Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) by Lisa Kleypas

Chapter 3


MACRAE SWALLOWED HARD BEFORE replying in a mere scrape of sound. “Aye.”

Merritt was flooded with the deepest, fiercest blush of her life. “Could you … do you think … you might pretend you didn’t hear?”

He shook his head, his own color rising. After what seemed an eternity, he replied huskily, “No’ if it’s something you want.”

Was he asking for permission? Encouragement? She couldn’t seem to catch up to her own heartbeats. Every inch of skin was on fire. “I don’t suppose it … might be something you would want?”

She was always so composed—she was known for it. But at the moment she was all dither and turmoil, standing there in front of him.

Her mind flailed for a way to end the awful tension. She would make light of it. She would tell him it had been a frivolous comment at the end of a long day, and she hadn’t meant it, and then she would laugh and—

MacRae drew closer and took her head in his hands. His thumbs caressed the edge of her jaw, the light rasp of calluses causing gooseflesh to rise everywhere. Holy Moses, he was really going to do it. She was about to be kissed by a stranger.

Too late to make light of anything now. What have I done? She stared up at him with wide eyes, the dissonant notes of nerves and tension joining in a long, sweet chord of desire.

The crescents of his lashes, dark with gold tips, lowered slightly as he looked down at her. There was no place to hide from that piercing gaze. She felt so terribly exposed, every bit as naked as he’d been a few minutes ago.

His head bent, and his mouth found hers with a pressure as soft as snowfall.

She’d thought he might be rough or impatient, maybe a bit clumsy … she’d expected anything but the gently teasing caress that coaxed her lips apart before she was even aware of it. He tasted her with the tip of his tongue, a sensation that went down to her knees and weakened them. She felt herself list like a ship unable to right itself, but he gathered her firmly against him, his supportive arms closing around her. The tender focus on her mouth deepened until it had gone on longer than any kiss in her life, and still she wanted more.

He kissed her as if it were not the first time but the last, as if the world were about to end, and every second was worth a lifetime. He feasted on her with the craving of years. Blindly she caught at his mouth with hers, while her fingers tangled in his hair. The textures of him—plush velvet, rough bristle, wet silk—stimulated her beyond bearing. She’d never known desire like this, a swoon that kept deepening into more and more exquisite feeling.

All too soon, his mouth lifted, and to Merritt’s eternal embarrassment, she whimpered and tried to pull him back to her.

“No, darlin’,” he whispered. “You’ll turn me to a live coal on the floor.”

His mouth drifted to the tender angle beneath her jaw and nuzzled gently.

She tried to remember how to breathe. How to stand without her legs collapsing.

“Milady,” she heard him say quietly. When she didn’t, couldn’t, respond, he tried again. “Merritt.”

She loved the sound of her name on his lips, ghosted with a slight burr. Tipping her head back, she stared into his cool, bright eyes.

“No’ for the world would I do you any harm,” MacRae murmured, “or have it rumored that you’ve lowered yourself.” Carefully he released her and stepped back. “That’s why this will never happen again.”

He was right. Merritt knew that. Reputations had been destroyed with far less cause than this. Even with the protection of a powerful family, she could still be harmed by scandal and alienated from good society. And she had no desire to live as an outcast. She liked having dinner with friends, attending dances and plays, and riding in the park. She liked going to church, attending holiday festivals, and belonging to women’s clubs and charity organizations. The public sympathy she’d received since her husband’s passing had allowed her to make some unconventional choices, such as running his company herself. But all that sympathy could be squandered in one careless moment.

She let out an unsteady breath, smoothed her skirts, and worked on recollecting herself.

“We don’t have much time if we’re to find something for you to eat before we return to the loading dock,” she said, rather amazed at how normal she sounded.

MacRae gave her an adamant look. “I’ve already said I’ll take no dinner, and that’s my last word on the matter.”

THE WEE BULLY had her way, of course. She towed Keir in the opposite direction of the warehouse dock, promising it wouldn’t take long; they would purchase something from a street seller. Something that had already been made and could be eaten right there in public. He would feel much better, she assured him, and then her mind would be eased on his behalf.

Keir didn’t object as strongly as he could have, partly because he was so hungry, his insides were fit to rattle like an empty churn. But mostly it was because this was the last time he would have this woman to himself, and despite his worries over the whisky shipment, he wanted a few more minutes with her.

He was still stunned by what had happened in the flat.

He was sure he hadn’t kissed her the way a gentleman would. Thankfully, she hadn’t seemed to mind. He’d tried to hold back, but it had been impossible. That mouth … sweet as honey from the comb. And the way she had molded bonelessly to him. She’d felt so exquisite in his arms, so fine and lush and warm.