He’d noticed something about this particular weight.
It only eased when she was near.
He’d never thought to feel like a green young man again—and certainly not about Lady Artemis Keating—but here he was.
“Congratulations,” she said.
“Radish didn’t win.”
She gave a shrug. She understood as well as he that Radish’s place in the Race of the Century was the victory.
He set the brush down, placed a blanket on Radish’s back, and saw the horse settled. Then he moved forward, erasing the distance between him and Artemis. When he reached the stall door, he lifted the latch.
Now, no barriers stood between him and what he wanted—her.
Hesitation shone in her eyes. “I have something I think I must tell you.”
“Can it wait?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, barely recognizable.
“For what?”
He reached out and threaded his fingers through hers and led her down the central aisle of the stable. The tack room was dark, and most importantly, empty. He shut the door behind them and wedged a chair beneath the handle.
Eyes gone opaque with budding desire, she waited for his answer.
“This.”
He reached out and cupped the nape of her neck and drew her to him.
He’d moved through the last minute of his life almost without conscious thought. First, he’d only wanted to touch her, now to kiss her.
But he was being disingenuous.
What he wanted—what he absolutely, desperately wanted—was to ravish her.
And from the catch of her breath and the excited light in her eyes and the sway of her body into his, he understood that what she absolutely, desperately wanted was to be ravished.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The thing was, Artemis hadn’t come here to offer Bran her congratulations.
Or even totalkto him.
She’d come forthis.
For him to take control—and for her to lose it.
His calloused hand firmed on her nape, and as she swayed forward, surrender cascaded through her in a warm rush. His touch was both all she wanted and not enough at once. Just before his mouth pressed to hers, she inhaled a sip of air … his scent … his heat …him. He entered her lungs and slid through her veins, her very cells sparked alive by these essences. The heady stuff of poets, this.
But she was a carnal creature, wasn’t she?
Greedy and impatient, she wanted more than fleeting essences.
His mouth pressed against hers—firm, soft, and demanding. A kiss could be so many things at once—a beginning … an ending … an invitation … a release. Her arms lifted and twined about his neck as her body pressed against the length of his, and she fully gave over to this kiss—to what may follow. His tongue slid along her lower lip and pushed inside. Deep and resonant, he groanedinto her mouth, and she had to squeeze her thighs together from the sudden rush of desire that swept through her. Her legs gave a wobble, and her arms tightened around his neck.
His hands found her waist, and he took one step, then another, walking her backwards, the hitch in his step not a factor. The back of her legs collided with wood. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered a table. His grip tightened, and before she knew what was happening, her bottom was shoving riding implements off the surface, metal clattering against cobblestones, and she was perched on the edge.
He pulled back enough to meet her gaze.
