. Her dark velvet eyelashes rested against the soft pink of her cheeks.

  Blessed Mother. She had the face of an angel.

  “What shall I do with my lips?”

  He would have laughed at the remark were his heart not too busy erupting with volcanic force within his chest. He was in fiery torment, struggling to hold himself back from devouring Poppy. “Keep them relaxed.”

  “What shall I do with my hands?”

  He dismissed the thought immediately coming to mind, for she would grab the inkpot off his desk and crack his skull open with it if she knew what he was thinking. Yes, he was depraved and not proud of it. “Put them on my shoulders.” It seemed the safest advice to give her.

  “Like this?”

  Why did her touch always feel like the touch of heaven?

  “It’ll do.” His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. That she was approaching the kiss with logic ought to have calmed him down.

  It didn’t.

  She was about to ask another question, but he cut her short by wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips to hers.

  He shouldn’t have done that.

  Nor should he have buried his fingers in her hair and cupped the back of her head to guide her lips to his.

  Nor should he have deepened the kiss when she responded, her soft, pliant lips yielding to his possessive conquest. His primitive instincts had taken over. Only his low brain seemed to be working and had taken control.

  Her soft, ample breasts molded to his firm chest.

  Healthy breasts. Lord, they were healthy.

  Mate with this girl.

  It was as though she had been built to fit him.

  And his low brain knew it. Fertile female. Want this female. Need to spill seed into this exquisite, beautiful–

  He abruptly pulled his mouth off hers.

  Blessed saints! His brain wasn’t completely dead yet.

  He eased his hold on her. “Well, that’s it, Poppy. Your first kiss.”

  He waited for her to remark on it. Would she think it was magical? Wondrous?

  Her eyes remained closed and she said nothing.

  He bristled. “Care to comment?”

  Poppy had an irritating way of hiding her feelings. She was reserved in everything she said and did. But she hadn’t felt reserved in her response to him. The slide of her hands up his chest and the urgent press of her body against his had given her away.

  The wild beating of her heart.

  He’d felt its rampant beats against his chest.

  “Did the kiss meet your expectations?”

  She opened her eyes and stared at him. “I’m not sure.”

  What?

  Was this all the response she meant to give him. “What are you not sure about?”

  She sighed. “It lacked something.”

  He shook his head as though he hadn’t heard right. “You found my kiss lacking?”

  She nodded. “Yes, it lacked conviction.”

  He’d almost swallowed the girl whole with his throbbing need and pulsing desire. How could she believe he’d kissed her without conviction? He’d held back, to be sure. He hadn’t wanted to scare her.

  “My gown isn’t even askew.”

  “Your gown? You’re complaining because I didn’t try to take it off you?” Obviously, he’d been too careful. And who the hell used words such as askew when being kissed?

  “The point is, my gown isn’t so much as rumpled.”

  “Rumpled?” Is this what she meant? She’d sensed his restraint and mistaken it for lack of caring?

  “Nathaniel, would you mind trying it again? But this time, let your feelings flow naturally. Allow yourself to feel whatever you would when kissing a woman you desire.”

  She’d verbally kicked him where it hurt and yet she wanted another kiss?

  Of course, he was going to oblige. He was a low-brained male who was not about to pass up the chance to lock lips with a beautiful woman who had a body designed to lead saints into temptation.

  He might have been angrier had he not felt the give of her body or seen the soft flush of desire on her cheeks or the satisfied pout on her lips.

  Her breaths were still unsteady, he could tell by the rapid rise and fall of her…

  Lord, they were beautiful breasts.

  He couldn’t stop staring at them.

  He couldn’t stop himself because he was the lowest form of life ever to crawl out of the primordial ooze. He was the lowest of the low-brain males.

  “Very well. Let’s try this again.” He gave her no chance to prepare or draw away, for he meant to give her the no-holding-back kiss she wanted.

  His l
ips descended on hers with possessive hunger.

  At the same time, he drew her hard against him so she felt each taut muscle and sinew of his body. He demanded that she yield. He invaded the sweet warmth of her mouth. He unpinned her hair and ran his fingers through her silken curls. He lifted her up so that her lips met his in a crush of wild desire.

  He hair tumbled in a silken cascade over his arms and shoulders.

  He kissed her long and hard.

  He kissed her with his eyes closed. Heart open.

  He tasted the tea and honey on her lips. Inhaled the scent of lavender on her skin. Heard her soft moan against his mouth. He knew it would take nothing to undo the ties of her gown. But he wouldn’t. It was enough to simply hold her. Touch her.

  He meant to count to twenty and then release her, but he kept losing count. Finally, he gave up trying and released her gently. “How was it this time?”

  Her hair was a glorious tumble and the bodice of her gown was off center so that the swell of one breast was temptingly exposed. He did the unthinkable and bent his head to kiss her there. She gasped and then released her breath in a shaky sigh.

  She tried to appear calm and typically reserved, but he saw the look of confused wonder on her face. She smiled, reminding him of a contented kitten on a sun-drenched window seat.

  “Nathaniel, will it be like this with Andrew Gordon?”

  “Him again?” Her words were a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. But even that blast of ice did nothing to calm the fire burning inside of him. “No, you won’t like his kiss. You will never like his kiss. Same goes for any other man.”

  He picked up the love letter Poppy had received, needing to distract himself from the desire to kiss her again. He was used to women purring and moaning and clawing at his shirt to take it off him in blatant hunger to have sex with him.

  Poppy had done nothing.

  Nothing.

  This was Poppy back in her observation mode.

  He wasn’t angry. But he did need to be distracted. He perused the love letter and then strode to his desk, intending to unlock the drawer in which he’d hidden the blackmail letter.

  Poppy cleared her throat.

  He glanced up.

  “Thank you, Nathaniel. That was quite nice.”