“Vexing, how?” He gave a roguish grin—one that widened when her lips twitched upward in the semblance of a smile.
She could pretend to be as angry as she wished, but he knew better. The only thing the chit was vexed about was having been caught in that tree. He knew the mystery lady was enjoying their verbal exchange as much as he was.
She angled her head, her dark curls shining in the moon’s glow. “What were you doing with a married woman?”
Ah, so the vixen wanted to turn the inquisition on him. “You appear to be an intelligent woman.” Graham drew closer to her and lowered his voice as if to convey a secret. “What do you think we were doing?”
Her back stiffened, and she averted her gaze for a heartbeat. “I am quite certain I would not know,” she said, her voice trailing off.
“Then allow me to demonstrate.” Graham leaned in, capturing her mouth with his. To his surprise, she yielded to him. Her body pressed against his as he slanted his lips over hers. Desperate to taste her, he slid his tongue along the crease of her lush lips, and she rewarded him with a husky moan.
Graham slipped his tongue into her mouth, deepening their kiss. The tart-tongued minx tasted every bit as sweet as she looked. She met his ardor head on. Her full breasts pressed to his chest and arms wrapped around his shoulders.
He indulged, devouring the honeyed recesses of her mouth as he held her tight against him.
She entwined her fingers into the soft strands of hair at his nape, while her other hand traced every curve and muscle on his back. She greedily took of him at the same time she gave generously of herself.
Graham cupped her bottom, pressing her closer as he enjoyed the treat she was bestowing on him. The woman was driving him to distraction. A stranger. A vixen he had found in a tree. And perhaps the most desirable woman he had ever held.
She slid a hand down his back and released a pleasure-filled whimper. His desire to possess her intensified, and he slid one hand around to cup her full breast. She arched into him, her kiss growing more frantic.
Who the devil was this sweet thing in his arms? He knew nothing about her and yet, he found himself ravishing her as though he were a hungry lion and she a tempting gazelle. This sort of behavior often led men to the parson’s noose. The terrifying notion did nothing to break the spell he was under. He continued to kiss her, to touch her, to give over to temptation and desire.
Still, a faint warning echoed in the back of his mind. What the hell was he doing risking so much for a skirt? Bloody hell, but it would not do—no matter how much he wanted her. He had to stop this madness. Had to discover her identity before he went further.
Graham fought through the passion she had stirred within him and broke the kiss, his gaze searching hers. “Who are you?”
She stared up at him wide-eyed, her lips swollen from his kiss. “It does not signify,” she answered in a husky whisper.
He nipped at her throat. “It does if I plan to make love to you.”
Phoebe nearly swooned at his words before her body went rigid. She shoved her hands against his chest, freeing herself from his hold, then peered at him. “Do you go around taking advantage of every lady who crosses your path?”
“You wound me again.” He winced, though his tone was playful. “I only desire the beautiful ones.”
Her anger rose along with the heat in her cheeks. The man was despicable. How had she succumbed to his kiss? No more—she would not allow him to touch her again.
Phoebe turned on him. She poked her finger against his chest and said, “You shall never have me. Never.”
“You desire me,” he leaned closer, “so why deny yourself, love?”
“How arrogant.” She knew she should run back to the house, but found herself powerless to do so. The rogue was not wrong. She had puddled in his arms, but that was no reason to allow his advances. On the contrary, it was every reason to run from him.
And yet, she was still standing here, staring at him with weak knees. The urge to surrender to him was nearly unbearable in its intensity.
“I am a lady.” Phoebe pulled in a measured breath, then continued, “I shall be no mans conquest. Least of all yours.”
He gave a toe-curling grin. “I do not want a conquest, love. I want you willing and wanton beneath my bedsheets.”
Her face burned at his scandalous words. Much to her shame, his words also excited her. Phoebe’s mind conjured an image of them in bed—naked, their bodies pressed together as heat surged through her.
Mercy, this man could be her ruination, and she did not even know who he was.
She shook her head and stepped back. She did not give a wit who he was. All she wanted was to get free from his spell and never lay eyes on the scoundrel again. For heaven’s sake, he had been kissing Lady Mulholland right before he’d taken Phoebe into his arms.
The thought more than rankled, and she spun on her heels. “Go to the devil,” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she ran toward the house.
Three
