Her eyes fluttered closed when he reached the corner of her mouth. It was a mistake. She should have prised them open because Theodore Chance was an overload on a lady’s senses.
The sound and feel of his breath stirred the hairs on her nape. The sweet, aromatic scent of sandalwood flooded her nostrils. He was everywhere, his masculine aura teasing every nerve in her body to life.
Seeking more, she turned her head a fraction.
Then their mouths met—a sudden desperation igniting.
Eleanor had felt many emotions in her life: shame, guilt, a profound inadequacy. She had never felt a rush of passion so strong it almost knocked her off her feet.
The kiss they’d shared at the Olympic had been slow and tender.
This … this was raw. Unbridled.
This was lust, a greedy battle to feed the hunger.
Heaven help her. She couldn’t resist him.
She gripped his coat lapels as he pushed her back against the wall. They kissed in an open-mouthed frenzy. Heat pooled low and heavy. The pulsing between her thighs was like the incessant beat of a drum.
Sweet mercy!
This was madness.
“Mother of all saints! Tell me to stop,” he panted but claimed her mouth again with a need that defied logic.
A sweet moan rumbled in her throat.
He cupped her nape and deepened the kiss.
There was something savage, something reckless about the way he drank from her. Like she was the only woman who could slake his thirst. Every kiss was a desperate attempt to ease an ache, to sate a longing that knew no bounds.
The thought proved sobering.
Keen to guard her heart, she dragged her mouth from his, gasping to catch her breath.
Mr Chance looked at her, his gaze smouldering, his lips moist. “I suppose now I must pay a forfeit,” he said huskily.
“Don’t look so pleased. I might ask you to wrestle a wild dog.” In truth, she had no idea how to make this game enjoyable. How did one keep a man like Theodore Chance entertained? More kisses, perhaps?
“I would wrestle wolves for one more taste of your lips. When it comes to kissing, you more than meet the mark.”
“You possess the skill,” she said, struggling against the weight of his praise. “I am merely a novice.”
“You need to learn to accept a compliment.”
Heat crept to her cheeks. “It’s hard when you have been the constant cause of a man’s misery. I feel compliments are undeserved.”
He studied her before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “There is beauty in your modesty. But when the fire of confidence blazes in your eyes, you’re breathtaking.”
Breathtaking? She had always believed herself quite plain.
“I—I’m not sure what to say to that.”
“You say thank you.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
He stepped back. “Now, what is it you’d have me do?”
Watching him prance like a peacock would be wholly amusing. But he had used his forfeit to rouse her desire. While the need to kiss him again was a potent beat in her blood, she wished to know him better.
“Answer one question.”
“Which is?”
“What is your greatest fear, Mr Chance?”
He jerked, apparently shocked by the question. Deep furrows marred his brow. No doubt he would rather yap like a Pomeranian than divulge something personal.
“My greatest fear has nothing to do with my life,” he said, leaving her more than intrigued. “Few things frighten me, but I’m afraid of what will happen to my brother Aaron if he’s left to live alone.”
It was an answer worthy of the King of Hearts.
It was an answer that caused a flutter in her chest.
“Aaron Chance is the most formidable man in town,” she said. He was a dangerous devil who seemed happy his siblings had married. “I imagine nothing fazes him.”
“Aaron thrives on solving problems. He lives to protect his family. Every sacrifice he has made has been for us.”
