“I have not forgotten about the piano and the orphanage,” she reminded him.
“Of course you have not,” he said. “But I have not forgotten about something else. You owe me, and I intend to collect your debt.”
And then, his mouth was on hers, ending further discussion. She would think about it later, she told herself. She would question him. Get him to admit that he was the source of the piano, that he had sent those crates of books to the orphans, that he actually possessed a tender heart when it came to those who were not as fortunate as him. She would…
Oh.
She would…
Forget everything but the play of his mouth over hers. It was sinful, forbidden, delicious, knowing. So very knowing. He kissed her as if it were the last kiss he would ever give, the last she would ever receive. As if he were ravenous for her.
And her mind became a blank canvas.
All thought was banished by Decker’s kiss. His lips were smooth, soft, yet demanding on hers. She was helpless to resist. Not that she wanted to resist. Because of course, she did not. His tongue slid against hers. His teeth were on her lower lip, biting. Delicious.
She moaned into his mouth.
Her bustle was askew, which meant that beneath her bottom, she felt quite vividly the full, thick length of him. His manhood. How intense. How illicit.
How delightful. Howdelicious.
Jo kissed him harder at the thought. Kissed him back with all the ardor that had been waiting every second since she had seen him last. Since that precipitate knock at his office door from Macfie. Since his business interests had interrupted their interlude.
His hand was on her breast. Separated by layers, so many layers, including the most forbidding of all, her corset. Still, her nipple pebbled. Her body hungered for him. She was alive and so very aware of everything. So very aware ofhim.
Jo sucked on his tongue, kissing him harder, trying to match the way Decker’s lips moved over hers with so much expertise. She was melting, she was sure of it. Her insides were liquid. She was nothing but a quivering lump of need in his arms.
Some distant part of her mind warned her against her attachment to the man upon whose lap she sat. Still, nothing could dim the calamitous, exciting sensations he aroused in her.
His lips left hers to coast down her throat. He kissed, nipped, and sucked a delicious path. She tilted her head back to grant him greater access.
“Decker,” she whispered, her fingers sinking into the thick, wavy strands of his hair. “What are you doing to me?”
“Showing you how much I missed you,” he murmured against her skin.
Innumerable, intelligent, coherent responses rose to her lips. And all she managed was, “Oh.”
Perhaps because his mouth was open, his teeth grazing over a particularly responsive cord in her throat. Perhaps because he was sucking on her flesh. Because his tongue was licking her, finding its way to the sensitive hollow behind her ear, then traveling over the shell. Because his teeth caught her earlobe.
“Yes,” he said into her ear. “I missed you more than you know. And now I shall have to show you just how much.”
He could show her anything as far as Jo was concerned.
“Show me?” she managed.
He sucked her throat again. “How do you feel, darling?”
Darling?
That word alone settled deep inside her, residing in a place she had not previously known existed. Jo swallowed hard.
“I am feeling restless,” she whispered, her arms twining around his neck for purchase as the carriage rattled over a bump in the road and nearly sent her sprawling.
His hands tightened on her waist.
“Mmm. Restless?” he asked. “Where?”
That delicious baritone of his made her feel weak. Made more heat pool between her thighs. Which was one of the places where she felt restless.
