She hadn’t even realized he’d moved until he took her book from her hands.
“I was reading!”
“Allow me to summarize,” he said with mock seriousness. “In the end, she dies. He realizes, too late, the the error of his ways.”
The corner of her lip turned up. “It’s not an unhappy kind of book.”
“Evelina?” he read the title.
She nodded. “The heroine was just attacked by drunken sailors and then rescued by prostitutes.”
He widened his eyes. “Shocking.”
She grinned. “You should try reading it.”
He tossed the book onto a table. “Ishoulddo many things, but what Ichooseto do is take you back to bed.”
The flush that darkened her cheeks sent a pleasurable rush through her body. There were many reasons to protest—the sun had not yet set, she had only just dressed, and, and, and...
“Mustn’t you eat?” she asked.
“Excellent point.” He leaned back and called down the stairs, “Mrs. Kent?”
A muffled acknowledgment sounded from below the stairs.
“A tray in half an hour, please.” He raised a wicked brow. “Make that a full hour.”
Her grin deepened and he swept her up into his arms.
Octavius had neglected to carry her over a threshold, but Ashbey carried her up two full flights of stairs. Somehow, that made everything all right.
Chapter Nine
Eschewing ceremony, Ash deposited Lady Stone on his bed. The ropes beneath the mattress made her bounce. She laughed, low and throaty, an invigorating sound that oscillated back and forth through his body like a deep caress.
The surge of excitement that followed his all-out gallop merged with the thrill of anticipation.
“When I’m finished,” his smile was predatorial promise, “you won’t have the energy to laugh.”
“Is that a warning—” she shimmied to the side of the bed and fluttered her lashes over lust-drunk eyes, “—or a promise?”
He cupped her face. She was so exquisite. Trusting, too. She had no idea how dangerous he was. If he had his way, she’d be bound to the bed, splayed and twisting with need.
But, he’d vowed not to debase.
He brushed his fingers over her neck and cheeks, memorizing the angles of her face and bathing her in sensation. He stroked the most sensitive places with expert fingers, never allowing his hands to dip below her collar.
Slowly, she surrendered. When her neck relaxed, he moved his hand beneath her hair, holding her still as he traced her jaw with his lips.
Her whimper was sweet prologue, but he wanted her to ache, to burn. To murmur an ardentpleasewith a look that was only for him.
He nibbled on her earlobe with a hungry, breathy bite, feeling her response. She was trembling. Probably already wet.
He could refrain from subjecting her to physical restraints, but need he deny the potent satisfaction of having her beg for his touch?
No.
He pulled back and stood, folding his hands behind his back. She sat straight, eyes half closed, hands on either side of her thighs, gripping the sheets. She held her lower lip between her teeth—an enticing show of eager innocence that rumbled through his want, loud as thunder.
