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Circe's earnest face
instead. Her motives were honorable. She was sure the same couldn't be said for
this rogue.
              Gabriel watched her anger build;
indignation had melted her icy composure and sparked new vivacity in her clear
blue eyes. He had to bite back a smile.
              "I intended to do it with the
help of a good actor, of course. Why do you think my maid promised you so much?
And if you think to blackmail me into paying you more, you will be sadly
disappointed. There is no more–that's the point–not unless I can pull off this
deception."
              She poked a finger into the folds
of his cravat. "And if you sway too much from the plan, sir, I shall dock
you accordingly. You shall have less money, not more!"
              "Severe punishment
indeed," he protested, his tone mock serious. "And unwarranted. Why,
I have been the soul of propriety." He captured her ungloved hand with his
own and tangled their fingers together.
              "Propriety!" she
sputtered as she tried to pull her hand free. "Do you call kissing my palm
proper? Do you call winking at me proper?"
              He would not release her hand–the
slim fingers, the sensitive palm which stoked the spark of longing inside him
to a higher flame. He wanted more of her, not less. Instead, he brought it to
his lips and kissed the palm again.
              Psyche felt the quiver that ran
through her whole body; his lips were warm against her skin, his breath a
whisper that echoed deep inside her, stirring strange and unfamiliar feelings. Psyche
took a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm.
              "Sir, remember where you
are!"
              "I am enjoying the company of
my fiancee, with her loving family all about," he retorted, enjoying the
flush that anger brought to her cheeks. "And as for my payment being
docked–I have never charged for a kiss before, though there have been those who
say that I should. Besides, it's not more money I want."
              She blinked at him, once more
biting that luscious smooth lower lip. "Then what?"
              "Why, I merely want to throw
myself into the role. I wish to be your fiancé, my love." He smiled
sweetly as he again touched his lips to her bare hand, relishing the petal-soft
skin of her palm. Was she this soft in other, more intimate places? He would
love to stroke the ripe curve of her breast and show her what true confusion he
could evoke.
              At the moment, she looked
flustered enough.
              Psyche tried hard not to be
distracted by the warmth of his grasp. Pulling her hand away, she stammered. "B-but–"
              "Besides, I would call
kissing my 'fiancee's' hand an affectionate courtesy and nothing more."
              "It was a shocking
display."
              "Shocking?" Laughter
lurked in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. "If a kiss on the hand
shocks you, Psyche, you had better borrow your aunt's vinaigrette."
              "Why?" she asked warily,
eyes narrowing in distrust.
              "Because this could very well
send you into an apoplexy."
              Moving far more quickly than she
would have supposed someone of his infuriating indolence to be capable of, he
wrapped one hand snugly around the back of her neck and pulled her forward. Their
lips and breath mingled for only a moment, but the flood of sensation that his
nearness caused overwhelmed her. It was surely the shock that had her standing
so numbly instead of slapping his face as he deserved. Or maybe she had had too
much wine. Yes, that was surely the reason that she felt so overheated and
dizzy. It certainly wasn't his crisp scent or the warmth of his touch. No other
fumbling suitor's awkward attempts at an embrace had affected Psyche in this
way.
               Yes, it must be the wine, and not
the sure, practiced kiss she had just