How was a man who’d once been a slave to ruinous cravings supposed to say no tothis?
“Sweet,” he murmured, giving up, givingin. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss until the whole of her rolled over him like a wave. Her sigh spilled into his mouth, and he savored it as if it were wine. His hand slid from her jaw to the curve of her neck, thumb brushing the frantic flutter of her pulse, noting a speed that matched his own.
“Dom,” she breathed, her arm circling his neck, pulling him down to her. Their mouths fused fully then, tongues tangling, the kissturning from starved to desperate.
He groaned, a raw sound dragged from his chest, answered by her own soft whimper. The air grew thick with the scent of roses and passion, the faint mineral spray of the fountain misting their flushed skin. Images of sending pressing body into the mattress as he thrust inside her lit his mind in charged flashes.
He wanted…he needed…
The moment spun, the tantalizing bits of her drifting over him like smoke. Her plump breasts sheltering his beating heart; a silken strand that had escaped confinement dusting his jaw; her hand lowering to his hip, drawing him closer. The heat of her seeped through every layer until he wondered if he’d ever be free again.
He thought he knew kissing. He thought he knew women. But she proved him wrong, kindling a fervor fiercer than anything he’d ever felt. She matched him, mirrored him, taught him, until every pale memory was obliterated by the force of real desire.
When Louisa swayed into him, Dom succumbed fully, recklessly, moving a hand to cup her bottom, lifting until she sat half-perched on his thigh. Ivory silk flowed over them, her knee brushing his hip, and for one mad moment he thought of taking her into his lap, consequences be damned. It was a provocation, but she fit against him too perfectly, as though every line of her had been fashioned for his pleasure.
When his second thought, but his first need, washerpleasure.
Moaning softly, palm braced on his chest, she shifted, her hip bumping his rigid shaft—a physical response he couldn’t possibly hide.
Pulling back a hairsbreadth, she glanced down.
“No,” he whispered, seeing the rebellious look in her eyes, though he’d like nothing more than to feel her slender fingers wrapping around his cock. Refusing to surrender, he cradled her jaw, tilting her gaze back to his. Leaning close, he whispered against the delicate shell of her ear, “Tonight, only this. Later, I’ll lay you across the biggest bedwe can find, and I’ll make you scream, cry,beg. And you can do the same to me. I’ve no quarrel with you having me in any fashion you’d like. Your fantasies will become mine.”
He didn’t watch his words consume her, because they’d burned through him first.
She let him draw her in again, the kiss deeper this time, until the world receded. The ballroom’s music became a distant hum, laughter and conversation a far-off murmur. Even the steady splash of the fountain dulled, as though sound itself bent to their passion. All that remained was the silken slide of her lips, the playful brush of her tongue, the faint catch in her breath when he suckled her lower lip before letting it go.
Starting to lose too much of himself, Dom drew back. Her eyes—green fire under moonlight—were glazed, lashes fluttering, mouth parted from the rough contact with his. A lock of that unruly, ginger hair clung to her cheek, and he tucked it back with unsteady fingers before claiming her again, fiercer this time, as though he might devour her.
He wasn’t strong enough to resist a dream when it met him in living color.
This encounter needed a bedchamber and it needed onenow.
A burst of raucous laughter split the air, the timing disastrous. Boots scuffed over gravel as a knot of people lurched into the garden. At their center: the Earl of Harcourt.
A shrill giggle rang out, belonging to a baroness Dom was quite sure his brother had tangled with years ago. “Lud, this ball is getting better and better. A duke’s daughter, carried off to the fountain like a barmaid at closing.”
“So, the Beckett reputation holds true.” Harcourt clapped his hands mockingly. “And I’m once again consigned to chasing a wealthy wife.”
Dom rose in a slow, lethal unfurling, Louisa gently placed behindhim with a whispered,“Stay.”
Harcourt staggered closer, a smirk twisting his mouth. “Your family’s luck must have turned, old chap. Though between us, this bit of trouble, no matter the offering, may be more than it’s worth, if you take my meaning.”
Then he leaned in and whispered something only for Dom’s ears.
Upon hearing it, Dom’s hand shot out, clamping around Harcourt’s wrist, twisting until bone ground against bone. The earl dropped to his knees, his exhalation strangled into a hiss of pain.
“Apologize to my fiancée and the other, um, ladies in your party,” Dom said evenly, voice carrying with cold precision across the garden. “Or I’ll show you more of what I learned in those gaming hells besides how to win and lose fortunes.”
Harcourt’s face blanched, sweat cutting through the flush of drink. “Your…what?”
“My betrothed. My intended. Is hearing loss a concern as well?” Dom increased his grip, forcing a groan from the earl. “I’m losing patience, Harcourt.”
“Forgive me, Lady Louisa, ladies,” the earl ground out, breath shooting between clenched teeth.
Only then did Dom release him, smooth as silk, letting the Harcourt collapse to the earth with his pride in tatters. He brushed his gloved hand against his coat as though wiping away filth. “Good man. Now crawl back to the ballroom and keep that tongue leashed. I know well where to find you.” His frigid gaze swept the circle of onlookers. “Would anyone else care to discuss the discourteous interruption of my proposal?”
Hushed murmurs rippled through the night as the baroness and two others stumbled forward to haul Harcourt upright. The earl clutched his wrist, face twisted in fury, but none dared speak. The group hurriedly dispersed, whispers trailing them like mist.
