“You rebelled against the dance lessons?”
“I most certainly did.” He admitted reluctantly. “To be assigned a private dance instructor, generally a petite person of the male persuasion was humiliating.”
“Ah.” She breathed, understanding. “Therefore, you revolted with music your parents couldn't tolerate?”
“I listened to Rock and Roll at exceedingly earthshaking decibels.”
She laughed. “Children are the same, no matter how many continents or years may separate them.”
“I imagine we are, Kate.” He confessed.
“Yes.” Kate uttered the single word as if in a daze, not quite aware she said the word. “Are you an accomplished dancer?”
“No,” he confessed roughly, biting at the fullness of his lower lip. “I learned to prove I could accomplish the feat, nothing else.”
Effortlessly, Dante whirled her about the hall. Kate clung tightly to him, her head spinning.
“I'm efficient at ballroom dancing, fox-trot, minuet, two-step, mambo, tango, and waltzing.”
“Waltzing?”
“Yes, I can waltz.” His words were light as he began the steps. “Did you know the waltz was a peasant dance?”
“The Weller and the Leander.” Kate supplied, unintentionally moving in time.
“Brilliant!” He commended. “How do you know this?”
“My mother enjoyed old movie musicals. She would quiz us on trivia from the films.”
“Apparently, she was a highly intelligent woman.” He hypothesized humming to the music. “There are two forms of the waltz. There is the Viennese, which is fast, where couples turn in one direction. The Boston is slower and couples turn in several directions. We're doing the Boston.”
Kate faltered, realizing he spoke the truth and heard his gentle reprimand. She apologized immediately, self-conscious.
“Relax, Kate,” he urged, his breath fanning her brow.
“I….”
“The earl would be highly perturbed if his lovely colonial resisted gazing at him.”
Hesitantly, Kate did as instructed, her breath catching in her throat as she met his eyes. Effortlessly, Dante propelled her across the foyer. His face was shadowed in the semi-darkness and she failed to detect the glitter of his heavily lidded eyes. She relaxed in his arms, laughing as he whirled her about the room.
“You were made for dancing.” Dante expressed in a sotto voce.
“Seriously, you don't mean that, Dante.” She scoffed.
“You're a natural.”
She blushed with the praise, breathless.
“You're exquisite, Kate.” He voiced throatily. The faint imprint of his body burned through her dress and set her senses reeling more rapidly than the dance. Dante was quiet, allowing the music to sweep about them.
“I'm thinking you have a touch of the Irish in you, Ravensmoor.”
“Why?”
“It seems you've been kissing the Blarney Stone.” A dimple of amusement formed in her cheek.
“You're angling for flatteries, dear.”
“I'm not.” She defended, knowing how a brow would have lifted in stark flippancy to her words.
“You, my dear, are striking,” he murmured, the words unheard by his partner. Dante cleared his throat before he continued with a stiff retort. “I'm a conclusive product of English and Scot breeding.”
“Does your family deliberately overlook the gypsy blood?”
He dimpled roguishly at the question, privately pleased by her observation. “There's a tale of a Romany who invaded our ranks. Prior to her arrival, Ravensmoor men were fair haired and decidedly English.”
“I believe her infiltration is more than a rumor.” Kate laughed quietly. “She's left her stamp on the entire lineage, since then.”
He chuckled. “My ancestors would never concede a mere slip of a woman infiltrated our ranks.”
He knew otherwise but couldn't permit the words to leave his aching throat. Dante held in his arms the evidence of a woman who had tormented his family for more than two centuries.
“What of the eyes?”
“Distinctly Ravensmoor, since the very beginning,” he supplied leisurely. “The eyes, and the stature, have always been our most distinguishing features.”
She nodded in reaction. His eyes were more than a distinguishing feature, mind, and soul sapping with their intensity.
“So, you’re of Scot and English descent?” She questioned, valiantly attempting to draw her glance away.
“Since before Queen Elizabeth.”
“I suppose all arranged by her and her successors?”
“Naturally,” He replied in a matter of fact tone. “The edicts were to avert raids on the border or adjoining neighbors.”
“Were they prevented?”
“No.” He admitted ruefully. “My family has, perpetually, been distinguished as an obstinate lot. The forays were infinitely more abbreviated.”
“You forgot to mention the Ravensmoors are a crafty bunch, as well.” She felt him tense with her declaration.
“Kate, you wound me.” He laughed. Kate clutched at him as he whirled her about on the tips of her toes to the final stains of the music.
“Dante!” She choked his name aloud. “Don't let me go!”
“Never, my love.”
Kate gasped as he stopped, her head reeling as she swayed on her feet. Kate senses swirled drunkenly about her, off kilter by the swiftness of the dance. “I'm liable to go soaring across the floor!”
“Not while I hold you.” He chuckled, slightly winded by the quickness of the dance. “I afford you my absolute word of honor. Trust me?”
“Yes.” Her breathless laughter trilled with the last strains of the music.
“Why?” He inquired abruptly, startling her. Her head fell back as she looked up at him, her gaze clouded.
“I honestly can't say.”
“I suppose I should feel blessed.” He mouthed the admission quietly, the intensity of his gaze darkening with each passing second. The foyer spun wickedly about her, and she forced herself to focus on his swimming features. Finding the action futile, she pressed her forehead to his chest and closed her eyes. Her body felt heated, hungry, her senses filled with his entrancing scent. All-betraying warmth assailed her, an ache uncoiling deep within her loins.
“Why are you having such a big birthday bash for Anne?” She questioned, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin and allowing the aroma to wash over her.
“She'll be eighteen. That, to the pair of us, is a milepost.” He admitted distantly. “I was the close to the same age at her birth.”
Kate rapidly calculated his age. “You were young.”
“I was old enough to know better.” He cryptically replied and released her hand. She lifted her head and looked at him, still firmly held in his embrace. “As it is, she'll soon be leaving to an estate outside Edinburgh.”
“So, she’s off to one of the estates?” Kate echoed. “Now, would that be one that’s a museum or hotel?”
The light notes of the distant music faded to nothingness and the foyer echoed with the murmur of their low-pitched voices.
“Need you ask?”
“The museums, since she's inherited your love of history.” Kate supplied, pursing her lips in thought. “You know I'll be out-of-place at your party.”
“Nonsense,” he scoffed, and his hold about her tightened minutely. “Anne's acquaintances will primarily be in attendance.”
“Exactly. A stuffy lot of teenage Brits will glare down their long, elegant, and well-bred noses at me. I'll see a lot of backsides.”
“I'm deeply wounded, Kate.” He feigned a groan of mortal agony. “I'm one of those so called stuffy Brits, or have you forgotten?”
“Yes, I had forgotten.” She admitted in a near mumble, the words falling from her trembling lips. Her cheeks flamed and she lowered her forehead to his chest. “I believe it's an act to irritate me.”
“So, I'
m not?” The question left him on a chuckle.
“I've sat in on numerous meetings and I see how you behave with the technicians. You don't behave much like a member of the upper class.”
“Am I supposed to say pip-pip, tally ho, and all that rot?” He inquired, the light English inflection of his words considerably pronounced. Kate stifled a pained giggle and nodded.
“Since we're addressing stereotypes, as an American, you ought to be liberally seasoning your vocabulary with that colorful word, f….” Using the light pressure of her fingertips on his lips, she cut the word short, her eyes wide with shock, and her color high.
“That’s horrible!” She exclaimed, realizing his face was quite close. “You informed me, I believe, there was local jargon you overlook. We don't all speak like that, trust me!”
The corners of his eyes perceptibly crinkled with amusement and Kate grimaced.
“Point taken.” She mumbled.
Unexpectedly, the fullness of Dante's heated lips grazed her fingertips. Kate moved her hand from his mouth, bemused by his action, before resting them on his chest. His nimble fingers traveled the length of her spine, guiding her close. His actions were deceptively languid as he pressed her to his heated body, the unavoidable outline of his turgid arousal sharply defined against her. The movement caused him to exhale a strangled breath, his lids drifting shut in mute ecstasy.
Her name was issued in a sultry smooth intonation, the sound warming her. She could detect the undeniable and throbbing arousal of his heated body. There was irrefutable and tightly leashed power evident in him, she thought as his brandy scented breath fanned her upturned face. Despite the foyer's dimness, she could detect the moment his darkened gaze fastened on her breathlessly parted lips.
Hungrily, she flexed forward, lured by the unquestionable promise he offered. A tightly muffled, but inflamed groan erupted from him as he recognized and understood the confusion and the conflict waging within her. Dante shuddered with unfulfilled need, his body aching with desire. A quiver jarred him as he lowered his head. His lips parted in anticipation and his heartbeat quickened to a powerful crescendo beneath her fingertips.
“Forgive me, Kate, for I'm going mad.”
Her lashes fluttered as a low moan of acquiescence fell from her. The tantalizing sensation of his full lips caressed her upturned cheek, the gentleness of the kiss a light and feathery touch. Her body arched with stunning intensity at the contact, curving into to his solidness, her trembling hand crushed against his chest.
“So sweet.”
Hoarsely, he sighed the words against her cheek. Dante's lids drifted shut as an intense shudder wracked him. His ragged breath escaped in a shaky gasp and he pressed his forehead to hers, savoring the sensation of her trembling body pressed against him. An intensely throaty growl was wrenched from the suffering depths of his anguished soul.
“Dante.” She was barely capable of mouthing his name, her voice distant and foreign to her ears.
“Touch me, sweet Kate, touch me.” He pleaded in an oddly strangled tone, as if unaccustomed to the request. Dante's breath escaped from flared nostrils, each gasp a struggle of valiant control, the immenseness of his strong hands tightening on the tantalizing curve of her hips. He cursed, feeling as untrained as a virgin in her presence.
Kate closed her eyes, her vision flooded with his brilliant image, her heartbeat soaring to previously unimaginable heights. She was unaware of the power she wielded over this giant of a man, innocently blind to the trembling rocking his massive muscles. She trailed the tingling tips of her hands across his chest and up the thick column of his neck, hesitating on the obstinate curve of his jaw. He issued another body-shaking groan as the overly sensitive pad of her thumb traced the deep cleft of his chin.
Her mind was highly tuned to the throng of conflicting sensations that assailed her. Kate attempted to absorb every detail of him, the texture of his skin, the contrast between hardened muscle and soft words. Her quivering fingertips trailed over a furiously pounding pulse in his throat, pausing as she felt the quickening reaction. She was entranced, vaguely aware of her body's vibration of pent up desire, awash in tumultuous emotion. She arched into him with inexperienced hunger, molding firmly to the hardened contours evident beneath his shirt.
“Dante.”
She whispered his name on a breathless sigh, her lips parting invitingly. This was wrong, a section of her numb mind argued. Dante Burroughs was her employer and she was his secretary, nothing more. She'd been in the workplace long enough to know nothing came of office romances. Despite the reminder, she blew caution to the wind. Nothing felt as if it mattered, at this precise moment, except the hunger.
“Sweet Kate,” He began, and then halted.
His words vanished as her fingertips traced the warmth of his mouth. She groaned aloud, a wealth of meaning in the sound, her arousal evident. Her heavily dilated eyes flew wide as his teeth nipped at the tender skin of her thumb, delicately pinching the softness of the pad. He sluggishly eased the pressure of his teeth on the sensitive digit before suggestively laving the teeth marks with the moistness of his tongue. The hand she held pressed to his chest moved convulsively, clutching at his shoulder before sinking into his hair. Her fingers tightened in the abundant strands as his head descended and the heat of his mouth settled on the exposed nerves of her neck, sending an ecstatic quiver throughout her.
Kate was uncertain of where to place her hands. One clutched at the broadness of his shoulder, preventing her from falling as her knees weakened. The other sank more deeply into the silken texture of his hair, effectively drawing him closer. Her breath escaped her in a rapturous flutter as the burning warmth of his tongue flicked the sensitive shell of her ear. She clutched at him, desperately urging him closer. Dante moaned hungrily, the heaviness of his hands tightening possessively on her hips, pressing her to the undeniable firmness of his rigid maleness.
“I need you.”
Need was an understatement his mind chided. He was prepared to explode, her touch maddening, overwhelming his tortured thoughts. Impatiently, Kate shifted, suggestively pressing against his aching loins before withdrawing, then returning to press more tightly to him. Unconsciously, she imitated the motion he longed to complete, the slow and languorous pressure of her body against him, the tease of her heat before she returned his impassioned thrust. His unfulfilled hunger caused him to grip her more tightly, molding her to his burgeoning maleness. The unshaven roughness of his jaw brushed against her face, scraping the fragile skin before he lifted his heavily lidded gaze.
“Dante!” Kate called his name urgently, incapable of fully understanding the sensations that wracked her. He paused, his intent obvious. She ached for the taste of him and rose to the tips of her toes, wanting to feel the crushing pressure of his lips.
“I'm mad.” He groaned his admission thickly. “I am so mad for you, my sweet Kate.”
She was scarcely able to issue a throaty purr to his words. She was unable to disregard the feel of his body pressed intimately against her. His arousal was undeniable, the turgid length throbbing in an echo to the burn that assailed her. Her hands flittered from his hair, tracing the nape of his neck and lingering on the ferociously pounding pulse.
Her lashes drifted shut, and his shadowed features became a decided blur. Stunned, his lips brushed her eager mouth, performing a wicked dance of their own, coaxing a response from her. The action was unnecessary as her lips thirstily parted beneath his, relishing the tantalizing warmth. He tasted of expensive brandy, she realized, his undeniably masculine aroma flooding her bedazzled senses. Her legs collapsed as he ravenously consumed the silken texture of her mouth, the firm pressure of his hands holding her in place against his body. Savagely, he deepened the pressure of his lips until she was breathless.
Dante pulled back, relishing her disappointed groan before recapturing the promised sweetness. A muffled but triumphant echo of a laugh escaped him as she captured the moistness of his lower lip
between her pearly teeth, drawing him nearer. Kate strained against him, savoring the firmly sculpted muscles that encircled her and the heat exuding from his body. She returned the persistent pressure of his mouth, the experimental tip of her tongue darting across his lips. The foyer whirled about her, forgotten, disappearing with the unhurried pressure of his mouth, her body afire.
Kate trembled in unrestrained ardor. His hands traveling in luxuriating deliberateness down the curved length of her spine, and the other pressed her hips firmly to the tautness of his body. Her fingers meshed in his hair as the kiss intensified. She was lost in his touch, her resolve weakening with the straining pressure of his body and the mind numbing wonder of his mouth.
“What I could do to you, my sweet.” He whispered throatily, the heat of his words sending tantalizing shivers across her skin. His face brushed her cheek, seeking the delicate shell of her ear, his words full of hunger. “Come to me, sweet Kate, let me show you.”
“My Lord Raven,” she mouthed hotly against his neck, unaware the name spilled from her. “My dear Lord Raven.”
A chill shook him, the foyer spinning wildly as he strove to calm his drugged senses. She, his sweet and darling Kate, called him by the one name whispered in his dreams. His tightly controlled and exactingly world crumbled about him, leaving him weak. The sensation was frightening and gave him a new task to ponder.
Did she have knowledge of the Ravensmoor curse?
Roughly, Kate was set away from him. The ground swayed beneath her feet and her body chilled, lacking his heat. She tried to focus on the man who kissed her senseless, wondering what happened.
“Go to your room, Kate.” He ordered brusquely, although his words were unsteady.
He was bathed in an unaccustomed chill, despite the heat ripping through him, at the softly issued but eon’s old endearment. Kate blinked, realizing she was being dismissed. She pressed the tips of her fingers to her swollen lips to stifle a sob, his heady scent prevalent on her skin.
“Leave before I ravish that delectable little body of yours, Kate. Go to your room and lock the bloody damn door!” He growled before he turned on his heel.
My Lord Raven (The Ravensmoor Saga) Page 14
