Megan Frampton (3 page)

Not that he could recall having formulated any kind of plan when it came to her.

“Have I ever kissed you?” His words came out in a sharp burst. Like artillery.

“No.” She licked her lips and raised her chin. “Would you like to?”

“Yes.” Perhaps kissing her would make him realize it wasn’t worth his agitation.

And, said a voice that definitely did not issue from his brain, perhaps he might also realize what an idiot he was, to think he could separate passion from his wife. Particularly if Violet was the wife in question.

* * *

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me
, a voice chanted in Violet’s head. She tried to drown out the other voices, the ones that insisted she was playing a dangerous game—far more dangerous than any of the ones she’d mentioned earlier—and that he would never live up to her fantasy of him, that she couldn’t possibly be what he really wanted.

Summoning all of her resolve, Violet reached out her hand to touch Christian’s skin, curling her fingers around his neck. “I thought you would never ask.”

When their mouths met, her first thought was that she hadn’t burst into flame. Her second thought, as his mouth pressed more firmly on hers, was
yet
. He placed a hand on either side of her waist and pulled her tightly in to his body. His long, hard, muscular body. Goodness, he must do more than just translations. Translations wouldn’t have molded his body into this solid form.

Just as she was beginning to melt into him, he broke the kiss and pushed her
away, gently but firmly.

Leaving her dissatisfied and confused.

Violet wanted to cry. Wanted to, but didn’t. She flung her chin up and narrowed her eyes at him. “Is there something wrong?”
Because if there is, I want to do something wrong with you for the rest of my life
. Only she didn’t say that, because she could just bet that he would withdraw behind his academic, impenetrable reserve.

Why did she have to fall in love with someone so smart?

Oh, that’s right. Because a stupid man just wouldn’t do.

“Nothing.” He looked the same as he had before, only his breathing was more rapid and his blue eyes had turned to ice.

If ice could melt things, like her body, and her brain, and every other part of her that wasn’t currently involved in pondering the debacle of her life.

“Ah, well, thank you for my betrothal kiss. It was … pleasant,” she said in a noncommittal tone of voice.

His eyes narrowed. And those icy eyes? They had suddenly blazed to life. Good to know she could get to him, even if it was just because he was suffering from a fit of pique.

“Pleasant?” he repeated, advancing a step towards her. He sounded almost—passionate.

Now this is interesting
. He seemed like the young man she’d watched grow up, the one she’d fallen in love with so many years ago. Not the man who’d slowly been retreating into his books over the past few years.

“Yes. Pleasant,” she repeated in a matter-of-fact voice. It was hard to keep her tone calm. “Now we should continue, shouldn’t we?” Violet blinked a few times as his mouth opened, as though he were about to say something. “Unless you would like to call it off? Rule number two, if you recall.”

“No,” he replied, picking up his blank sheet of paper—when had it fallen?—from the floor, and going to sit on the sofa. “Continue.”

He stretched his long legs out in front of him as he held his pen poised over the page. He really was going to just do this, wasn’t he?

Violet’s heart got sore. If he didn’t respond when his betrothed was practically
begging him to make love to her, then what kind of future would she have?

One with no passion, that was for certain. And that would be no kind of future she wanted, even if she would share it with the man she loved.

She was on the brink of giving up when she saw him close his eyes, just for a second, and swallow. A glimmer of hope sparked in her chest—maybe he wasn’t as immune as he’d like to be? And if she could elicit some sort of response, perhaps their future wasn’t as bleak as she imagined?

There was time enough to break the betrothal later. Now she had to play her game. She would never give him—or herself—another opportunity.

* * *

“What do you like best about me, Christian?” Violet stood directly in front of a window. Her corset curved in and out where she curved in and out, while underneath, her shift barely covered her legs. The flickering candles threw glimmers of tantalizing light on her body beneath the fabric. Far too much fabric.

She was waiting for him to reply. Right. “What do you mean?”

She caught her lower lip in her teeth, and suddenly Christian wished he could bite her just there, on her lush lip. “I mean, why do you wish to marry me?”

Ah. “Well, as I said when I asked you”—Christian hated to repeat himself—“I believe we are well-suited, and our families are close, and I can support you and whatever offspring we have. We will have a …” His mind searched for the word.

“
Pleasant
life?” Violet’s tone was acerbic. Not the amused, mocking voice she’d spoken in before, but something far more biting.

Christian felt his face flush. “Well, yes, pleasant. Is that so wrong?”

Violet regarded him, shaking her head. His skin prickled. She strode towards him and, almost before he could register it, straddled him on the divan. Her legs were on either side of his hips, and her shift had rucked up even more, revealing smooth, pale legs. She put her hands on either side of his head against the back of the couch.

It felt delicious having her weight on him.

Up close, he could see those brown eyes sparkle with emotion, but whether it was
anger or passion, he couldn’t tell.

“It
is
wrong, Christian.” She spoke in a low, fervent whisper.

Passionate anger, perhaps. Angry passion?

“It is wrong to marry someone when you fully expect just to have a pleasant life with them.” The way she said the word, it might as well have been “hellish,” or “miserable.” “I will not settle for a pleasant life.” She drew back and stared into his eyes. “That is
my
rule.”

How dare she issue a rule—a challenge!—like this? And did that mean she wanted an unpleasant life?

“Your rule? Look here, Violet,” he said, grasping her arms above her elbows, “my rule is that I will not let a woman dictate to me.” He gave her a shake, loosening her hold on the couch. “So it appears we are at an impasse.”

She looked as though she were about to cry. Christian felt his heart soften towards her. Until she flung her head back and wiggled in closer to his body, a resolute expression on her face. Then he forgot all about everything but her softness. And his resulting hardness.

This … angry passion was what he’d had before, what he’d resolved not to go through again. It interfered with his work, muddled his brain, made him think only about how far, and how deep, and how long he could—

“An impasse is only an impasse when both parties will not move from their respective positions,” she said. Her mouth widened into a knowing smile. “I plan on making you move, Christian.”

Oh, damn. Now
that
sounded not at all like a rule, and definitely like a challenge.

* * *

Violet couldn’t believe she’d done and said what she just had. She didn’t even like to sing loudly at church, even though she had a perfectly nice voice, because she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, for goodness’ sake. Yet here she was, perched on Christian’s lap, about to attempt to seduce him. About to
actually
seduce him, she quickly corrected herself. Or leave the room no longer engaged.

Rather like Scylla and Charybdis, if Scylla was the most wonderful thing ever and Charybdis would result in falling into the pit of despair. So perhaps not like Scylla and Charybdis at all.

“What would you like me to do first, Christian?” she asked, leaning in to whisper in his ear. He held himself rigidly pressed against the back of the divan, hard and unyielding.

“That is all up to you, Violet,” he replied in a low voice. “You said an impasse would be broken only if someone made a move. It’s your move.”

Drat. Like she knew what to do.

She pondered for a minute. What did she wish
him
to do to
her
? That would work as a starting point, wouldn’t it?

It had to. Because sitting this way, without moving, was making her legs cramp, and leg cramping was not conducive to seduction, at least as far as she knew.

She licked his ear. He jumped, and Violet had to bite her lip not to apologize.

No apologies, not unless you have to say “I’m sorry, but I cannot marry you” when this is played out. Please don’t let him be sorry he asked me to be his wife. Please don’t let me be sorry I said yes
.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” she whispered as she moved her mouth lower, to his neck. She squirmed in closer, relishing how hard his body felt against hers. It felt good,
really
good, low down in that place she knew was used for that activity.

Good thing she wasn’t
completely
ignorant. Ha.

She kissed his skin, the strong, solid column of his neck, traveling slowly until she was directly below his mouth. She raised her head and stared into his eyes. He had longer lashes than most women she knew, damn his beauty. “I am going to kiss you, Christian,” she announced in an emphatic voice. “And you are not going to stop me.”

His mouth, that delicious, beautiful mouth, lifted in a smile. A smile that warmed not only the cockles of her heart, but several other places beside.

“I would not want to stop you. Go ahead.”

So she did. Slowly she lowered her mouth until it was just touching his. She clasped her right hand around his neck, holding him in place for her, while she ran her left hand under his jacket, down his side to his waist. And immediately slid it up, unable
to resist feeling his body underneath his shirt.

She wished he had to write a column on men’s underclothing. That would be a delicious academic exercise.

For a moment, he let her do as she liked. She licked his lip, and kissed his mouth, and curled her fingers up into his hair.

Was she doing it right?

She shifted, and felt something hard beneath her. She must be doing it correctly—Christian was not immune to her, in certain parts of his body, at least.

She had to move, to get closer to him. She took her hand away from his body and placed it on the back of the sofa and, using it for support, she inched herself further up his lap, so her torso was pressed against his chest. It felt delicious. Her breasts felt full and heavy, and she wanted to rub her body all over his and see what other feelings could be elicited.

A scientific experiment that Christian would certainly appreciate.

It seemed that Christian did appreciate her movement, since the grip he had on her arms tightened, and his tongue—his tongue!—slid into her mouth, startling her with its presence. Its wetness.

And then, just as her brain was beginning to process what was occurring, her body responded. It felt—wonderful. Delicious, and decadent, and sensual, and just what she’d hoped for. Although not
everything
she’d hoped for, because if a kiss could feel this good, what would the rest of it be like? She might possibly explode.

He kept kissing her, sliding his tongue in and out of her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers. She’d somehow gotten both her hands in his hair, and she reveled in the thick luxury of it.

At last, after a few minutes when the only thing Violet could hear was their breathing, he broke the kiss to regard her through heavy-lidded eyes. “I accept your challenge, Violet,” he said, sliding his hands from her arms to her waist. “And I am willing to accept that I might have been wrong in what I intended our marriage to be.”

He drew a hand up her rib cage and his fingers halted just shy of her breast. Inside, her mind screamed at him to touch her there.

A slow, lazy smile played about his mouth. A smile she’d never seen on
Christian’s face before. “Show me what it will be like, Violet.” A pause, during which Violet nearly forgot to breathe. “I dare you.” His fingers finally, finally found her breast, teasing her nipple—which had stiffened, to her surprise—through her thin shift.

* * *

What did he know, anyway? He’d lost his head early on, and his academic’s mind had decided that was the Truth of it, capital T, and he would never let himself get in such a situation again. He would keep his passion separate from his real life. It seemed … reasonable.

A resolution that had made perfect sense until Violet—his betrothed—propositioned him. A resolution that had never wavered, until he’d watched her drop her gloves onto the floor and gaze at him with those soft brown eyes. Not to mention pressed that soft body against him.

A resolution that now seemed ridiculous.

“What would you like me to do first, Violet?” he asked. He didn’t stop the motion of his fingers on her nipple, which had hardened under his touch. She was still wearing her corset and shift, but his mind was already imagining what she would look like—what she would feel like—when she had removed the last scrap of her clothing. To hear her moan as he took her stiff nipple in his mouth and ran his tongue over her skin, caressed the fullness of her breasts.

But he didn’t want to scare her. If he took charge now, neither of them would ever know if she had courage enough to follow through on—as she put it—breaking through the impasse. To his mind, the impasse had everything to do with trust, and misconceptions, and passion. Could they trust each other enough with their passion?

They both needed to find out for certain.

That would be the only way to clear up misconceptions—misconceptions about who they really were, and how they really felt about each other. Because, with a clarity that usually only burst on him when he was studying, he knew he’d never really thought of her as just his sister’s friend. He’d been aware of her, and trying hard to ignore it, for a few years now.

That she could feel the same was something he had never considered. Even when asking her to marry him.