A delicately beautiful British spy and a handsome American patriot discover love and danger go hand in hand….
“Don’t you ever think about that, Anemone? About getting caught by the enemy? Spies are generally locked up if they’re discovered in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I’ve always made it my business never to get caught,” she returned lightly, snuggling deeper in his arms. “Until you came along, that is.”
Stephen chuckled suddenly and stroked her hair. “You’ve nothing to fear from me, my sweet. I’d never hurt you.”
Suddenly, she stiffened in his arms and drew back, looking up into his handsome face. “Wouldn’t you, Stephen?” she asked almost wistfully.
“What do you think?”
Midnight blue eyes seared hers, compelling her to meet his gaze. She read a fierceness there that made her heart leap. His hard features wore a look of such intensity, such challenge that she couldn’t look away. How handsome he was. How dangerous and wild. She trembled at the feelings he evoked in her. “I am afraid,” she whispered, and she saw the purposeful glint in his eyes darken to incredulity.
“Of me?” he demanded quietly.
She shook her head. “Of myself.”
There was a long moment of silence while their gazes locked, and it seemed to Anemone that the sudden tenderness and understanding that flickered in his eyes then would warm her heart forever. Slowly, her arms glided up and encircled his neck. She pressed closer to him and heard his sharp intake of breath.
“Anemone, do you know—do you have any idea—how beautiful . . . how desirable you are? How much I want you—now, tonight?” His voice was a deep, low whisper that sent prickling tingles up and down her spine.
She resisted the shivering sensations and somehow found herself emitting a stifled laugh. “You said once that I was hardly a raving beauty. You told Anthony he could do better.”
Her words jolted him visibly. “I what?” He frowned, searching back through his memory.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he muttered in a wondering tone. “What the hell was I thinking?”
Then his arms clamped around her waist and she was gathered even closer against him, with her breasts crushed against his chest. “I must have been blind—or stupid beyond belief.”
“You don’t have to say that, Stephen.” She smiled up at him, feeling suddenly lightheaded and dizzy, as though about to be swept upon some magical journey. Her heart pounded against his chest, and the wild fire sprang to life inside her body, flaming outward in shooting sparks. “It doesn’t matter . . . I don’t mind that you think I’m not as beautiful as Cecilia or . . . or anyone else. It’s how you feel that matters.”
“Not as beautiful as Cecilia?” He laughed, and swept up a hand to cup her face. “Good Lord. She can’t hold a candle to you.”
“Stephen . . .”
“And as for how I feel . . .” A dark gleam lit his eyes as he took in her fragile gamine’s face lifted so eagerly to his, her gray eyes shimmering silver beneath their silky, fringed lashes. Her hair trailed like a glistening veil to her waist, brushing across his fingers as they held her there. He felt intoxicated by her. He wanted to drink his fill of her, to hold her and possess her and have her as he had never had any other woman.
“Let me show you how I feel.” His lips came down upon hers then, and he was kissing her fiercely, deeply, capturing her mouth, possessing it, sweeping her into an embrace as crushing and all-encompassing as the emotions surging within them both . . .