Dancing at Midnight

Belle saw the desperation in his face and her resolve shattered. "No one!" she burst out. "No one! It was a lie! Just a lie to get you to come to London because I missed you." John's grip slackened with surprise, and she quickly jumped away and turned her back to him. "Now I'm completely humiliated. I hope you're satisfied."

John stared openmouthed at her back as her words sunk in. She still cared for him. The knowledge was a balm on his aching heart. But he did not for one moment appreciate the torture she'd put him through, and he fully intended to tell her that. "I do not like being manipulated," he said in a low voice.

Belle spun around, completely infuriated. "You don't like being manipulated? That's all you can say? You don't like being manipulated. Well, let me tell you something. I don't like being insulted. And I have found your behavior extremely insulting." She swept past him, her back ramrod straight, and her head held with a dignity she did not feel.

John was still so stunned by her unbelievable confession that her movement caught him by surprise, and he just barely caught hold of her fingertips when he tried to stop her. "Belle," he said, his voice ragged with emotion. "Please don't go."

Belle could have easily left the balcony; his grip on her was tenuous at best. But something in his hoarse voice compelled her to turn around, and once she did, she was spellbound by the fierce longing in his eyes. Her mouth went dry, and she forgot how to breathe. She had no idea how long she stood there, her gaze captured by this man who had come to mean so much to her. "John," she whispered. "I don't know what you want."

"I want you."

His words hung heavily in the air as Belle's heart begged her head to let herself believe him. What did he mean-he wanted her. Did he just want to touch her, to kiss her? She already knew that he was strongly attracted to her; he'd never been able to hide that, just as it had been quite obvious that she felt the same way.

Or did he want her in his life? As his friend, companion, or even his wife. Belle was terrified to ask the question. He'd already broken her heart once; she was not especially eager to let him do so again.

John saw the hesitation in her clear blue eyes and hated himself for having made her so wary. It was time to tell her how much he cared for her, he knew that. But his own fears held him back, and instead he said softly, "May I kiss you?"

Belle slowly nodded and stepped forward as John reached out and took her other hand in his. An overwhelming shyness washed over her, and she dropped her gaze.

"Don't look away," he whispered, moving his hand to her chin. He gently tilted her face up as he closed the distance between them. "You're so, so beautiful. And so kind and good and smart and funny and-"

"Stop!"

His nose was now resting on hers. "Why?"

"It's too much," she replied tremulously.

"No. No, it's not. It will never be too much."

He tilted his face so that his lips could gently brush over hers, and Belle felt a shiver of excitement rush through her. They continued in that way for a long minute, their lips just barely touching, until John could bear it no longer, and he crushed her to him.

"Oh God, Belle, I've been so, so stupid," he groaned. He didn't kiss her, just held her next to him as if he could somehow imprint her body on his. He clutched her tightly, hoping that some of her gentle goodness and courage would infuse into him. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you," he whispered raggedly. "It was the one thing I'd never meant to do."

"Shhh," Belle broke in. She couldn't bear to listen to him torture himself. "Just kiss me. Please. You see, I've been thinking about it for days, and I-"

John needed no further urging, and this kiss was as fierce as the first had been gentle. He devoured her hungrily, drinking her in as he murmured nonsensical words of love and desire. His hands were everywhere, and Belle wanted them everywhere, wanted him more than she'd ever imagined, more than she could ever understand. She sank her hands into his thick hair, marveling at the texture of it even as his lips slid down her neck to the base of her throat.

"I can't believe this," she moaned.

"What?" he managed to ask between nips.

"This. Everything. The way you make me feel. The-Oh!" Belle let out a whispered shriek as his mouth traveled to the sensitive skin just behind her ear.

"What else can't you believe?" he asked devilishly.

"That I want you to keep on kissing me," she answered in a feverish voice. "And that there is a party still going on in the next room."

Belle's words had an unintended effect, and with great effort John pulled away from her and let out a low curse. "I'd almost forgotten," he muttered. "Someone could discover us any minute."

Belle felt unbelievably cold without his arms around her, and she couldn't stop herself from reaching out to him. "Please," she whispered. "I've missed you so."

She was a mighty temptation, but John held firm.

"I didn't come all the way to London just to ruin your reputation."

"I wish you would," she muttered under her breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing."

"We'll have to go back in separately."

Belle smiled at John's concern. "Don't worry. I'm certain Dunford is covering for us splendidly." At John's raised eyebrow, she added, "I told him a little about you."

He shot her such a look that she was compelled to further explain, "Just a little, though, so don't worry that I've spilled all your secrets."