Precisely as she’d thought. He would never have ended hisaffair. Lady Billingsley had left him, and instead of returning home to hiswife, he had simply gone in search of another woman to bed. How dare he?
“I’m afraid you’ll have to find another woman to serve asyour whore,” she said coldly. “I’ll not be her replacement.”
“I’m not seeking a replacement, damn you,” he growled, hiseyes glittering into hers. He pulled her into his solid frame.
She pressed her palms to his chest, keeping him at bay.“Then why are you here?” she asked him again, sensing that the undercurrentbetween them had once again snaked into dangerous territory. She was pushinghim and she knew it, but she wanted to shake him in the way he had her. Shewanted to know why, even after all he had done to her, he still made her feelquivery inside.
“Because I can’t seem to stay away.”
The acknowledgment sounded torn from him. She stilled,studying his expression for any hint of subterfuge and finding none. He didn’twant to feel anything for her, that much was apparent. But their night togetherhad meant something to him. She could see it reflected in his gaze and knew hesaw the same in hers. She couldn’t help herself.
But it wasn’t enough. He had still been an abysmal husband,and he had still lied to her. “I don’t understand you.”
“Christ, I don’t understand myself.” He lowered his headuntil their noses nearly brushed. “You’re the last woman in the world I wantedto make love to, and now all I can bloody well think about is how it felt to beinside you.” His breath fell hot and wispy over her lips. “And how I want to beinside you again.”
Oh dear heavens.
How had her anger fled her so easily? When Jonathan hadcourted her, she’d never felt the incredible tumult her husband produced inher. She desired Sandhurst and yet she knew she shouldn’t. Loving Jonathan hadbeen easy, sweetness and light. Sandhurst affected her in an entirely differentmanner, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
She wanted him to kiss her but she knew she must not allowit. Her chin tipped up of its own will, sealing their mouths together. He tookher invitation, molding his lips to hers in a passionate, claiming kiss. Sheopened to him, sliding her tongue against his. He tasted of the wine he’d beendrinking at dinner, sweet and dark.
She wound her arms around his neck, her fingers happilysinking into his soft hair. She ached for him. As impossible and illogical asit was, the desire she felt for him was as strong as ever. Her sex tingled,already damp with the promise of more. She dragged her mouth from his,desperate for a breath, and kissed a path down the side of his neck. His handswent to the buttons lining her bodice, pulling them open.
Then sanity returned to her. Surely giving in to him nowwould be worse than reckless. It would be stupid. She had to stop. They had tostop. Even if stopping was truly the last thing she wanted to do.
She pushed at his shoulders. “We cannot.”
He halted his efforts at whisking away her bodice, but hisfingers didn’t stray from the buttons. “Why?” His breathing was ragged, harsh.His voice was laden with frustration and desire.
“Because you don’t like me,” she forced herself to pointout, “and I do not like you.”
He raised a brow, looking down at her as if he were a godwho had just been told he was mortal after all. “What has liking to do with it?We’re husband and wife. I want you and I know you want me, Maggie. I can tasteit in your kiss.”
She steeled herself against his potent persuasion. “Ofcourse I’m attracted to you, or rather, to the man I thought you were. Theproblem is that now you are once again you, not him.”
He stared at her. “Damn it, I haven’t a bloody inkling whatyou’re prattling about.”
“What I feel for you is not real,” she explained. “It’smeant for the mystery man I met last night.”
“Goddamn it, I’m that man.” He frowned, appearing perplexedby her logic.
“No,” she corrected gently, still silently willing herselfnot to pull him to her for another kiss.Just one more, her evil bodycajoled.One more kiss, caress. One more night.“You’re the man who isin love with another. You’re the man who has treated me as if I were no moreimportant than a dusty book in your library. You’re the man who abandoned me.”
“I didn’t abandon you. I gave you a home andcarteblancheto buy whatever fripperies you desired.”
What an arrogant brand of reasoning he possessed. Did he notknow her father was a real estate tycoon who owned nearly half of New York? Itwasn’t dresses and baubles that she wanted. “I’ve had fripperies and homes allmy life. I wanted a husband.”
“Christ.” He exhaled, his voice low, irritated. “Iamyour husband.”
“In name only,” she insisted, though it was no longer true.
“No.” He caught her chin in a firm grip, forcing her to lookat him when she would have turned away. “I am very much your husband in deed aswell as law after last night.”
She was trapped in his gaze, heat simmering through hertraitorous body at the reminder of what they’d shared. “It was for one nightonly.”
“I don’t think so, my dear. You may hold on to yourself-righteousness this evening, but we both know that I will be back in yourbed.” He slid his free hand inside her gaping bodice, unerringly finding herbreast beneath her corset. Only the fine fabric of her chemise separated herskin from his. Her nipple pebbled. He gave her a knowing smile. “You want me.You can rationalize it however you like in your mind, but I’m the man who madelove to you last night. There is no mystery man.”
He was right, drat him. Her mystery man had been a fiction.The man who had set her aflame was standing before her, rolling her nipplebetween his thumb and forefinger. How could she reconcile her heated lover withher icy husband? She was in a hopeless muddle, and the worst part was that hewas making sense.
