“Don’t move.”
“What?” Her heart leapt to her throat and her eyes darted about, searching for another snake. Was she sitting on a bloody nest of them?
“My way,” McAlistair said. With his dark gazed fixed on hers, he closed the distance between them.
“Your—?” Her eyes widened as she realized his intent. The kiss. He was going to kiss her. On his terms.
Her heart, already in her throat, began to beat wildly.
Taking her hands gently, he placed them on the ground and held them there. He leaned forward, close, closer, then stopped, just a breath away. “Don’t move,” he repeated in a rough whisper.
She nodded, or thought she did.
And then he was kissing her, and all thought was lost. She didn’t mean for that to happen—for her mind to go so utterly blank. She’d wanted to concentrate, to remember, to file away every minute, every second, every heartbeat of the kiss. It had seemed vital to do so only a moment ago. But now that his mouth was on hers, sensation pushed aside thought—his smell, his taste, the heat in her belly as he tasted her in return—and it only seemed vital that she kiss him back.
Her hands fisted under his. She wanted to touch, to pull him closer, to insist, but he held her still and moved his mouth over hers gently.
“My way,” he whispered.
He brought his lips back to hers and kissed her with exquisite tenderness, rubbing his mouth across hers in the lightest of brushes before retreating, shifting, and brushing again. He kissed her as if he were testing, as if she were fragile…or dangerous.
Without the strength to move there was nothing she could do but let him continue his delicate exploration, until she thought she might go mad for wanting more.
He meant to sample, nothing more.
That was what McAlistair had told himself when he’d made the bet and what he swore even as he’d taken Evie’s hands in his and bent his head to find her mouth. But after that first taste, that first intoxicating taste that was uniquely Evie, he was forced to admit what part of him had known all along: it was a promise he might not be able to keep.
Just the hint of her, that slightest meeting of lips, had the blood pounding in his veins and need clawing at his skin. Erotic images whirled dangerously through his mind: his hands in her hair, on her waist, under her skirt. Evie’s hands on his face, on his back, on his skin.
Restraining her hadn’t been the act of a man intent on lording power over a woman. It had been the act of a man who feared the power that woman had over him. A single brush of her fingers would be enough, more than enough, to snap his control. And he was furiously determined to retain what small amount he could still claim.
Just one more taste, one more sample, and he would force himself to stop.
Her tongue brushed his. It was just the tip, darting out in a gesture both hesitant and bold, but it was sufficient to make his blood boil and his need roar until he heard nothing else.
Chasing the need was fear.
He snapped himself back, gripping her shoulders as if he could hold or perhaps push her away. Later, he would realize it was a senseless gesture, as she was not only sitting, but sitting perfectly still. For now, however, it seemed absolutely necessary to keep her at arm’s length.
“Enough.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strained.
Evie blinked her eyes open slowly.
Enough? How could it possibly be enough?
There was more, wasn’t there? she wondered, as her mind floated several inches above her head. Yes, of course there was more. She’d heard prostitutes speak of that more in very explicit terms. Those terms had sounded a little unreasonable to her at the time, but just now, she thought they sounded rather…interesting.
“Don’t you want more?”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, her mind came crashing back to leave her stunned and reeling. “I don’t…I c-can’t…” She bit the end of her tongue. “I can’t believe I said that.” Even if she was terribly keen to hear his answer. It simply wasn’t something a lady said. Worse, it came perilously close to begging.
McAlistair released her arms and stood, and the sudden distance left her feeling cold despite the warm night air. She searched for something to say, anything to break a silence she felt becoming increasingly awkward, but he turned away and walked a few feet to their supplies before anything appropriate came to mind.
Evie stood to watch him. She could have watched just as easily while sitting, but it added another layer of discomfort, to be on the ground like something discarded whilst he was up and about.
McAlistair grabbed the thicker blanket and brought it to her.
Instinctively, she stretched out her hand to take it. “I thought I’d lost the better blanket,” she said softly.
“No, you lost the chance to choose. Go to sleep.”