Cole's arm tightened around her shoulders as he pulled her even closer to him. One of Annabel's arms went around his neck. Her pulse seemed like thunder in her head. The sparks that had been smoldering inside her sprang to life, kindling into a heat that would not-be denied. Her lips parted in invitation, and when he did not answer it immediately, her tongue darted out to stroke his mouth. He opened in answer to her bold challenge and drew her in. Their tongues met and slid hotly and wetly around each other in a sensuous dance.
Annabel felt a groan of desire welling up inside her, and somehow she had the presence of mind to cup her hand behind his head and hold him firmly, in place. Otherwise, she knew he would pull back at the first sound from her, worried that he was hurting or offending her. And that wasn't the case at all.
Her moan of passion was answered by a low growl from him. His tongue had grown more bold, flickering out to explore her mouth. Their bodies were molded together, and Annabel enjoyed the way her breasts flattened against the broad, muscular plane of his chest
When they finally had to part in order to draw breath, Annabel saw exactly what she had feared she would see in Cole's eyes. He was worried about the impropriety of their being together like this. Respectable women didn't sit in gentlemen's parlors and kiss with such passion and fire. It simply wasn't done in 1906.
Or maybe it was, because Cole asked raggedly, "Are you sure you don't want to go back to Mrs. Noone's?"
"I don't want to be anywhere but right here," Annabel, whispered.
"Then stay," he told her in a low, urgent voice. "Stay." And his mouth found hers again.
This time there would be no drawing back, Annabel sensed. And that was fine with her. She and Cole had wanted each other from the first moment they had met.
As they kissed, his free hand stroked the side of her face, then moved down to touch the lace at her throat. An ache sprang up inside her, an almost overwhelming need to be touched. She put her free hand on the back of his and moved it down to her breast. He cupped it through her dress, letting the firm flesh fill his palm. Her nipple, already growing hard, came fully erect at his caress.
Annabel sagged against him. A need to be closer to him, as close as possible, filled her.
The divan wasn't made for this, she realized. Not now, not for their first time together. That required a bed.
She moved her lips from his mouth to his cheek, and then he dipped his head to let his lips trail along her jaw and onto her neck, leaving a line of fiery heat behind them. She closed her eyes and gasped as another spasm of wanting shuddered through hen "Cole," she managed to say hoarsely, "Cole, we should go upstairs."
She felt him nod, heard him whisper fervently, "Yes." Thank goodness he hadn't asked her again if she was sure about this. There was nothing more certain in the world, and they both knew it.
He surprised her, however, by pulling her onto his lap and then standing up with her cradled in his arms. "Cole!" she exclaimed. "Cole, you're going to hurt yourself."
"You're light as a feather," he said as he started toward the foyer and the stairs that led up to the second floor. Passion must have been sending plenty of adrenaline pumping through his-veins, Annabel thought, because he seemed to "be handling her as if she were indeed no heavier than a feather.
He started up the stairs, carrying her as if he was Rhett Butler and she was Scarlett O'Hara. But Gone With the Wind was still thirty years or more in the future, and this wasn't Tara but a mansion on Russian Hill.
Annabel wouldn't have traded places with Scarlett for anything. She was exactly where she wanted to be.
Chapter 17
Cole stretched and yawned, luxuriating in the sensation of waking up from a long night of deep, restful, dreamless sleep.
Or had it been dreamless? he suddenly asked himself. He remembered visions of pure loveliness, visions of Annabel as the two of them had made love over and over, each time more exciting and fulfilling than the last. All of that had to have been a dream.
Then he felt the mattress shift under him, even though he hadn't moved, and a soft warmth press itself against him from behind. Lips caressed his ear in a feather-light kiss, and a sweet voice whispered, "Finally awake again, sleepyhead?"
It took all of Cole's iron self-control not to bound up from the bed and let out a startled yelp. Even more self-control was required when a hand slid boldly over his hip and onto his belly, then went exploring downward.
"Ah, so you're glad to be awake. At least you certainly feel like it"
"Annabel?" he choked out
Her nude body was pressed against his. She felt her muscles abruptly stiffen as he said her name. "You were expecting somebody else?" she said.
"No, no," Cole said hastily. This was getting out of hand. And that was what he had to do, get himself out of her hand, though he really hated the idea of giving up even for a moment, the wonderfully sensuous feelings she was arousing in him. But he took hold of her wrist anyway, lifted her hand away from him, tried to ignore the pang of loss he felt, and rolled over to face her. Her thick brown hair was tousled from sleep, and she was frowning slightly as she looked at him.
"Who else did you think, would be in bed with you this morning?" she asked with a hint of a chill in her voice.