“Never heard of him.” Even as his brain screamed at him not to, he moved another step closer to her. Then another. It was like his feet had a mind of their own.
“He’s credited with popularizing both the essay as a literary genre as well as the phrase ‘saying is one thing and doing is another.’”
“Smart guy.” One more step. Now he stood directly in front of her. He’d walked less than twelve feet yet his heart pounded as if he’d sprinted across town. And now she was close enough to touch. Much as he wanted to do just that, he somehow dredged up the will power to instead settle his palms on the bookcase on either side of her head, bracketing her in.
She nodded and her glasses slid partway down her nose. “Yes. De Montaigne is considered by some to be the father of Modern Skepticism, although bestowing that title upon him is hotly debated in many literary circles. But regardless, he was a fervent proponent of the notion that what you do means more than what you say.”
It occurred to Liam in the tiny section of his brain that was still operating that some women talked dirty, but this woman talked nerdy. And damn if it wasn’t turning him on. Painfully so. “Can’t say I’ve ever hotly debated any literary issues, but I agree.”
“Agree?”
“That actions speak louder than words.” Maybe, just maybe he might have been able to take the actions he knew he should. To step away from her. Then take her hand and get them out of the house. Into his car. On their way to the restaurant. Maybe. But then he inhaled and his senses were inundated with that ridiculously appealing combination of cookies and flowers. Unable to resist, he lowered his head until his lips hovered just above the enticing curve where her neck and shoulder met, then took a deep breath.
A groan escaped him. “God, you smell so good. Like cookies.”
“Me? I thought that was you.”
Liam straightened and looked down into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, their black nearly swallowing the golden brown surrounding them. “You think I smell like cookies?”
“Yes. Chocolate chip.”
He was trying to corral enough brain cells to put together a sentence that would point out that most guys didn’t wear stuff that made them smell like baked goods, but then… then she moistened her lips. And every thought drained from his head. That tiny flick of pink tongue ignited him like a match to gasoline and he was done. Had to touch her, taste her. Now. Now.
He yanked her into his arms, pressed his body into hers and lowered his head. “Facta non verba,” he murmured, then covered her mouth with his.
Chapter Six
Emma had experienced her fair share of kisses, but she’d never felt anything like this. The instant Liam’s mouth touched hers, her every nerve ending sizzled to life and for the first time in her entire life her brain clicked entirely off. All she did was feel.
His hard body pressing into hers. His tongue exploring her mouth. His large hands stroking down her back to cup her bottom. She wrapped her arms around his neck, arched into him, and opened her mouth wider, greedy for more. Desperation unlike anything she’d ever known swamped her. She wanted his hands, his mouth on her, her hands and mouth on him. Everywhere. Now. Now.
God, he felt so good. Tasted so good. Smelled so good. How could he possibly be so gorgeous and smell like chocolate chip cookies? Men weren’t supposed to smell like cookies. Especially this man. This man she was determined to resist… for reasons she couldn’t currently recall if her very life had depended upon it. But who could blame her? She loved chocolate chip cookies. How was she supposed to resist that? From the instant he’d arrived she’d had to battle the overwhelming urge to lick his neck to see if he tasted as good as he smelled. And now… now that she knew that he did, kissing him wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Had to have more.
One of his hands came forward to cup her breast. Fire raced through her, filling her with urgent, aching need and an uncharacteristically reckless impatience that made her want to rip off his clothes with her teeth.
More. The word screamed through her mind. Or maybe she said it out loud because just then he hooked a hand under her thigh and settled her leg high on his hip. The next instant his fingers slid inside her panties and glided over her folds.
Emma gasped and her head thunked back against the bookcase. “You’re wet,” Liam murmured against her mouth, then dragged his lips down her neck. “Soft and wet and… ” he slipped two fingers inside her and groaned. “And tight.”
“If that’s a complaint… ” her words evaporated into a throaty moan when he teased her with a slow, circular motion.
“Hell, no.” His teeth lightly grazed her neck, shooting a heated shiver down to her toes. “You feel amazing.”
“You have very… ah, talented fingers.” Stars seemed to explode in Emma’s head. “If you don’t stop that, I’m going to…” Pleasure shuddered through her, stealing her ability to speak.
“Come?” he whispered against her ear.
Heat suffused her entire body. All she could do was nod. And hold on to his broad shoulders because her knees were gone. And gasp. God, she was panting.
“Come for me,” he urged, his voice a harsh rasp. He rolled his hips and the hard ridge of his erection pressed her ooooh, right there, while his fingers caressed her, aaaah…right there. He performed another duet of perfection with his fingers and hips. Emma teetered on the edge of orgasm for several exquisite heartbeats then plummeted over the edge. Pleasure pounded through her, intense, extreme. Tearing a long moan from her throat. After the spasms tapered off into tiny aftershocks of delight, her head flopped forward onto his shoulder and she fought to catch her breath.
She felt his fingers slowly slip from her body. Felt his warm hand curve around her butt, keeping her anchored against him. Good thing, because if he’d let go of her, she’d have slithered to the floor in a boneless, quivering heap.
Even though her lungs hadn’t quite recovered, her brain cells re-engaged. And the ramifications of what had just past between them slapped her like a cold, wet rag. Good God, what had come over her? Darned if she knew. She wasn’t a prude, but this… this was not her style at all. She’d taken one look at-- and one whiff of-- this man and basically lost her marbles. The knowledge prickled her skin-- oh, great, here came the blotches. She pulled in a deep, shuddering breath then lifted her head.
And found him looking at her with an expression so scorching she sucked in another breath-- no easy feat given the apparent dearth of oxygen in the room. Probably she should extricate herself from his embrace. Yes, that’s what she needed to do. Put some space between them. And she would. As soon as her knees returned from wherever they’d disappeared to.
She cleared her throat. “Um, common sense dictates that I say something, but… well, I’m afraid I’m at a loss.”
“I think wow might be a good place to start.”
A self-conscious huff of laughter escaped her. “Well, clearly I agree.” Her gaze searched his. “But-- ”
He brushed his mouth over hers, cutting off her words. Then he leaned back and looked into her eyes. “Please do not say you’re sorry that happened.”
“Okay. Not sorry… at least not exactly.” But she was… something. And since she couldn’t think clearly while pressed up against him so tight a sheet of paper couldn’t have squeezed between them, she gently extricated herself from his arms. He let her go and Emma moved several paces away from him. She pulled in a few cookie-free breaths and struggled to align her scattered thoughts.
“I won’t use the word sorry,” she began, “because I think that would imply you somehow talked me into something I didn’t want to do, and that isn’t true. But I’m definitely confused. I don’t think what just happened between us was wise, and normally when I’ve determined something isn’t a good idea, I just don’t do it. But here, with you… ” She shook her head. “I just… I don’t know. I’m flummoxed. I took one look at you, got one whiff of you and basically lost my mind.”
A combination o
f unmistakable desire and something that looked like relief darkened his eyes. “All I can say to that is thank God it’s not just me.”
“Liam, what happened between us… I want you to know it’s completely out of character for me. Contrary to the way I just behaved, casual hook-ups are not my thing.”
He studied her with a very serious expression. “Well, then I might as well tell you, that for a long time they were my thing. But Emma, nothing about this, about you, feels casual. And believe me, I don’t say that lightly.”
Her heart performed a slow roll. He looked utterly sincere. Sounded utterly sincere. And as much as she didn’t want to, she found herself really wanting to believe him. There were reasons, valid reasons why she didn’t want to get involved with him, and any minute now she’d remember what they were. “I, um, I’ve never had sex on a first date.”
“Technically, we didn’t actually have sex.”
More heat raced into her face. No doubt she looked like a measles victim. “Right. I’m sorry you were left hanging, but, as I said, I sort of lost my mind.”
“If you’re waiting to hear a complaint, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
Emma clasped her hands together to keep them from fidgeting and wracked her brain for something to say. And came up empty. What did one say to a man one barely knew who’d just given one the most intense orgasm of one’s life? Damned if she knew. It wasn’t a question addressed in any etiquette book she’d ever read. “I’ve never been in this situation before, so I’m not really sure what to say. Or do.”
Actually, that was a big fat lie. She knew very well what she wanted to say: Let’s get naked. And do: ride him like a Kentucky Derby winner.
Neither would be the smartest thing she’d ever say or do, but statistics were favorable that neither would they be the stupidest.
And certainly in the spirit of fair play she owed him one.
“How about we head out to dinner?”
Emma’s brows shot up. “Not what I expected you to say.”
“Oh? What did you think I was going to say?”
“That we stay here. And take up where we left off.”
He studied her for several long seconds with an expression Emma couldn’t read. Then he approached her and gently took her hands. Emma glanced down at their entwined fingers. She’d never considered her hands dainty, but they looked very small and pale compared to his. The heat from his skin seeped into hers and spread up her arms.
“I want that, Emma,” he said quietly. “So badly I can barely think straight. But I don’t want you to have any regrets. I don’t want you to look back on tonight and think ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ And I think maybe you already are. And that’s the last thing I want. So I’d rather go to dinner. Talk. Get to know each other better. Then see what happens after that.”
“I have to say, you’ve surprised me.”
He gave a short laugh. “Believe me, I’ve surprised myself. I’ve never wanted a woman more. Which makes this worth trying to do right. I invited you to dinner and I’m not going to break another promise tonight.”
“Another promise? Which one did you already break?”
“The one I made to myself not to fall on you like starving dog on a pork chop.”
Her lips twitched. “Did you just call me a pork chop?”
“I guess so, yeah. But I meant it as a compliment.”
She really had to fight to hide her amusement. “As far as compliments go, that one needs some work.”
“I’ll do my best to redeem myself over dinner.”
Emma inwardly shook her head. Nothing about this evening was going at all the way she’d envisioned. She’d imagined a basic dinner date with an attractive man who, in spite of his ridiculous good-looks she’d totally be able to resist. Instead she’d found him utterly, shockingly irresistible, engaged in steamy foreplay, and experienced a screaming orgasm that still had her body tingling-- all before their basic dinner date even began. What other surprises would the evening hold? She didn’t know. But she couldn’t deny she wanted to find out. She didn’t want to want to know, but she did.
She eased her hands from his and reached for her purse and coat. “Redeem yourself over dinner? I’m going to hold you to that promise.”
~~~
I lounged on Miss Heely’s delightfully comfortable sofa-- so much nicer than those ghastly nineteenth century settees-- and watched my humans depart the house. I didn’t even try to stop the self-satisfied smile that curved my lips. Things were moving along absolutely perfectly.
“You didn’t need to do that, you know,” came a disapproving voice from the doorway. Her disapproving voice. But even Alessandra Foscari couldn’t ruin my triumphant mood. I turned toward her. She carried her electronic tablet and sported a ferocious frown-- neither of which surprised me. Nor did her unrelieved black attire. Yawner. The woman desperately needed a make-over. My gaze shifted to the unfortunately named Fluffy who was staring intently at the space Director Foscari occupied. The cat clearly detected her invisible presence. Animals were most adept at sensing spirits. His back arched and he emitted a loud hiss.
Smart cat.
“Director Foscari. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“A routine check. You didn’t need to do that,” she repeated. “Indeed, I must caution you to recall that anytime you interfere with events, those changes can cause a domino effect. I’m certain Miss Heely and Mr. Gallagher would have… um, kissed, soon enough without your interference.”
“I didn’t interfere.” Much.
“Oh?” She strode across the room and when she stood next to the sofa, jabbed an accusing finger at the object I held. “What do you call that?”
“A chocolate chip cookie.”
“You used it to entice them.”
“It is hardly my fault that these confections are so irresistible. Indeed, I believe the phenomena should be called The Power of Cookies. ‘Tis the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.” My good mood prodded me to break off a piece and offer it to her. “Try it.”
Her lips pursed as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “No, thank you. I’m on duty.”
“You’re always on duty. Live a little-- and no, the irony of suggesting that to someone who’s been dead for decades isn’t lost on me.”
“I have a job to do. As do you.”
“Yes. And in case you didn’t see what passed between my humans only moments ago, I’m doing mine pretty bloody damn well.”
“I saw. And I disagree with you.”
“Indeed? I’m shocked. Good thing I’m already sitting or I might well have fallen down from the surprise that we disagree.”
Those unnerving sea green eyes of hers seemed to bore right through me. “You used your powers unwisely and unnecessarily. You made a mistake, one that resulted in Miss Heely’s discomfiture. If their physical contact progresses further this evening-- ”
“Rest assured, their physical contact, as you call it, will most definitely progress further this evening.”
“Because of your interference.”
“No. Because they can’t keep their hands, or lips off each other. Surely you witnessed the desire between them.”
“I did. However, you erased the boundaries they’d each set-up between them. Which led Mr. Gallagher to act rashly and Miss Heely to behave completely uncharacteristically.”
“I didn’t hear either of them complaining.”
“Miss Heely was shocked at her own behavior and doubted the wisdom of her actions. If they share more intimacies tonight, she’ll experience regrets in the morning. Regrets will not serve your mission well.”
I rose and glared down at my nemesis. Damn infuriating woman was quickly ruining my euphoric mood. “When they share more intimacies tonight, Miss Heely is going to be too busy screaming with pleasure to experience any regrets. I merely gave them a push in the direction they were already heading to speed things along because, as you’ve clearly forgotten, I
have a very limited amount of time to complete my assignment.”
She studied me for several long seconds then said quietly, “I’ve forgotten nothing, Lord Ryland.” Her gaze and tone were so intent I was suddenly filled with the oddest feeling that she referred to something far deeper than our current conversation. “But True Love is more than just physical attraction. Your actions this evening only prove what I said about you not knowing women. For us, emotion is what’s important.”
“Passion is always important. And you’re a bloody fool if you don’t think so.”
“I agree it’s important, but unlike you, I also know that feelings matter just as much, if not more. Miss Heely might well give in to her passions, sooner than she would have due to your interference, but in the end, in order for their relationship to last longer than one night, more than her body must be engaged. She needs to know Mr. Gallagher-- ”
“Based on what occurred against that bookcase,” I said, jerking my head in that direction, “where Mr. Gallagher gave Miss Heely the orgasm of her life, I’d say she knows him very well.”
Color flooded her cheeks and unmistakable anger flared in her eyes. “That is not what I meant. And that’s exactly why you’ve failed in all your previous attempts to free yourself from Pre-Pearly Gate.” She skewered me with a look that conveyed both disappointment and disgust. “You know nothing of True Love. And do you know why?”
“I’m certain you’re about to tell me.”
“It’s because you’ve never loved anyone other than yourself. And that isn’t love. That’s nothing but narcissism. Ego. Pride. And utter selfishness.”
Her words seemed to freeze my insides, entombing them in ice. I knew I was a prideful, selfish bastard so her assessment of my failings was hardly a news flash. Still, hearing her state them so baldly filled me with a sensation that felt precisely like… hurt.
He's No Angel (Heaven Can Wait Book 1) Page 7
