He lifted his head, captured her gaze in his as he brushed his thumbnail over the tight bud of her nipple.
She arched into his touch. How had she never known such feelings as these existed? It was enough to drive a person to madness. It was enough to make a person forget what was acceptable behavior. If a man had set Lydia’s senses similarly aflame, Cassie could understand how her sister had turned her back on propriety.
Charles lowered his head, taking her mouth once more. He took the kiss deeper, his tongue sparring with hers, interspersing rough, demanding caresses with slow, desperate glides.
She melted against him, bringing her knees up to hold onto his lean hips. He shifted forwards, and a hard bulge behind his falls pulsed against her quim.
Cassie threaded her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. She never wanted to lose this feeling. The sensation was simultaneously exhilarating, frightening, and the most comforting touch she’d ever felt in her life. His strength surrounded her, enticed her into recklessness, into the unknown, and promised he would be there to catch her if she fell.
She dropped her head back, gasping for breath, and stared at the dark ceiling as Charles sucked her earlobe into his hot mouth. He placed his palm against her rump and rocked into her, making her core go liquid.
“Tell me you want this.” His voice was a low rumble that vibrated against her skin. “That you’re aching for me as much as I am for you.” His finger slid between the folds of her gown and pressed against the crease of her bottom. Her body jerked, rubbing even harder against that bulge that made her lose her senses. “Tell me you want me to fill that tight, little cunny. To make you scream my name.”
His name. She blinked, trying to clear the haze that surrounded her brain. His given name was Charles. And she’d only learned that a short time ago.
She was letting a man ruin her whose name she’d only known for mere minutes.
She stilled. Her body screamed at her that she could trust him. That giving herself to him was right and inevitable. Her mind wondered if this was how Lydia had felt. Her sister had trusted her body to a man.
And he had killed her.
She pushed at Charles’s shoulders, but his hold on her only tightened. His palm cradled her breast, his fingers dug into the flesh of her bottom, and his lips on her neck tempted her to yield.
She shuddered. She wished for nothing more than to surrender to the heat between them, give in to this moment of oblivion that he offered. But she wouldn’t make the mistake of her sister.
With regret, she leaned back while pushing him away. “Charles. Mr. Strait. I can’t do this.”
He straightened, his eyes hazy with want. He blinked, shook his head like a man coming out of a dream, and snatched his hands off her body.
Her skin chilled, but she ignored the loss of his heat. Stopping this was the right thing to do. The sensible thing. She was in London for only one reason, and Charles Strait wasn’t it.
“Cassandra. Miss Moore.” Horror dawned in his eyes, and he stumbled two large steps back. “You must accept my deepest apologies. I never meant… that is, I can’t believe….” He lowered his shoulders and firmed his chin. “Please forgive my abhorrent behavior. It was most ungentlemanly of me to accost you thus.”
She tugged at her bodice, making sure the loose fabric covered the bits of her that needed covering. Now that the heat of passion was dwindling, a heat of another sort was taking its place. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Did he have to look so aghast? “The blame for what just happened isn’t solely on your head.” She fumbled with the top button on the back of her gown. “Don’t concern yourself over it.”
“I’m your supervisor. You’re my protégé.” He paced to the ovens and back. “Physical contact between us is completely inappropriate.”
“You’re a man. I’m a woman.” She slid off the table and shook out her skirts. The spot between her legs still tingled, and she felt her blush deepen. “Let us say it was an indiscretion brought on by the trying events of this evening, and leave it at that.”
“There are certain types of women with whom such an indiscretion should never be permitted, regardless of circumstances.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You are such a woman.”
Cassie narrowed her eyes. She debated taking offense. But as far as society was concerned, no gently-bred woman should be embraced thus outside the protection of marriage. His statement needn’t hold any significance as to her appeal as a woman. And given how strictly Charles felt about maintaining the appropriate roles and relations of society, the fact that he’d lost his head and kissed her in the first place was a bit of a compliment, really.
At least, that was how her ego would take it.
“All the more reason to forget that it happened.” She began clearing their plates. “I shall see you at the office tomorrow then, yes?”
Charles flexed his hand, looking like he wanted to further debate her unsuitability as a partner for kissing before finally blowing out a breath. “Yes. I want to gather as many invitation lists to upcoming events as possible and see if we can find our thief listed as a guest. We will probably have to rely on the names of the Bond Agency’s owners in order to procure the guest lists.”
She dampened a cloth and wiped at the wine stain on her gown, avoiding his gaze. There was one party whose guest list she desperately wanted to see. “Lady Stockton is holding a ball soon. I spoke with her about it just this afternoon.”
“You know her?” He leaned against the counter and cocked one ankle over the other. He attempted to look at ease, but every muscle in his body remained rigid. “Can you acquire the guest list?”
His stance pulled the fabric of his falls tight. A shiver danced down her spine at the sight of the bulge nestled within. She had never been more aware of a man’s body before, or more curious. She turned her back on him and went to collect the wine glasses. “Yes, I believe so. I’ll write to her on the morrow.”
“Good.” She felt him come to stand behind her. “Miss Moore—”
“Surely we’re on a first name basis now.”
