“My purposes?”
“If the Sinclairs are not to your liking, you would do well to make sure that neither Agnes nor Bertie traps you in a compromising position. You'll find them much more dangerous than those two inept thieves I saved you from,” she shot back. “And I still don't believe you are properly grateful.”
“I appreciate the warning in regards to the sisters. But I am in no danger from the delightful Sinclairs, nor was I in danger behind the Green Parrot.”
Jemma bit her lip, fuming. He really was a mostannoying, attractive man.“Truly, you are the most smug, full of himself, prancing—“
“I prance?” he stated in horror.
“—mincing,”
“Dear God, I alsomince? You should have allowed Bobo and Wren to shoot me.”
“—ungrateful man I've ever met. Isavedyou.” She stressed the word. “From being stuck like a pig. Will your pride not let you admit it?”
The large man before her laughed quietly, a deep, rumbling that caused Jemma’s stomach to flutter in the most pleasant way.
“You are priceless, Jem.” He shook his head. “Forgive me for not being properlyappreciativeof your talents. I see this is most important to you." He held out the chocolate tart. "I gladly give you your just desserts.” He laughed again, a bit louder, proud of his joke.
“You are not nearly as witty as you seem to believe. Your puns are awful.” She snatched the seeping bit of napkin from his hand, knowing her dessert was ruined. “Please go and leave me in peace.”
“Why Jem, you speak as if you wish to be alone with a lover.”
She nearly dropped the poor ruined chocolate tart at his words, mindful of the way she tingled every time he called her Jem.
“Stop calling me that.” She tried to sound determined and haughty as Lady Corbett did when giving someone a set down. “My name is Jane Emily, or Jemma if you prefer, though I've not given you leave to call me anything but Miss Manning.”
“Iprefer Jem. It suits you.” He moved towards her.
Jemma backed up in response, bumping into the edge of a garden trellis.I should not be out here alone, not with this man.
“No, you should not.”
The huskiness of his voice cascaded down her spine, causing her to shiver deliciously. How could he know what she was thinking? “Can you read minds then?” Her hands pressed against the edge of the trellis, holding on to it for dear life. Wishing she were more worldly, to better deal with such a man.
A gust of wind blew the dark strands of his hair about his shoulders, making him appear dark and demonic, a virtual Hades, before her.
“Just yours, Jem.” This time her name fell as an endearment from his lips.
Warm honey pooled between her thighs, a most disturbing and pleasurable sensation. She dropped the chocolate tart again to the brick of the terrace, not caring what happened to her treat. Inhaling she tried to take a deep breath and found she couldn’t. It was akin to being in the eye of a hurricane.
“Tsk tsk, Jem. It's a good thing you are not so careless with a pistol.” He bent, assessing the chocolate tart at her feet. “It appears ruined, and I did so want a taste.” The last part came out in a growl as he snatched her hand still hovering in the air. "No matter, I believe there is a bit left.” He brought her hand to his lips, “Here.”
Warmth engulfed her index finger as nearly the whole of it found its way into his mouth. He gently sucked the chocolate off her finger, his tongue swirling and caressing the extended digit.
Fascinated, she watched as her finger disappeared into his mouth, aghast that she allowed him to do such a thing to her. She slid down the length of the trellis, praying a stray thorn wouldn’t tear her gown.
He ran his tongue down the inside of her hand before stopping to press a kiss in the center of her palm.
“Delicious,” he whispered.
Jemma thought she would faint, and she had never fainted, not in the whole of her life.
“No you won’t.” He gave her a wolfish grin.
“Stop doing that.” Jemma snatched back her hand and braced herself against the trellis, welcoming its meager support.
“Kissing your hand?”
