Dancing at Midnight

He closed his eyes against the unbidden vision of Spencer on top of Ana. No, that wasn't what he wanted with Belle, was it?

He had to get a hold of himself. To push her away. He blinked, suddenly remembering her question about running through Ashbourne's house barefoot. "I suppose one can do anything one wants if one is related to a duke," he finally replied, somewhat sharply.

Belle drew back, a little hurt by his tone. But two could play at that game. "Yes, I suppose one can," she said, lifting her chin up a notch.

John felt like a cad. But he didn't apologize. It was probably better if she thought him a boor. He had no business getting involved with her, and it would be so, so easy to let himself do so. He knew a dead end when he saw one. He'd looked her up in Debrett's Peerage after she had visited the day before. She was the daughter of an extremely wealthy earl and related to any number of important and influential members of society. She deserved someone who had a title that went back further than a year, someone who could offer her the material comforts to which she was no doubt accustomed, someone who was whole, whose legs were as perfect as hers.

Dear Lord, but he'd love to see her legs. He groaned.

"Are you ill?" Belle was looking at him, trying not to appear concerned.

"I'm fine," he said curtly. She even smelled good, a fresh, springtime scent that seemed to envelop him. He didn't even deserve to think about her, not after committing such an unforgivable crime against womankind.

"Well, thank you for treating my blister," Belle said suddenly. "It was very kind of you."

"It was no problem, I assure you."

"For you, perhaps," Belle said, sounding as cheerful as she possibly could. "I had to lie on my stomach next to a man I met just three days ago." Please, please don't say something unkind , she silently implored. Please be as funny and as joking and as sweetly stern as you were just a few minutes ago.

As if her thoughts traveled through the air and landed on him like a kiss, he smiled. "You may rest assured that I enjoyed my view of your backside immensely," he teased, his hesitating smile quickly developing into a rakish grin. It went against his better judgment, but he was quite unable to be unkind to her when she was trying so hard to be friends.

"Oh, you!" Belle groaned, punching him playfully in the shoulder. "That's a terrible thing to say."

"Hasn't anyone ever admired your backside before?" His hand stole up and covered hers.

"I assure you, no one was ever crude enough to mention it." Her voice was breathless. He didn't stroke her, just let his hand rest lightly over hers, but the warmth of his touch seeped into her, traveled up her arm, and was moving dangerously close to her heart.

John leaned forward. "Didn't mean to be crude," he murmured.

"No?" Belle touched her tongue to her lower lip.

"No, just honest." He was close-just a hair's breadth away.

"Really?"

John made a reply, but Belle didn't understand him because his lips were already brushing gently against hers. She moaned softly, thinking she'd wanted this forever, silently thanking the gods and her parents (although not necessarily in that order) for advising her not to accept any of the men who'd offered for her in the past two years. This was what she'd waited for, had barely dared to hope for. This was what Emma and Alex shared. This was why they were always looking at each other, smiling constantly, and giggling behind closed doors. This was-

John gently ran his tongue along the soft skin of her inner lip, and Belle lost all power to think. She only felt, but, oh, how she felt. Her skin tingled-every inch of it even though he was barely touching her. Belle sighed, sinking into him, knowing instinctively that he would know what to do, how to make this wondrous feeling go on forever. She melted against him, her body searching out the warmth of his. And then he abruptly pulled away, muttering a sharp curse, his breathing harsh and uneven.

Belle blinked in confusion, not understanding his actions and feeling utterly bereft. She gulped down her pain and hugged her legs to her body, hoping that he'd say something kind or funny, or at least something that would explain his actions. And if he didn't, she just hoped that he couldn't see how much she was hurting from his rejection.

John stood up and turned away from her, planting his hands on his hips. Staring up at him through her eyelashes, Belle thought that there was something extremely bleak about his stance. Finally, he turned around and offered her his hand. She took it and rose to her feet, softly thanking him as she did so.

John sighed and ran his hand through his thick hair. He'd never meant to kiss her. He'd certainly wanted to, but that didn't mean he'd had any right to touch her. And he'd never dreamed how much he'd like it, or how difficult it would be to stop.

God, he was weak! He was no better than Spencer, mauling an innocent young lady, and the truth was he wanted more. So much more…

He wanted her ear and her shoulder and the underside of her chin. He wanted to run his tongue along the length of her neck, trailing moist fire down to the valley between her breasts. He wanted to cup her backside and squeeze, pull her into him, use her as a cradle for his desire.

He wanted to possess her. Every inch. Over and over.

Belle watched him silently, but he'd turned slightly away from her, and she couldn't see into his eyes. When he finally looked back at her, however, she was shocked by the harsh expression on his face. She took a step back, her hand unconsciously coming up to cover the lower part of her face. "Wh-what's wrong?" she gasped.

"You ought to think twice before you throw yourself at men, my little aristocrat." His voice was dangerously close to a hiss.