Tess winced inwardly. It was a betrayal to Richard’s memory to voice such disloyal thoughts. Her self-reproach was distracting enough that she almost missed Rotham’s casual statement: “You should have come to me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“If you wanted to know about passion, you should have applied to me. I can show you all you need to know about kissing.”
She stared at Rotham, her jaw slack. Once again he had startled her into speechlessness. But perhaps he was simply mocking her.
“You think you could do better than Hennessy?” Tess asked archly.
A gleam of humor entered his eyes at her challenging tone. “Certainly I can.”
She shook her head in bemusement. “If I were to kiss you, my reputation would end up in shreds,” she remarked absently.
A wry half smile curved Rotham’s mouth. “I am not quite that sullied.”
“Yes, you are.”
When he merely continued to smile that infuriatingly knowing smile, Tess finally grasped that he was serious.
Rotham is actually offering to kiss you, to show you passion himself.
Nervousness suddenly swamped Tess. She ought to tell him to go to the devil, so why was she even hesitating? And why was a rush of excitement sweeping her senses at the possibility of kissing him?
She knew better than to accept his offer. Rotham was infinitely dangerous. More hazardous than any man she had ever encountered in her life. And her long-standing sexual attraction to him was shameful. She’d spent the past four years trying to deny her fascination with him.
Even worse, he was fully aware of his spellbinding effect on women—including herself.
On the other hand … the thought of kissing him was sinfully intriguing. This was her chance to learn from an acknowledged expert, urged a scandalous voice inside Tess. He could indeed show her everything she longed to know about passion—and probably much more.
Swallowing past the dryness of her throat, Tess glanced around her. The stage was set to resemble a Green Room at Drury Lane Theatre, since Hennessy’s play centered on the legendary spirits who haunted that renowned theater, benevolent ghosts who appeared before performances to bless and encourage the actors. Behind her was a dressing table laden with cosmetics for applying stage makeup. Next to that stood a floor-length looking glass. And on the far end of the stage sat a chaise longue and several chairs for entertaining patrons and admirers.
Still debating, she turned back to face Rotham. When he took a step closer, decreasing the distance between them, fresh awareness assaulted Tess at the realization that they were wholly alone together.
She gazed mutely up at Rotham, searching his face. He had intense eyes. Vivid, dare-the-world eyes. Just now she felt as if she could drown in those vibrant gray depths. His high cheekbones and chis
eled jawline, too, held a stark beauty that entranced her.
He was far too masculine and desirable, devil take him. She knew she should turn and run, yet she couldn’t move.
And then he took the decision from her. Raising his hands, he slowly slid his fingers along either side of her jaw. As he lowered his head, her heart pounded so hard, her chest hurt.
When his mouth covered hers, a shock of surprise speared through Tess. She completely forgot to breathe. She could only remain rooted there, perfectly motionless, absorbing the jolting delight of Rotham’s probing kiss against her lips.
Then he made her open for him. The scent of him filled her senses, the taste of him stole her reason. His mouth had the texture of heated silk, his exploring tongue a scalding wildness.
What a wicked, marvelous sensation. Emotions whirled and clashed within Tess, leaving her giddy. Her head swam with drugged pleasure, her body trembled. At her unconscious reaction, he thrust his tongue even deeper, inciting that delicious, melting weakness throughout her entire body.
He kissed like a possessive lover—or what she imagined a possessive lover to be. A whisper of a sigh escaped Tess. She had suspected that kissing Rotham would be remarkable, but she’d vastly underestimated how wonderful, how intensely glorious, it would be. The impact left her too flustered to think, too dazed to stand on her own. Reaching up, Tess weakly clutched at his shoulders.
Rotham only drew her closer.
The sinful thrill of being captured against that hard male body sent another hot ripple of weakness surging through her. The beguiling friction of his chest against her breasts only made her want more.
How was it possible to be so desperately attracted to a man she disdained? Tess wondered. No, her feelings went far, far beyond attraction. This was sheer yearning.
She felt stunned by the sparks of fire between them. She had never before been struck by such lightning bolts of need. Richard had never once kissed her like this. His kisses had been tender and gentle. Not this magical, overwhelming, enchanting fervor.…
Rotham must have felt her shiver of helpless excitement for he suddenly broke off and raised his head.