“Mrs. Burke, will you please go to the kitchens and request fresh tea and biscuits?” Catherine turned to the woman in the corner.
Mrs. Burke gave a twitch of her lips as they thinned in what appeared to be irritation, and she set her needlepoint aside. “You can’t find a maid to assist you?”
“You’re available, are you not?” Catherine replied.
Mrs. Burke gave a huff and stood from her chair near the window. With a prim gait, she exited the room and made a show of leaving the door wide open, her stare spearing them both with a warning.
Quin watched the woman leave, her footsteps fading in the hall.What an odd duck.He turned back to Catherine and found she wasn’t sitting across from him, but was taking a seat beside him on the sofa.
Her proximity had an immediate effect. Her skirts rustled against his leg, a splash of pale yellow against the black of his breeches. His body tingled with awareness of her, and he reached out to trace the curve of her cheek, allowing his fingers the pleasure of her soft skin.
“Are you going to kiss me or not?” Catherine’s words came in a rush. Her cheeks were heightened with color.
He traced his hand from her cheek to the back of her neck, his fingers finding the softness of her hair. He pulled her forward gently, slowly, allowing the anticipation to build. He didn’t have much time before Mrs. Burke would return, but he wasn’t going to rush this.
Her breath tickled his lips, sending a current of desire coursing through him. He angled his head slightly, covering more of her lips with his own, allowing the barest tip of his tongue to trace the seam of her lips, his body hungry for more of a taste of her.
She leaned into him, melting as she pressed her lips more fully against his, opening her mouth slightly to nibble on his lower lip, and he groaned at the erotic pleasure of it.
If a kiss was this powerful, making love to her would be his undoing.
In the best way possible.
He deepened the kiss, drawing the passion from her like nectar and feeding his own to her. His hands released their light grip on her neck and traced the lines of her back till he spanned her hips, arching his fingers into the swell of her curves, mapping her body, worshiping it with every touch as his tongue darted into her mouth, sampling her with abandon.
Some corner of his mind reminded him of the time, and he slowly eased out of the passionate exchange. He wouldn’t damage Catherine’s reputation in her own parlor, as much as he’d like to damn the consequences and continue tasting her. With a final kiss, he slowly retreated, his body humming with unfulfilled need.
Not yet.
And it was theyetthat helped cool his fevered desires. It wasn’t a matter of if, simply of when.
And God help him, it was going to be magnificent.
Catherine’s eyes were cloudy with passion and her lips bee-stung from his attentions.
Quin roamed her features wondrously, a power burning through him at the adoration he had for her. “Does that answer your question?” he asked, trailing a finger down her cheek and outlining her lips. He couldn’t help himself; he kissed her once more, lingering, then once more before forcing himself to retreat again.
“You’re far too tempting, and I have too little control. If we’re to have any semblance of propriety, you’re going to need to stand in the furthest corner of the room,” he growled, then gave her a final quick kiss.
“But such an action would require Herculean effort on my part, and far more self-control than I have at the moment as well,” Catherine replied with an affection he could feel rather than see as his lips lingered near hers, not touching but nearly.
The sound of footsteps in the hall acted like cold water, and Quin watched with reluctance as Catherine gave a glare toward the door and moved back over to her original seat. Quin noted her rosy and swollen lips and reached out, lifted her teacup, and handed it to her, dipping his chin in a nod.
Understanding dawned in her expression, and she giggled as she lifted the teacup to her lips just as Mrs. Burke came into the room, her expression of sour indifference unchanged. “It will be here directly.” She narrowed her eyes at Quin, then returned to her corner of the room and took up her embroidery.
Catherine’s back was to the woman, thankfully, and she lowered the teacup and speared Quin with an impish grin.
As a maid brought in the promised biscuits and a fresh pot of tea, he made plans.
Because life was too short to waste time.
He’d learned that lesson last year, and he wasn’t going to let it be in vain.
Twenty-eight
I sincerely want peace, not because I lack resources for war, but because I hate bloodshed.
—Catherine the Great