The cool night air chilled Beatrice's heated flesh. She gulped the rest of her wine down and carefully placed it against the balustrade. The act left her light-headed, but her steps were bold as she crossed the stone landing. She deeply inhaled the many perfumed scents from the garden below.
"What was I thinking?" she whispered into the moonlight. She pulled her silk kerchief from her bosom and dabbed her damp chest and forehead. "I am just a maiden. He is far above me in skill."
A soft chuckle from behind her brought a gasp from her throat. She quickly tucked her kerchief back between her breasts.
"Skill on your part has very little to do with anything."
She turned at his words; there he stood, her fantasies finally a reality. She had him alone. Her eyes darted about the expanse of the veranda. Large white pillars, widely spaced, offered some small cover in the night. Wickedly, her mind churned, mapping out areas where they might hide to kiss and touch one another.
His chilled finger rested beneath her chin. She raised her head to meet his dark eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, and the harsh intensity of his gaze made her wonder about the decision she made.
Then, a glint of amusement flickered past his intense stare. She gave what she hoped would be an inviting smile.
"When you give a gentleman an invitation, it is not right to run away," he said, his tone stern.
"That may be so, Monsieur. I must have come to my senses too late. I apologize for misleading you," she said in a husky breath, taking a small step back. Her elbow bumped the rail where her glass sat. Beatrice gasped, but refused to turn to look. Inwardly, she cringed when she heard the glass shatter against the stones below. Her heart came to a standstill, her breath held--any moment, they would come through the door to question the noise.
He ignored the sound. His gaze held hers, defying her words. Her nipples pricked as he stepped closer, shrouding her small world so that he was the only object in her sight. Unable to take another step back, she held her breath.
"Are you such a maiden that you do not understand what an offer like that does to a man?" His tone rose out of nowhere, yet there was not a hint of aggravation on his calm, relaxed features. The heady scent of sweet wine invaded her, weakening her defenses.
"I must have lost my senses, Monsieur," Beatrice said.
He leaned forward. His head paused at her neck, his warm breath tingling the delicate flesh, melting her shyness. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes instinctively fluttered closed. Her knees faltered. She forced the joints to lock in place. Inhaling deeply, she attempted to ignore the goosebumps that prickled her heated flesh. Every ounce of strength she possessed went into keeping her weak body steady.
"That is not fear I smell on you, Mademoiselle." He raised her hair from her neck, the cool air caressing her heated skin like a breath.
"I just thought that..." She paused, not sure she wanted to share her desires with him. Her insides already ached, and her stomach quivered. Now, so close to getting what she wanted, uneasiness bubbled to the surface.
"Yes?" he pressed with a long, deep drawl.
She cleared her throat and swallowed hard. "I have heard you are adventurous in, the, uh, boudoir."
)
