“No wonder you have a sackful of medals for prowess on the battle field,” said Olivia, trying not to inhale the spicy essence of his scent. “You are utterly relentless—and ruthless—in your attack.”
“Am I?” Rising, he pulled her up out of her chair and drew her close. So close that she could feel the beat of his heart stir the hair’s breadth of air between them. “In this particular campaign, I feel I’ve been utterly inept.”
“You,” she whispered, “could never be called inept.”
“Yet I’ve done nothing but trip over my boots in my attempt to cut through the opposing army and capture my queen.”
The tickle of his warm breath on her cheek stirred a lick of need between her legs. “I’m not a queen. I’m an idiot.” A rueful grimace tugged at her mouth. “A cretin, a—”
His lips silenced the litany.
She held herself very still, all thoughts given way to simply savoring his taste, his feel, his scent.
John.
JOHN.
His essence had her dizzy with longing—had she said his name aloud? She was only dimly aware of a sound slipping free as she opened herself to his kiss.
An answering growl reverberated in his throat as their tongues touched and twined in a dancing, delving lover’s embrace. There was nothing gentlemanly about John’s response—the rumble of raw, masculine need sent shivers skating up and down her spine.
“Marry me, Olivia.” It wasn’t a request, it was a demand.
Olivia felt as if every bone in her body had suddenly puddled into a pool of liquid desire. Clutching at the broad slope of his shoulders, she leaned in against his length, acutely aware of solid, chiseled muscle and aroused male.
His mouth broke free and was now tracing a hot, wet trail along the line of her jaw. “Marry me,” he repeated.
“But…” But I hardly dare hope for such joy. “…But I’ll never be a conventional countess,” she cautioned.
“Which makes you the perfect countess for me.” John slowly slid his hands up to frame her face, the touch of his palms deliciously warm against her skin. “I’ve no intention of being an indolent earl who fritters away my existence in frivolous pleasures and drunken debaucheries. I want to use what talents I have to serve a higher good.”
Good. At heart, he was such a good man.
“Admit it, Olivia, we match up well,” he went on. “Like chess, our life together will play out in infinitely intriguing variations of two equals challenging each other, inspiring each other.” He pressed a light kiss to the tip of her nose. “I love your intelligence, I love your passions.” For an instant, his eyes darkened with a swirl of primal lust. “And I love your body.”
That look make her hot all over. “I won’t temper my tongue, you know.”
“Did I neglect to mention that I love your tongue?
“Even if I shock you at some times?” she asked, thinking back to their first smoke-shrouded encounter.
“I should be greatly disappointed if you didn’t.” His smile turned
a little crooked. “One should never become complacent, and you shall…” His mouth quirked. “…How did Cecilia phrase it?—rattle my cage enough to keep me from becoming too self-satisfied.”
Olivia felt her throat tighten. It was oh-so tempting. But despite all his eloquence, she still hadn’t heard the one sentiment she yearned for.
“It seems that a number of my physical and mental attributes meet with your approval. But…”
“Ah.” John’s eyes took on a more intense glitter. “But the sum of the parts does not quite equal your expectations?”
“I’m not overly interested in mathematics,” she mumbled.
“No, of course not. Language is your field of expertise. And you wish to hear me express my feelings in proper English.”
“That would be nice,” responded Olivia.
“Nice?” One of his divinely deft hands closed over her right breast, and through the layers of silk and cotton, his thumb found the sensitive nubbin and began slow, sensual stroking.