“And the metamorphosis is complete,” he murmured.
He sees what no one else does.Her heart bumped against her ribs.He’s the most handsome man you’re likely to meet, and he’ll undoubtedly be a fine lover. Don’t turn lily-livered now.
Spinning to face him, she blurted, “Would you care to have relations with me?”
His smile faded, his gaze turning intent. “You are certain this is what you want?”
“I wouldn’t ask otherwise. If you are not interested, however, then just say so.” Hearing the defensive edge to her reply, she cringed inwardly.
After all these years, the memories of rejection still haunted her. How her so-called friends had turned their backs on her. How the veneer of acceptance had worn off, revealing society’s malicious core. The fake sympathy had been the worst of all.
It’s such a shame that Lady Beatrice has turned into Lady Beastly.
She shut out the mocking voices. Reminded herself that the man she was dealing with hadn’t seen her scar. If he rejected her offer, it wasn’t because he found her revolting.
Besides, he had every right to decide with whom he chose to spend the evening. His behavior had shown him to be a gentleman; perhaps he was only here with her now because he felt honor-bound to stay after she’d nearly been assaulted by the ruffian.
Her insides knotted at the thought. The last seven years had taken much from her, but she still had her pride. Sometimes it felt like the only thing she had left.
She leveled her shoulders. “Sir, you are under no obligation—”
Her next words were lost in the breath that whooshed from her lips. Shocked, she registered that he’d swept her into his arms and was carrying her to the desk. Setting her on the hard surface, he ran his arm over the blotter, sending its contents thumping onto the rug with thrilling imperiousness.
He moved to stand between her legs. Trembling at the feel of his hard thighs edging hers apart, she stared up at him. At his lazy, sensual, devastating smile.
“You could never be an obligation.” His thumb traced her bottom lip, causing the tips of her breasts to tighten beneath her bodice. “You fall under a different category completely.”
“What category is that?” she managed.
“You, angel, are a fantasy.”
He bent his head. At the first touch of his lips, firm and velvety soft, a swoony feeling swept over her. His kiss was like the rest of him: male and masterful, designed to please a woman.
He was better than a fantasy. Better than anything she could have imagined. And he was hers for the night.
3
She tasteslike heaven and sin.
The lady’s lips melted against Wick’s with a curious innocence. At the same time, she returned his kisses with a bold, feminine desire that heated his blood. By God, she was a delightfully greedy wench. Equally delightful was her lack of coyness: she made no effort to hide that she was as hungry for him as he was for her.
Wick tilted her head back and deepened the kiss. He plundered her sweetness, her needy moan burning through him like a fever. He licked into her silky cavern, courting her tongue. She followed his lead to perfection, their flesh gliding and twining in a slick, hot dance that made his trousers grow tight.
He was hard…from a damned kiss.
Down, boy. No need to rush things.
Releasing her lips, he nuzzled her ear. Her subtle, flowery scent was as fresh as she was.
“Take off your mask, sweet,” he murmured. “I want to see you.”
She went stiff in his arms. “My mask stays on.”
He lifted his head to look at her. This woman, who hadn’t seemed discomfited holding a man at gunpoint, now had a thread of panic in her voice. Because she feared revealing her identity?
“You may rely upon my discretion,” he assured her.
“I keep my mask on. That is non-negotiable.”
