He kissed her, his mouth brushing hers slowly, giving her time to pull away, stamp on his toes or knee him in the groin.
She didn’t. Her fingers curled into his coat and she leaned in, her lips parting beneath his.
That was all the invitation he needed.
He took her mouth with a hunger he scarcely understood, one that had clawed at him for days, growing teeth the moment he’d heard her singing as she bathed. The lazy ripple of water and the low, breathy notes of her voice had driven him half mad with need.
To be in that room.
To be inside her.
He’d imagined her through the door, soap sliding over the curve of her thigh, the creamy swell of her breasts rising from the water, visions that left him aching then and made his need a furious, inescapable thing now.
His hand slipped to the small of her back, dragging her close until he felt the press of her breasts and the maddening heat of her body. He should pull away, throw water on the flames.
Instead, he angled her head and took the kiss deeper, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, claiming stroke that made him throb with the promise of more.
That’s it, angel.
Taste me. Taste me like I know you want to.
She moaned into his mouth, a greedy little sound that nearly finished him. His cock ached, rigid with the want of her, the burn of it almost cruel. God help him. One stroke of her hand and he’d spend like a schoolboy.
He forgot himself.
Forgot she was an innocent, not his rampant lover.
He’d never kissed a woman like this.
Like he wanted to lay claim to her soul, drive a placard into her heart and protect the land with swords and rifles. Like he wanted to part her legs and rut like a beast. Fast and so bloody hard.
He shifted, one knee sliding between hers, the brush of her skirts making him curse the layers that separated them.
Her sweet whimper said she wanted him there.
There was nowhere on earth he’d rather be.
The thought proved sobering.
Dominic Hawke didn’t lose himself over a woman. He didn’t paw at flesh in the dark. He didn’t slake his lust like some depraved libertine. He could control his hunger. He could master his emotions.
So why the hell was he still kissing her?
He dragged his mouth from hers with a breathless curse.
“Tell me that was a mistake,” he rasped. “Lie to me. Say you hated every second. Say kissing me turns your stomach.Makes you sick to the pit. That you’d rather die than do it again.”
She blinked, still a little dazed and confused.
Then a woman’s sultry voice drifted on the breeze. “Au contraire, Mr Hawke. From my vantage point, Miss Harland looks like she delights in sin.”
CHAPTER NINE
The flamboyant lady behind them, bathed in the golden glow of the lantern she held aloft, wasn’t entirely wrong. She resembled Marie Antoinette with her tall powdered wig and extravagant gown, but Daphne couldn’t fault her assessment.
Mr Hawke’s mouthwasa delight. Every sinful inch of him made her think and do wicked things.
Lie to me. Say you hated every second.
