He advanced on her with the grace of a jaguar. “Do you ever think about that night in the garden? About how good it felt?”
The shameful thing was that she did. It seemed that even the white-hot fire of her hatred was insufficient to burn the memory of the pleasure he had given her to ashes. Even years later, she sometimes woke to find herself tangled in the bedclothes, her breath coming in gasps, her hand between her legs, and her dreams full of him.
Mere inches separated them. She dropped her gaze to his cravat, unable to meet his eyes. “No,” she whispered.
“Liar,” he rasped in her ear. “I think about that night all the time. I think about it every damned day.”
“Is this the part where you whisper some trite falsehood about how beautiful I looked in the moonlight?” She had tried to make her voice scornful, but the words came out breathless.
He brought a hand up to frame her face. “You did look beautiful in the moonlight. But mostly, I think about how brave you were. How bold. How youdid something, instead of merely lying there like a limp piece of lettuce. How you robbed the breath from my body. I remember how it felt when we came together—like lightning. Or maybe like fate, if you believe in it.”
He brought his other hand up and caressed her temple with his thumb. “I remember thinking, my God,my God, I was wrong. I wasn’t meant to have a thousand meaninglessencounters with women I would forget as soon as I left their bed. Thereisa woman who was made just. For.Me. And she’s right here.”
Rosalie almost kissed him herself then. Her head was swimming, and her breath was coming in pants. She desperately reminded herself that he had lied to her before, and he was lying to her now.
Even knowing that, she wanted him to kiss her. She might hate him.
But she loved the way he could make her feel.
Oh, but this was a terrible idea.
And I am going to do it.
She drew in a breath, stalling. “I’ll require something additional as part of our bargain.”
“Name it,” he growled, his breath hot against her ear.
Oh, God. What else did she need to know? She could scarcely recall her own name, much less what was going on with her investigation.
“The servants!” she exclaimed, suddenly remembering. “I want to interview all of the servants who were here when your grandfather was alive.”
“Done,” he said at once.
Rosalie expected him to kiss her then. Instead, he picked her up by her waist and deposited her on top of the nearby desk.
“Spread your legs for me,” he murmured. “There’s a good girl.”
“Spread my…” Rosalie realized that she had complied before fully comprehending the request. Quick as a fox, Lucian had already stepped into the vee formed by her legs.
She glowered up at him. “What kind of kiss is this?”
His grin was wicked. “The kind you like.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that the deal was off and he could go to hell, but he interpreted this as an opening and seizedher lips with his own. In the same instant, he stepped forward, bringing the hard, prominent bulge that had formed beneath the falls of his trousers into direct contact with parts of Rosalie’s anatomy that had apparently awoken in his presence. He circled his hips, rocking against her, and…
Oh, no.
This wasawful.
Because thiswasthe kind of kiss she liked!
Lucian had skipped over the sweet-gentle-brush-of-lips sort of kiss and gone straight to the open-mouthed-devouring-like-a-man-who-has-been-dreaming-of-this-for-years variety. Rosalie started to tremble, which was humiliating, but for the life of her, she couldn’t seem to stop. His tongue stroked the roof of her mouth, and the room went dark around the edges. She listed to the side and probably would have fallen off the desk had Lucian not been holding her against his body in an iron grip.
All the while, his hips bucked, rubbing himself against her throbbing… Wait, that wasn’t right.Herhips were the ones moving. Wasshethe one rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat? She was, wasn’t she?
Ah, well. It wasn’t as if she was going to stop. Not when it feltso good…
Still, it seemed imperative to keep him from forming the idea that this meant anything. She wrenched her lips from his. “I hate you,” she gasped.
