That Daphne Beaumont appealed to his deepest carnal senses he’d been aware of, but not that she could awaken a mindless demon of desire within him, a demon until this very moment, he had not known existed. The taste of her inflamed him, and he was shaken at how easily both the slight brush of her body against his and the intoxicating sweetness of her kiss aroused him. Blind with need, it was only by the greatest effort that he was finally able to tear his mouth from hers and take a step away from her—and not as he hungered to do, tip her onto the table, and finish what that one brief kiss demanded of him. As shaken as he was by the kiss, Daphne stared at him, her eyes blind, her thoughts blurred. She touched her lips with her fingers, astonished to find them warm and soft and not flaming cinders. It wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed before—her young Lieutenant had stolen a kiss or two, but those kisses had been nothing, nothing compared to the kiss of Charles Weston.
