The woman with every word in the English language at her command wasrepeating herself.
Another promising development.
An unconscious hand swiped across her neck and put the lie to her words.
She was flushed, indeed.
And he knew for fact what he’d only guessed at two nights ago.
She couldn’t resist him.
Which left him with only one more thing to say…
“Are you going to turn the key in the lock?”
Chapter Eleven
“Are you goingto turn the key in the lock?”
Juliet should gasp in ladylike shock.
She should shoot to her feet and flee the licentiousness being proposed beneath the outer layer of that question.
What happened the other night was to have been but once.
Rory began rolling up one, then the other, sleeve of his shirt, exposing forearms sinewy with muscle and fuzzed with golden hair.
And she knew she wouldn’t flee.
With that simple question, he’d brought her not only to the point of decision, but to the point of commitment. There would be no doubts of intention between them. For there he stood, languid, with his exposed chest and forearms and with that particular dark expression in his eyes, looking like Adonis, and who was she to resist?
After all, she was only a woman.
She rose to her feet and, with firm decision, walked to the door. Her heart a butterfly in her chest, she twisted the key in the lock. She turned and pressed her back against solid wood, not ready to move toward him yet. “This was a bold idea, you know.Here, at Dalhousie Manor, in full light of afternoon.”
“Boldness wins the day.”
“I take it neither of us is going to apologize for the other night.”
“No.”
She pushed off the door and took a step. The way he was propped against the wall…his shirt a wide V exposing the muscles of his chest…his arms crossed before him showing bare forearms to particular advantage…the cock of his head…the wickedness in his eyes…the knowing curve of his smile…the dimple in his left cheek…
They all added to one undeniable truth.
A man who looked like he wanted nothing more than to be ravished.
By her.
Again.
She took another step, drawn to him by a force she was powerless to control. “And here I thought your penchant for wickedness extended only to bedrooms.”
He gave his head a slow shake. “My penchant for wickedness extends to rooms where I find myself alone with you.”
His words poured through her like molten lava.
She stopped a mere foot away, their gazes locked. She reached out and caressed the side of his face, sharp cheekbones and soft beard beneath her fingertips. She saw in his eyes permission—to touch him…to make him hers for as long as they were alone in this room together.
