He turned to her. “That’s exactly the point. Everything about you is a bloody surprise.”
She sat in stunned silence, half elated, half convinced she’d misheard.
“A good surprise?”
“A confounding one.”
She stood. The blanket slipped to the floor. The cupclattered against the saucer despite her grip. “This is hardly the relaxing evening I had in mind.”
“What did you have in mind?” He stood and placed his cup on the seat before holding her stare, giving nothing away. “If you meant to soften my heart, you’ve wasted your time.”
She stepped back. “That was not my intention.”
“Then that’s a damn shame.” He caught her wrist. “You’ve had my heart in your hand for more than a week. Do you think I’d ride like the devil and risk my neck for anyone but you?”
Her breath faltered. Everything narrowed to the soft brush of his thumb against her wrist, the stutter of her heartbeat, the sweet pulse between her thighs.
Dominic.
The silent call rose from deep within her. He heard it. Answered it. Pulled her hard against him. Wager be damned.
He took her hungrily, kissing her open and deep. It would have been ravishment had she not seized him with equal desperation.
His mouth moved over hers, the silken stroke of his tongue a reminder of the pact between them. He meant to have her pleading before the chocolate cooled.
Her fingers fisted in his coat, drawing him closer, refusing to be overwhelmed, matching every fevered thrust.
Strong, restless hands roamed from her back to her hips, over the curve of her breast before gripping her bottom and hauling her hard against him.
A rough sound escaped his throat.
“You’ve won,” he growled, nibbling the corner of her mouth. “You have me, angel. Any way you want me.”
Many women would relish this moment, raise a glass to the victory. But this was never about one besting the other.
“You’re the one with the prize to claim.”
“Careful,” he murmured. The warning did not sound entirely meant for her. “Don’t give a man options when he’s straining in his trousers.”
“One touch. That’s what we agreed.”
“One touch anywhere.” His mouth grazed her earlobe. “You’ve made a deal with the devil. There’s only one place I intend to put my hands tonight. One place I long to explore.”
She knew the place. The truth of it was in the slow nudge of his knee between her thighs, in the deliberate brush that stole her breath.
“Tell me you’ve never felt pleasure from a man’s hand.”
The words sounded dangerously possessive.
“Never.” She doubted she could say that in the morning.
The dark curve of his lips made her skin flush. “Will you let me touch you, Daphne? Slow, intimate strokes that will have you panting beneath the stars. The way I wanted to that night we shared a bed.”
Her body answered, a quiver low in her belly, impossible to deny. “You want me to undress out here? In the garden?”
He cupped her face, his thumb sweeping over her bottom lip. “If I undress you, I’ll want you.” His gaze traced the line of her throat before drifting lower. “More than once. I’m no saint.”
Why did it sound like an enticement, not a warning?
