Chapter Three
* * *
Despite his cold, wet clothes, Lyle stood for a long time in the center of the room and stared at the abruptly closed door. He felt like he’d been belted in the head with a cricket bat. Dizzy and breathless and befuddled. He’d expected Charlotte to be pretty. He hadn’t expected her to send his whole world reeling.
He shook his head to try and restore his everyday self. It didn’t help. He should have realized when Cinderella met him on the doorstep that he’d entered a fairytale kingdom where normal rules no longer applied.
He sighed, turned away, and spent far too long lighting the fire. He could blame his cold hands for his clumsiness, but he knew it was because his mind wasn’t on practical matters, but on a certain outspoken lassie.
At last the flames licked around the wood, and he stood and tugged fresh, mercifully dry clothes from his valise. He’d changed into trousers and had just picked up a clean shirt when he heard a short knock.
Before he could answer, Charlotte Warren, the world’s least convincing housemaid, stood in the doorway. She clutched a bundle of towels to her lavish bosom and stared at him aghast.
Except when he recovered from his shock and took a closer look, she didn’t exactly seem horrified. Instead she seemed…interested.
Interested was…interesting.
His body’s response to her arrival was predictable, and given how little he wore, she couldn’t miss it.
“I’m sorry…”
“I’m sorry…” he said at the same time, as the hand holding his shirt dropped to his side.
She bit her lip, her gaze tracing an incendiary line down his bare chest to focus below his waist. Wild color flared in her cheeks and her eyes widened. Lyle stood stock still as confused messages clamored in his brain.
Turn around. Cover yourself. Tell her to leave. Kiss her.
The silence extended. And extended.
His chaotic mind had time to register that she’d changed into a plain blue gown most servants would only dream about. Her luxuriant honey hair flowed loose, curling as it dried. The knuckles holding the towels shone white with tension.
Of course she should be frightened, alone with a man with obvious carnal intentions. But when he stepped closer, the shirt drifting disregarded to the carpet, it wasn’t fear he read in her amber eyes.
“Thank you for the towels.” His prosaic words belonged to a different world from the wanton fantasies rocketing through his head. Fantasies of throwing this gorgeous creature onto the big bed behind him and tossing up those neat blue skirts to reveal the treasures beneath. Fantasies of burying his hands in that cascading mane of hair and his lips in the tempting pink of hers.
Her usually steady voice emerged with a faint tremor. “I was wondering if you needed dry clothes. If you did, I could get you some of Papa’s.”
She must be as bedazzled as he was, or else she’d never make such a betraying statement.
“Thank you,” Lyle said, ordering himself to settle down. Without noticeable effect. He’d given Miss Warren to believe that she was safe, and he was a man of his word. Maid or mistress of the house, it didn’t matter. He had no right to lay a finger on her.
No matter how those fingers ached to discover if that silky skin was as soft as it looked.
He reached for the towels, but she didn’t immediately release them. Instead she stared up at him, as if unsure whether he meant to leap on her.
As if she was even more unsure whether she’d like it if he did.
He gave the bundle a gentle tug, and her lips parted over little white teeth. How the devil could he resist? Thought of conscience, calculation and courtship evaporated.
All thought evaporated under the imperative of desire.
“Hell,” he whispered.
He swept her into his arms and leaned down to claim those plump, glistening lips. Her glorious taste thundered through him. Salty and tart like a mixture of green apples and the sea. He discovered without any real surprise that he’d craved the flavor of Charlotte Warren all his life.
For a breathless interval, she rested in his embrace without resisting or participating. He plundered her lips, running his tongue across the seam until on a sigh, she parted. Giving up any hope of emerging from this alive, he plunged deep into the sweet ocean of her mouth.
Heat. Sweetness. Mystery.