Practically Wicked Read Online Free Page B

unmistakable light of humor, and the loose curl in his tousled hair of rich brown lent him an endearingly boyish look. Though she imagined he’d not be pleased to hear it, there was something about the man that struck her as being just a little bit adorable.
    But Max Dane was no boy. It was difficult to assess his height while he was sitting, but he was larger than her uncommonly tall governess, Mrs. Culpepper, which would put him at a minimum of six feet. And while he might appear harmless enough in his slouched and disheveled state, there was no mistaking the wide breadth of his shoulders and outline of muscle beneath his formal evening attire.
    Max Dane was a man grown.
    Anna leaned a little closer and watched the flickering candlelight cast moving shadows across his handsome face.
    This man was unattainable in every sense of the word. And she did so find him captivating.
    She wondered what he would say if she told him that tonight was shaping up to be the single most exciting, enchanting night of her life. Probably, he would call her a callous fool, as it was also the night he was grieving the loss of his brother.
    Poor boy.
    Without thought, she leaned forward and brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead. She’d never known a loss such as his.
    Realizing what she was about, she snatched her hand back, fully expecting for him to comment on her forward behavior. As well he might. What on earth had she been thinking?
    But he didn’t move. His eyes remained closed. His breathing was deep and steady.
    She swallowed hard. “Mr. Dane?”
    Still nothing. He was fast asleep.
    Anna glanced from her guest to the door. She could leave now or call for help.
    Her eyes tracked back to Max. She could sit and stare at his handsome features if she wanted, and for as long as she liked.
    Slowly, her gaze dipped to his mouth and settled there.
    She could do most anything she cared to, really.
    It was folly, what she was considering. If someone had told her earlier in the day that, in a few hours’ time, she would be considering taking advantage of a gentleman in his sleep, she would have pronounced the notion, and the individual, ridiculous.
    And now here she was, leaning just a little closer…And closer still…
    It was the strangest sensation, as if she were watching herself at a distance and quite enjoying the view.
    Dreams of freedom and country cottages were all well and good, but Anna rather thought that she was nothing, if not practical. She would likely never have that cottage, never have true freedom. And she would almost certainly never have a chance such as this again.
    Let them call her the Ice Maiden of Anover House, she thought. She would know differently. She, and no one else.
    But just to be sure on that score, she whispered, “Mr. Dane, are you…?”
    There was no response, no hint that he’d heard her.
    And suddenly the room took on a surreal quality. The scent of candles grew strong and the creak of her chair as she leaned forward those last few inches sounded inordinately loud.
    And then she was kissing him. Or, more accurately, she was holding her lips lightly against his. Whether or not this constituted a real kiss was unclear. It rather seemed as if one or the both of them ought to be moving.
    In fact, she was certain at least one of them ought to be moving, but she couldn’t seem to get the job done. For some reason, pressing her lips to his while he slept seemed a natural, albeit decidedly wicked, thing to do. Moving felt more wicked than natural, like it might push her over the line that separated inexcusably forward from outright wanton.
    With a mental sigh, she realized a small advantage was all it could be. She lingered a moment longer, wanting to savor the experience. If this was to be her only kiss, it would at least be of respectable duration.
    Keeping her eyes shut, she concentrated on every detail. Max’s lips were soft, but firm. His breath light and sweet against her skin. The scent of