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“Susanna we have to stop,” he breathed heavily as he tore himself away from her lips.
“Why is it you can kiss me when you’re foxed, but I can’t kiss you when I’m foxed?” she asked, watching the passion and torment raging war in his uniquely-colored eyes. “Your eyes are the color of a tempest, by the way.”
He laughed and kissed her again before setting her away from him, wiping his kiss off her lips with his thumb. “I am much better at handling myself while severely impaired.”
“I only had three glasses of champagne, Westcott,” Susanna said, slipping her hand into his evening jacket, and running her fingertips over his chest. “I’m not severely impaired.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation.
“Apparently you are,” he said, pulling her hand down. “Three glasses of champagne and you’re drunk. Duly noted.”
“I’m not drunk,” Susanna said. “I’m merely . . . free.”
She gazed at him, thinking of his kisses, of his kindness and his jokes. He leaned down and kissed her again, long and drugging, enough to fill her senses.
“You are much too tempting for your own good, Susanna,” he whispered huskily against her lips.
“Then let me tempt you, Westcott,” she replied.
“Why will you not call me Ian?” he asked, softly, capturing her face in his hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her soft skin of her cheek. “You did so the other day.”
“When you are Westcott, you are detached from me, I have no claim on you,” she explained thickly, looking at him through her dark lashes. “When you are Ian, you are mine. And because you will not let me have you, it is too painful to call you Ian. Even though that is who you are to me.”
With a feral sounding growl he captured her mouth with his, pushing her back into the wall, completely hiding her from view. Her hands wound around him, lacing her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, pulling him to her. His mouth was hot, and his roaming hands left a path of fire as he trailed them down her breasts and to her waist, cupping her bottom and pulling her against the hard bulge in his trousers. Moving on wanton need, she slowly lifted up and down on her toes, rubbing her body against his, the spot at the apex of her thighs burning as she pulsed against his erection. Susanna was lost, the heat of his mouth on hers, and his body so close, it drove her mad, stirring a desire deep within her she hadn’t known could exist. She was no longer in control of her actions, her hands, body and mouth moving on primal instinct as she returned his kisses, feeling freedom from the propriety that held her in check so often. True, she pushed the limits of what was acceptable, but she was fairly certain that wantonly kissing an earl who was not her husband was not socially acceptable. If someone found them…
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