“Lord Rhys,” she whispered, knowing what she must do.
He angled back, just enough to meet her eyes…just enough to break the kiss. Panting and out of breath, they stared out at each other, both knowing the kiss had needed to end.
It could go no further.
Ironic, that, considering both their pasts.
But in her past, she’d never felt this—that she wanted more…that she might perish in her lonely bed tonight without it.
He angled away far enough so he could stand.
And as she’d remained sitting, her eyeline happened to be on a level with his waist and…the cockstand raging beneath his trousers.
Lawks.
It didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to understand what a fine specimen of a cockstand it was, either.
The sort of cockstand to take a gel’s breath away—and have her aching thighs squeezing together.
How could something that wasn’t new to her—kisses…raging cockstands—feel so new?
How was it she could want something so desperately that she’d never truly wanted all those years ago?
And the answer—undeniable, simple, and true—came to her.
Choice.
He might’ve started this kiss, but she’d chosen it.
It was the first time she’d ever chosen a kiss outside the parameters of a transaction—of her own free will.
And it felt good.
It felt free, in every sense of the word.
A throat cleared, and her gaze startled up.
She’d been caught staring at his fine specimen of a cockstand.
A smile perched upon his lips, his eyes asked, Got your fill?
And she suspected her eyes of responding with something like, Not hardly.
“Miss Birdwell?—”
“Tilly.”
“Tilly, will you meet me on the corner of Piccadilly and St. James’s Street at eleven o’clock tomorrow night to witness my second noble deed?”
She gave a light clearing of her throat. “Aye.”
How shy her voice had gone.
“Until then…” He bent down and caught her mouth with his one last time.
And when he broke away and strode from the room, Tilly remained precisely as he’d left her—sitting forward in her chair…mouth waiting for his return.
She touched trembly fingertips to kiss-crushed lips.
