3
" Patience's mental imprecations reached new heights. Mrs. Chadwick had not lied- Vane Cynster was the very epitome of an elegant gentleman. His hair, burnished chestnut several shades darker than her own, glowed softly in the candlelight, wave upon elegant wave sitting perfectly about his head. Even across the room, the strength of his features registered; clear-cut, hard-edged, forehead, nose, jaw, and cheeks appeared sculpted out of rock. Only his lips, long and thin with just a hint of humor to relieve their austerity, and the innate intelligence and, yes, wickedness, that lit his grey eyes, gave any hint of mere mortal personality- all else, including, Patience grudgingly acknowledged, his long, lean body, belonged to a god. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
4
" The warm stillness within the room was broken only by the rustling of sheets, and soft, urgent murmurs. Then the silence gave way to soft moans, groans, breathless pants, desperate gasps. Culminating in a soft, piercingly sweet scream, dying, sobbing, into a deep guttural groan. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
8
" For one moment, she stood stock-still, drinking in the simple beauty of the marble fountain, the base of its pedestal wreathed in delicate fronds, that stood, glowing lambently in the soft white light, in the center of a small, secluded, fern-shrouded clearing. Water poured steadily from the pitcher of the partially clad maiden frozen forever in her task of filling the wide, scroll-lipped basin.
The area had clearly been designed to provide the lady of the house with a private, refreshing, calming retreat in which to embroider, or simply rest and gather thoughts. In the moonlit night, surrounded by mysterious shadow and steeped in a silence rendered only more intense by the distant sighing of music and the silvery tinkle of the water, it was a hauntingly magical place.
For three heartbeats, the magic held Patience immobile.
Then, through the fine silk of her gown, she felt the heat of Vane's body. He did not touch her, but that heat, and the flaring awareness that raced through her, had her quickly stepping forward. Hauling in a desperate breath, she gestured to the fountain. "It's lovely."
"Hmm," came from close behind.
Too close behind. Patience found herself heading for a stone bench, shaded by a canopy of palms. Stifling a gasp, she veered away, toward the fountain. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
9
" That's obviously my cue to depart."
Patience grinned. "Coward," she whispered, as he passed her chair.
A heartbeat later, he'd swung about and bent over her, his breath feathering the side of her neck. His strength flowed around her, surrounded her.
"Incidentally," he murmured, in his deepest purr, "I meant what I said about the daybed." He paused. "So, if you have the slightest inkling of self-preservation, you won't move from this chair." Cool, hard lips brushed her ear, then slid lower, to lightly caress, with just the barest touch, the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. Patience lost the fight and shivered; her lids lowered.
Vane tipped her chin up; his lips touched hers in a fleeting, achingly incomplete kiss. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
10
" With a curt nod, Vane strode in. And stopped dead.
Patience was in the hall, waiting- the sight literally stole his breath. As his gaze, helplessly, slid over her, over the soft green merino pelisse, severely cut and snugly fitted, its upstanding collar framing her face, over the tan gloves and half boots, over the pale green skirts peeking beneath the pelisse's hem, Vane felt something inside him tighten, click, and lock.
Breathing was suddenly more difficult than if someone had buried a fist in his gut.
Her hair, glinting in the light streaming in through the door, was coiffed differently, to more artfully draw attention to her wide golden eyes, to the creaminess of her forehead and cheeks, and the delicate yet determined line of her jaw. And the soft vulnerability of her lips. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
11
" Vane held the reins of his desire in a grip of iron and refused to let his demons loose. Deep, primal instincts urged him on; experience held him back.
She'd never yielded her mouth to any man, never shared her lips willingly. He knew that absolutely, sensed the truth in her untutored response, read it in her lack of guile. But she was rising to him, her passion, her desire, answering his call, sweet as the dew on a crisp spring morning, virginal as snow on an inaccessible peak.
He could reach her- she would be his. But there was no need for any hurry. She was untouched, unused to the demands of a man's hands, a man's lips, much less a man's body; if he pressed too fast, she'd turn skittish and balk. And he'd have to work harder to bring her to his bed.
Angling his head over hers, he kept every caress slow, every plundering stroke deliberate. Passion lay heavy, languid, almost somnolent between them; as he claimed every sweet inch of the softness she offered him, he laced the heady sensation into every caress, and let it sink into her senses.
It would lie there, dormant, until next time he touched her, until he called it forth. He would let it rise by degrees, feed it, nurture it until it became the inescapable compulsion that would, in the end, bring her to him.
He would savor her slowly, savor her slow surrender- all the more sweet because the end was never in doubt. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
13
" I'm renowned within the ton as being cool under fire- around you, I'm never cool. I'm heated- I seethe- I burn with desire. If I'm in the same room, all I can think about is heat- your heat- and how you'll feel around me."
Patience felt the heat rise, a real force between them.
"I've gained the reputation of being the soul of discretion- now look at me. I've seduced my godmother's niece- and been seduced by her. I share her bed openly, even under my godmother's roof." His lips twisted wryly. "So much for discretion."
He drew a deep breath; his chest brushed her breasts.
"And as for my vaunted, up-until-you 'legendary' control- the instant I'm inside you that evaporates like water on hot steel."
What prompted her Patience never knew. His lips were so close- with her teeth, she nipped the lower. "I told you to let go- I won't break."
The tension, pouring off him in waves, eased, just a little. He sighed, and rested his forehead on hers. "I don't like losing control- it's like losing myself- in you."
She felt him gather himself, felt the tension swell and coalesce about them.
"It's giving myself to you- so that I'm in your keeping."
The words, low and gravelly, rolled through her; closing her eyes, she drew in a shallow breath. "And you don't like doing that."
"I don't like it- but I crave it. I don't approve of it, yet I yearn for it." His words feathered her cheek, then his lips touched hers. "Do you understand? I haven't any choice."
Patience felt his chest swell as he drew a deep breath.
"I love you."
She shivered, eyes shut tight, and felt the world shift about her.
"Losing myself in you- giving my heart and soul into your keeping- is part of that."
His lips brushed hers in an inexpressibly tender caress.
"Trusting you is part of that. Telling you I love you is part of that."
His lips touched hers; Patience didn't wait for more. She kissed him. Letting go of the post, she slid her hands up, framing his face, so she could let him know- let him feel- her response to all he'd said.
He felt it, sensed it- and reacted; his arms locked tight about her. She couldn't breathe, but she didn't care. All she cared about was the emotion that held them, that flowed so effortlessly between them.
Silver and gold, it wound about them, investing each touch with its magic. Silver and gold, it shimmered about them, and quivered in their fractured breaths. It was immediate compulsion and future promise, heavenly delight and earthly pleasure. It was here and now- and forever. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
15
" Hauling in a quick breath, she held it, stretched upward, shut her eyes, and fleetingly touched her lips to his. They were as hard as she'd imagined, very like sculpted marble. Sensation flared at the brief contact; her lips tingled, then throbbed.
Patience blinked her eyes wide as she lowered her heels to earth. And refocused on his lips. She saw the ends curve upward, heard his low, wickedly teasing laugh.
"Still not right. Here- let me show you."
His hands came up to frame her face, her jaw, tilting her lips up as his descended. Of their own volition, her lids fell, then his lips touched hers. Patience couldn't have quelled the shudder that passed through her had her life depended on it.
Stunned, poised to resist, she mentally paused. Strong, sure, his lips covered hers, moving slowly, languorously, as if savoring her taste, her texture. There was nothing threatening in the unhurried caress. Indeed, it was beguiling, luring her senses, focusing them on the practiced slide and glide of cool lips which seemed to instinctively know how to soothe the heat rising in hers. Hers throbbed; his pressed, caressed, as if drinking in her heat, stealing it from her.
Patience felt her lips soften; his firmed in response.
'No, no, noo....' Some small part of her mind tried to warn her, but she was long past listening. This was new, novel- she'd never felt such sensations before. Never known such simple delight existed.
Her head was whirling, but not unpleasantly. His lips still seemed hard, cool- Patience couldn't resist the temptation to return the pressure, to see if his lips would soften to hers.
They didn't, they only became harder. The next instant, she felt a searing heat sweep over her lips. She stilled; the questing heat returned- with the tip of his tongue, he traced her lower lip. The contact lingered, an unspoken question.
Patience wanted more. She parted her lips.
His tongue slid between, slowly, with his customary assured arrogance, quite certain of his welcome, confident in his expertise. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
16
" Distant voices reached him; inwardly, he sighed, and reluctantly brought the kiss to an end.
He raised his head. Patience's eyes slowly opened, then she blinked, and stared straight at him. For one instant, the look on her face, in her eyes, had him puzzled- then he recognized it. Curious- she wasn't shocked, stunned, or thrown into a maidenly fluster. She was curious.
Vane couldn't stop his rakish grin. Nor could he resist the temptation to brush his lips over hers one last time.
"What are you doing?" Patience whispered as his head bent to hers. Even at close quarters, she could still see his smile.
"It's called 'kiss and make up.'" The curve of his lips deepened. "It's what lovers do when they fall out."
A vise locked Patience's heart; panic- it had to be that- streaked through her. "We aren't lovers."
"Yet."
His lips touched hers and she shivered. "We never will be." She might be giddy, but she was quite sure of that.
He stilled, but his confident smile didn't waver. "Don't wager your fortune on it." Again, his lips brushed hers. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
17
" Why did you stay?"
He stilled; again, Patience felt the net draw tight, felt paralysis set in as his predator's senses focused on her. It was as if the world stopped spinning, as if some impenetrable shield closed about them, so that there was nothing but her and him- and whatever it was that held them.
She searched his eyes, but couldn't read his thoughts beyond the fact that he was considering her, considering what to tell her. Then he lifted one hand. Patience caught her breath as he slid one finger beneath her chin; the sensitive skin came alive to his touch. He tipped her face up so that her eyes locked on his.
He studied her, her eyes, her face, for one instant longer. "I stayed to help Minnie, to help Gerrard... and to get something I want."
He uttered the words clearly, deliberately, without any affectation. His heavy lids lifted. Patience read the truth in his eyes. The force that held them beat in on her senses. A conquerer watched her through cool grey eyes. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
18
" She stepped toward the gap; one slipper slid on crumbling masonry. Stifling a gasp, Patience leapt forward onto the corridor flags.
And collided with a man.
She opened her mouth to scream- a hard hand clamped over her lips. An arm like steel locked about her waist, trapping her against a long, hard frame. Patience relaxed; her panic flowed out of her. There was only one body within ten miles like the one she was pressed against.
Reaching up, she pulled Vane's hand from her lips. She drew breath to speak, opened her lips-
He kissed her.
When he eventually consented to stop, he only lifted his lips a bare fraction from hers. And breathed: "Quiet- sound travels very well in the fog."
Patience gathered her wits. And breathed back: "I saw the Spectre- there was a light bobbing about."
"I think it's a lantern, but it's gone or shielded now."
His lips touched hers again, then settled, not cool but warm against hers. The rest of him was warm, too, an oasis of heat in the chilly night. Her hands trapped against his chest, Patience fought an urge to snuggle closer.
When he next lifted his head, she forced herself to ask, her words still no more than a whispered breath: "Do you think he'll come back?"
"Who knows? I thought I'd wait for a while."
He followed up the tantalizing brush of his breath against her lips with a much more satisfying caress.
Patience's head spun. "Maybe I'll wait, too."
"Hmmm. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
19
" Patience snuggled closer to the warm wall of his chest. He adjusted his hold; his hands slid about her waist, beneath her cloak. He drew her more firmly against him, shifting so she was trapped- very comfortably- between him and the old wall. One arm and shoulder protected her from the stones; the rest of him protected her from the night. His arms tightened; Patience felt the strength of him down her length, felt the press of his chest against her breasts, the weight of his hips against her stomach, the solid columns of his thighs hard against her softer limbs.
His lips found hers again; his hands spread over her back, molding her to him. Patience felt heat rise- from her, from him, between them. They were in no danger of taking a chill. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
20
" You're rather good at this, aren't you?" And she didn't just mean his reading of Gerrard.
Vane's grin converted to a rakish smile. "I'm rather good at lots of things."
His voice had lowered to a rumbling purr. He leaned closer.
Patience tried, very hard, to ignore the vise slowly closing about her chest. She kept her eyes on his, drawing ever nearer, determined that she wouldn't- absolutely would not- allow her gaze to drop to his lips. As her heartbeat deepened, she raised one brow challengingly. "Such as?"
By the time Patience reached that conclusion, she was utterly breathless- and utterly enthralled by the heady feelings slowly spiraling through her. Vane's confident possession of her lips, her mouth, left her giddy- pleasurably so. His hard lips moved on hers, and she softened, not just her lips, but every muscle, every limb. Slow heat washed through her, a tide of simple delight that seemed to have no greater meaning, no deeper import. It was all pleasure, simple pleasure.
With a mental sigh, she lifted her arms and draped them over his shoulders. He shifted closer. Patience thrilled to the slow surge of his tongue against hers. Boldly, she returned the caress, the muscles beneath her hands tensed. Emboldened, she let her lips firm against his, and reveled in his immediate response. Hard transmuted to harder; lips, muscles, all became more definite, more sharply defined.
It was fascinating- she became softer- he became harder.
And behind his hardness came heat- a heat they both shared. It rose like a fever, turning the swirling pleasure hot. Beyond the caress of his lips, he hadn't touched her, yet every nerve in her body was heating, simmering with sensation. The warm tide spread, swelled; the temperature increased.
And she was flushed, restless- wanting. "
― Stephanie Laurens , A Rake's Vow (Cynster, #2)
