Having removed her ankle boots, Evie leaned back on her hands and lifted a brow of her own. “From what I’ve witnessed, you do not possess any good graces. And you did not find me ‘insufferably annoying’ when you had your tongue between my–”
“That was a mistake,” he interrupted.
Ignoring the twinge of hurt his words invoked, she made herself nod. Weston was right. Ultimately, their kisshadbeen a mistake.
But not in the way he meant.
Any passion between them had to be carefully supervised and meticulously controlled, or else it posed a serious threat to how she wanted Weston to perceive her. Which was not as a potential mistress, but a wife.Hiswife. For real, not pretend. Because it was common knowledge that men bedded the women who tempted them, and wedded the woman who did not.
“For once, we concur,” she said.
“Furthermore, I do not want to–we what?” he said blankly.
“We concur,” she repeated. “Our…encounter was a mistake. A combination of impulsivity and sun-induced madness, if I had to guess. It shall not happen again.”
“Then…we’re in agreement.”
“Indeed. Should we find a bowl of water or some milk for–”
“But to be clear,” he cut in, “Iam choosing not to have any further…encounters withyou.”
The mattress rustled as Evie stood. Nudging her shoes aside so as not to trip on them in the dark, she bit back an impatient sigh when her stomach, completely empty save for the dregs of brandy she’d foolishly imbibed, gave a pitiful grumble. “I am hungry. I’m sure Posy is thirsty. Does it really make a difference who is choosing to end encounters with whom?”
“Yes.” In the shifting shadows, his eyes gleamed like polished granite. “It does.”
Obstinate rogue. Was there any battle, large or small, he wasn’t determined to win? The sensible side of her acknowledged that it would have been better, and most likely wiser, to simply allow him this minute victory. But Evie heralded from a family of strong women. Strong women who did not understand the meaning of surrender. Which meant even if she wanted to, she had no white flags at her disposal.
“Does it bring you pleasure?” she asked, moving away from the bed.
A floorboard creaked beneath the weight of his boot as he took a step towards her. Once again, they found themselves within inches of each other, trapped in a room that had shrunk to the approximate size of a teacup.
“Does what bring me pleasure?” he asked.
“Arguing.” Thick lashes skimmed across the top of her cheekbones as she lowered her gaze, then lifted it to regard him with a bemused smile even as her heart slammed against her ribcage. “I’ve never met a man who argues as much as you do.”
“And I’ve never met a woman who–” He stopped short.
“Yes?” she prompted.
Another creak. A slow inhale of breath. Gray eyes burning into hers. Fingers trailing down her arms to encircle her wrists.
“Who entices me as much as you do, Evelyn.” Weston’s voice was velvet wrapped around the edge of a knife. He gave a tug, and despite her better judgment, despite her all-importantplan, she fell into his embrace without resistance. Because there was a part of her that had always been falling. Ever since she first saw him in that crowded ballroom. Her avenging knight charging in to rescue her from mayhem…only to drag her straight into madness.
“We just agreed to no more encounters,” he rasped, his angular countenance a tortured blend of temptation and torment.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Slipping her arms free, she wound them around his neck, rose up on her bare toes, and pressed her mouth to his.
He was kissingher.
Again.
After he’d just vowed–afterthey’djust vowed–that they weren’t going to. His idea, by the way. Which made both of them liars. But if Weston was going to the devil, at least he’d be in good company.
Weston had dined on the nectar of Evie’s lips less than an hour ago. How was it that he already craved more? That he alreadyneededmore? He felt as if he’d been staggering about in the sweltering heat for days, months, years. His entire life, really. And she was his only source of cold, fresh water.
Except there was nothing cold about Evelyn Thorncroft.
Fire licked across his skin as his fingers dove into her coiffure and his tongue plunged between her lips. Their first kiss that started gently had been slowly building to a promising crescendo before the damned lamb had ruined everything. This one began right where they’d left off, pitching them straight into a passionate inferno.
