"My inquisitive sir, I was left with ten thousand pounds per annum and the freedom to do with it what I choose. Nothing could beeasier. Draven's money has given me the power to purchase my heart's desires."
She flicked a languid gaze over his person, and just like that his temperature shot up again, blood rushing beneath his skin. At the same time, the mention of her "heart's desires" warped his gut. How many men had she consorted with? A strange, crazed possessiveness gripped him. Other males, touching that white skin, kissing those petal-soft lips—
"Who knows?" Her eyes rested on his, cool and deliberate. "If the mood strikes, I might even offer you an arrangement some day."
Shock quelled his words.Bloody hell.This shameless woman thought she couldpurchasehim, like he was a...male whore? Heat razed his insides. Rage. Lust. A potent combination of the two.
"You'll apologize for that," he bit out.
"Why? 'Tis the truth. You want me." Her brows formed those damnable arches. "And we've already established that you need the money."
Her words slashed into him with the delicate accuracy of a rapier. Scenting blood, the beast within him growled low in its throat, straining against its chains. The next moment, his hands crushed the cushions on either side of her head. His body crowded hers. He could feel a heartbeat—his, hers—pulsing in the sliver of space between them.
"Apologize," he repeated.
Her bosom rose and fell. Her chin angled in challenge. "Make me."
His control snapped. Blood roaring, he bent his head and smothered that mocking mouth with his own. The kiss was savage, like no kiss he'd ever given a woman before. Her lips yielded, and he thrust his tongue home. She moaned as she did in his darkest fantasies. Her spicy cinnamon flavor fueled his hunger. The kiss turned ravenous, greedy, and when her tongue slid against his, he was lost.
Pushing her back onto the seat, he tasted the smooth slope of her throat. Her exotic, flowery scent made him heady as he licked his way up to her delicate jaw and then her earlobe. The gasp that left her told him all that he needed to know; he suckled, curling his tongue around the sweet curve of her ear until she began to writhe against him. His cock strained, stiff and chafing at the barriers between them. Groaning, he thrust into the cradle of her thighs, his hands moving to cup her breasts.
Soft yet firm. Heaven. He found the hard peaks, rubbed them through the thin layer of silk. She was panting now, her eyes closed, her hands gripping his sleeves. With a growl of pure want, he lowered his head, licked the crevice between her heaving mounds. Somehow, he managed to tug down one shoulder of her gown, and his next breath hissed through his teeth.
A rosy nipple, flushed with color and ripe as a berry.
He cupped her breast, his cock leaping at the sight of his worn leather glove against the pale perfection of her skin. The bounce of the carriage jiggled her flesh as he palmed her. He drew his thumb across the puckered peak, and she jerked, her eyes flying open.
Their gazes clashed.
Another craving took hold of him, foreign yet as potent as the lust beating in his veins. He strummed her nipple again, and her trembling response further incited him. Never before had he experienced this burning desire to assert his dominance—to establish his manhood to this maddening female.
"Say you're sorry," he said.
Her eyes widened.
"Say it." This time he tweaked her nipple lightly.
Her lips parted. "I will not," she said, and the breathiness of her tone almost undid him. Almost. "One cannot be sorry for the truth."
"The truth?" Even as his cock throbbed, something settled within him. Solid and grounding, a sense of power such as he'd never felt. Because every male instinct told him that he could pleasure thisselkieseductress. Make her moan and lose herself to his touch. To experiment, he thumbed her nipple once more, and her gaze grew cloudy, her spine arching for his caress in spite of her obstinate words.
Wanton and wicked, this one. In need of a firm, steady hand. Whoever took on this woman would have his work cut out for him. And, damn, if he didn't want to interview for the job.
Job… duty. Rescuing Miss Fines.
Christ, what in blazes was he doing?
The memory of the other encounter with Lady Marianne slapped him to his senses. Through the haze of lust, he eyed the beauty panting beneath him. Was she leading him on again? Why did she delight in driving him to the edge of sanity? He might be poor and a policeman, but he was no puppet on a string. No toy to be trifled with.
Somehow, he summoned the willpower to release her. He pulled up her sleeve. "Thetruthis that you're a reckless woman. You need someone to protect you from yourself."
Her gaze sharpened. The next instant she shoved at his shoulders, her cheeks flooded with color. "Get off of me,you lout."
"Steady now. I'm just trying to help," he said, scowling.
"I don't need your help! I dictate my own life," she hissed as she sat up. "What I do is no business of yours."
"You've shot me and propositioned me. The latter twice." Now it was his turn to lift a brow, and devil and damn if that didn't feel good. "I'd say you've invited me into your business, my lady."
