Moonlight Mistress is out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice. In this scene, Pascal and Lucilla have recently been reunited.
Pascal tucked the blanket back over her shoulder, from where it had fallen. “You didn’t want me to see you again,” he said. His voice gave nothing away, and his chin blocked her view of his facial expression, dimly lit by electric light shining in the window.
“You’re in my bed now, aren’t you?”
“I was already here. You could hardly push me out into the night.”
Lucilla sighed. “I could have. I do want you.”
“If I happen to be present. You would not have sought me out.”
He had no right to be angry at her. She’d made no promises. Lucilla sat up and shoved at his chest with her hand. “I didn’t think you wanted to see me again!”
Pascal captured her hand in his and kissed it, hard enough that she felt the pressure of his teeth through his lips. “I did not lie to you, at Le Havre! Why did you doubt me?”
His tone was angry, but his expression pained. Lucilla found she couldn’t meet his gaze. It wouldn’t be wise to tell him that she’d given up trusting men’s words long ago. Clearly, he felt he should be an exception. So far, he had proven himself to be an exception. Everything he had done since his arrival spoke of a deeper attachment than Lucilla had dared imagine or hope for. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she was. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She’d only worried about being hurt herself.
Pascal still held her hand. He kissed it again, gently this time, his mustache tickling between her knuckles. “If I misread your interest, I’m sorry,” he said. “I will leave if you ask me to do so. Even now.”
Lucilla snorted and squeezed his fingers. “You don’t want to stride nobly out into the night. I appreciate that you offered, though.”
“I would do it!” he protested.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said, took back her hand, and lay down again, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his bare skin. “I was afraid,” she muttered. “Afraid I would never see you again.”
c. Victoria Janssen 2009