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But when she glanced round, the dance-floor was empty.
This was bad. He was going to think she was a total show-off. And although she opened her mouth to speak, to tell him she hadn’t meant this to happen, the words just wouldn’t come. She didn’t have a clue what to say.
Celebrity Life would have a field day with her, because she was behaving just like the airhead they always made her out to be.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered finally.
He drew closer, stooped slightly so that his breath fanned her ear. ‘I’m not. That was…enlightening.’
And she was in too deep. Way too deep. ‘Could I, um, get a glass of water or something?’ she asked.
He raised an eyebrow, as if calling her a coward. ‘Sure.’ He escorted her over to the bar area, and ordered them both a glass of iced water. ‘So where did you learn to dance like that?’
‘I had lessons when I was in my teens.’
‘And?’
She sighed. ‘All right. I’ve dated a couple of dancers. And, because I organise the balls, I’ve talked a few professionals into coming and giving a display before the general dancing starts. One of them taught me to tango.’
‘Like that?’
She laughed wryly. ‘Hardly.’ She’d never danced quite like that with anyone before.
‘Why not?’
Because the dancer hadn’t turned her on, the way Guy Lefèvre did. There hadn’t been the chemistry—on either side. ‘Let’s just say I would’ve needed a Y chromosome for it to work,’ she said drily.
Guy raised an eyebrow. ‘Nicely put.’
‘Maybe. I’m sorry. My mouth runs away with me. Thank you for the water.’
‘Pleasure.’ But he didn’t move away and start circulating, as she’d expected. He sat down with her.
This should be relaxing. It was the first time she’d sat down since the jazz trio started playing. But it felt as if she were sitting on hot coals. She couldn’t stop fidgeting.
‘What’s the matter, Amber?’ he asked softly.
‘Nothing.’
‘Liar.’
She took a deep breath. ‘How many more times do I have to apologise to you?’
‘You don’t.’ He sighed, set his glass down and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. ‘Come on.’
‘What—you want to dance again?’
‘It’s noisy in here.’ In silence, he shepherded her away from the marquee and the dancing, to the peace of the rose garden.
This was bad, Amber thought. Very bad. Leaving a wedding party before the bride and groom was incredibly rude—unless things were different in France, which she somehow doubted. And if anyone had noticed, it meant she’d have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow.
‘Dance with me here,’ he said softly.
She could still hear the music from the jazz trio, but here it was muted. Soft and dreamy and incredibly lovely. And the air was filled with the scent of roses. How could she resist stepping into his arms?
One of Guy’s hands was splayed across the bare skin between her shoulders. His touch made her skin tingle—and she wanted more. Much more. She found herself moving closer, wrapping her arms tightly round him. His cheek was pressed against hers, and Amber wasn’t sure which of them moved, but then his lips were brushing the corner of her mouth. Like gossamer, but it lit a fire deep inside her.
She kissed him back, still keeping it light.
In return, his mouth turned coaxing, drawing a line of tiny, nibbling kisses all the way along her lower lip.
With a small sigh of pleasure, she opened her mouth to let him deepen the kiss. And it was like nothing else she’d ever experienced. Nobody she’d ever kissed before had made her feel literally weak at the knees, making her hold onto him for dear life. Every stroke of his tongue, every touch of his skin against hers, stoked the desire higher and higher. Wanting more, she couldn’t help pressing against him, shifting her stance slightly so that he could slide one thigh between hers—just as he’d done when they’d danced the tango, except this time there was no audience. Just the two of them.
Then he pulled back. ‘This probably isn’t a good idea.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ she agreed.
‘Tell me to stop.’ He hooked his thumb into the strap of her dress and bared her shoulder before nibbling his way along it.
‘I can’t.’ She undid his cravat, then the top three buttons of his shirt, and pressed her mouth against his throat in a hot, wet, demanding kiss.
‘Amber.’ His voice was husky. ‘Last warning. Tell me to stop.’
She undid his waistcoat, then finished undoing his shirt. ‘Go,’ she whispered.
In response, Guy scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the house.
Chapter Three
GUY paused at the top of the stairs, set her on her feet, backed her against the wall and kissed her again. Thoroughly. By the time he broke the kiss, Amber’s knees felt decidedly weak, and she was forced to cling to the front of his shirt to hold herself up.
His gaze was hot and intense as he touched the backs of his fingers against her cheek. ‘Alors, mon ange,’ he said, his voice low and soft and incredibly sexy. ‘In the rose garden, I gave you the chance to stop. This really is your last warning. If we don’t stop now, I’m going to take you to my bed.’
‘I’d rather that was a promise than a threat.’
‘A promise of what?’
‘Pleasure. For both of us. Just for tonight.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m a disaster area when it comes to relationships. But there’s a spark between you and me, and the way you danced with me…I can’t ignore that.’
‘I’m not exactly good at relationships, myself,’ Guy told her. ‘And I’m not looking to get involved with anyone.’
‘Right. So we both know where we stand.’ She stood on tiptoe, and pressed her mouth lightly against his. Nibbled his lower lip.
He gave an exclamation of what sounded like mingled need and frustration, and kissed her back, his mouth hot and sweet and demanding.
Then he took her hand and led her to the end of the corridor. Not to her room, she noticed: he took her to his.
It turned out to be similar to hers, with a huge old-fashioned half-tester bed covered in pure white bed-linen. The walls were painted teal, and the heavy damask curtains were a similar shade, lightened with cream voile; there were rugs scattered across the polished wooden floor, and a landscape painting hung on one wall.
No doubt in some of the rooms there would be portraits of his ancestors—men in eighteenth-century costume who looked exactly like Guy, with those same amazing blue eyes and that sun-kissed hair.
And who knew? Maybe one of them had danced with a woman at a wedding, and the attraction had been so strong that he’d carried her up the stairs to this very same bed…
‘Are you still sure you want to do this?’ Guy asked softly.
She trailed a forefinger down his chest. He really could’ve been a model for one of his own perfume ads. Muscular without being overdeveloped, his skin burnished to gold by the sun and beautiful enough to make any woman want to reach out and touch him. ‘Absolutely. I had these pictures in my head when you danced the tango with me,’ she admitted softly.
His gaze was scorching. ‘I hope they’re the same pictures that were in mine.’
She did, too. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
His response was to kiss her hard.
And then he took the pins from her hair, one by one, and laid them on his dressing table. He combed through her hair with his fingers, and nodded in satisfaction as it fell past her shoulders. ‘I like that. And your hair’s so soft. So silky.’ He wound a strand round his finger, then released it again. ‘Ravissante.’
When he spoke in his own language, it was incredibly sexy. She licked her lower lip, wanting him to kiss her again; but instead he took her clothes off, very, very slowly. So slowly that it made her ache with need and want to push his hands away so she could rip them off, then rip off his own clothes and guide him into her body.
But Guy was being thorough. Methodical. Paying attention to the little details. A tiny mole on her shoulder, the crease of skin on her elbow, the softness of her curves. Almost as if he were learning her shape with his mouth and his hands. He unzipped her dress with incredible slowness and patience—and then let it drop on the floor while he stroked her skin.
‘I love this lacy stuff. It’s gorgeous. Like you.’ He traced the edge of her camisole top with the tip of his forefinger. ‘But it has to go, Amber. I need you naked. And I really, really need to be inside you.’
Oh-h-h.
She wanted that, too. So desperately.
He slipped one spaghetti strap down over her shoulder and kissed her bare skin. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back in offering to him; he took the hint and kissed a line across her throat, pausing to tease the spot where her pulse beat crazily, then moved to the other shoulder, nuzzling her skin. His hands rested lightly on her waist, and the heat of his mouth against her skin was driving her mad. By the time he’d stripped her down to just her lacy knickers, she was quivering.
He looked gorgeous, with his shirt and waistcoat open and his cravat undone, but she needed to do more than just look. She needed to touch. To feel. To explore him, the same way he’d just explored her. Curve for curve, touch for touch.
‘You’re wearing too much,’ she said shakily.
‘I’m in your hands.’
The waistcoat went first, and then she pushed the soft cotton of his shirt off his shoulders, tracing the line of his collarbone as she did so. His skin felt glorious, soft and smooth, and there was just the right amount of chest hair to be sexy; she couldn’t resist trailing her fingers across it.
‘You have lovely hands,’ he said, his eyes darkening. Giving her permission to go further.
She undid the button at the waistband of his trousers, and ran her fingers across his flat abdomen. ‘Very nice.’
‘Merci, Mademoiselle Wynne.’ His voice was full of amusement.
She felt the colour flood into her cheeks. ‘I didn’t mean to say that aloud.’
‘I’m glad you did.’ He traced a lazy circle round her navel. ‘You feel nice, too. Warm and soft. And I’m so going to enjoy exploring you, Amber.’
She was going to enjoy it, too. Given the way he’d danced with her in public, she had a feeling that his private lovemaking was likely to blow her mind.
She undid his zip, and gently drew the material down to his thighs; his trousers fell to the floor and he stepped out of them, kicking off his shoes and removing his socks as he did so. His erection was very obvious through the soft jersey of his boxer shorts and her mouth went dry.
‘Whatever I said earlier, you can still change your mind, mon ange,’ he said softly.
She shook her head. ‘I want you, Guy. It’s just…’ Her breath hitched. How could she explain?
‘I know, chérie. It’s the same for me. Unexpected.’ He brushed his mouth gently against hers. ‘This is just between you and me. Nothing to do with anyone else. No guilt, no worries—just pleasure.’
Pleasure.
Oh, it would be that, all right. For both of them.
He pushed the duvet aside, lifted her up and settled her against the pillows. The white linen was soft and smooth against her skin—seriously expensive high thread-count, she recognised—and the pillows were decadently soft.
Guy hooked his thumbs into the sides of her lacy knickers and gently drew the material down. Amber lifted her bottom slightly to help him remove them; and then she was completely naked in front of him and shyness washed over her.
‘I’m going to look at you, mon ange,’ Guy murmured, correctly reading her expression, ‘because you’re beautiful. And then I’m going to taste you. And then…’ He gave her a lazy grin. ‘Then, I’m going to blow your mind.’
‘Is that a promise, rather than a threat?’ she asked huskily.
‘Absolument. And—just so you know—I always keep my promises, Amber.’
He teased her nipples with the pad of his thumb; she could feel them tightening and hardening under his touch. Then he leaned forward and took one into his mouth, sucking hard. His mouth was hot against her flesh, making her arch towards him and slide her fingers in his hair. This was good, but she wanted more. Much, much more.
He kissed his way down over her abdomen, and suddenly Amber forgot how to breathe. Was he going to…?
He shifted to kneel between her legs, rocked back on his haunches and gave her a truly wicked grin, one that sent her pulse rocketing. Then he started at her ankle and kissed all the way up; clearly he was paying attention to what made her arch towards him and what made her catch her breath, because he did the same with the other leg.
By the time his mouth was idling along her thigh, she was practically whimpering, her hands fisted in his hair. ‘Guy, please…’ The words came out as a needy little moan, but it had been months since she’d last had this kind of relief, and nobody had ever made her feel quite this abandoned before.
She felt the long, slow stroke of his tongue along her sex. He swirled the tip round her clitoris, teasing her, and she pushed hard against him, demanding more. He gave her exactly what she needed, varying the pace and pressure so her arousal coiled tighter and tighter and tighter, until she didn’t think she could bear it any more. She was babbling his name when her climax exploded through her, more intense than she’d ever thought possible.
This shouldn’t have been so good. Not for a first time. It should’ve been clumsy and embarrassing and faintly disappointing.
But she had a feeling that Guy Lefèvre was no ordinary man.
He shifted up the bed and drew her into his arms, holding her close. ‘Better now, mon ange?’ he asked softly.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
‘Good, but that was only the start. To take the edge off.’ His eyes were intense. ‘Now, it really begins.’
That definitely sounded like a promise.
And Guy had said he was a man who prided himself on keeping his promises.
Almost shyly, she removed his boxer shorts, then sucked in a breath. ‘Guy, you’re truly beautiful.’
He actually blushed, to her secret pleasure. ‘I think that’s the first time anyone’s told me that.’
She kissed the corner of his mouth. ‘And I really, really want to make love with you.’ She stole another kiss. ‘Right now.’
