So he dragged her yet closer, groaning as her hips lifted and brushed against his aching hard loins, and as his hands slid to her rump, he could categorically say she’d not stolen so much as a scrap of blotting paper from his study.
He pushed her hard against the desk edge, grinding his body, heard her moan, so caging her, he slammed his hands to the leather baize either side of her to–
A crash and his eyes flicked up, too late to save the toppled candelabra from thudding to the rug. He resume–
But his governess thrust hands to his chest and shoved him away.
“Curse it,” she muttered betwixt gasps.
Curse it, indeed.
And then she promptly slapped him across the cheek, all prim indignation and governess starch.
“How dare you take such a liberty!”
Which was rich.
But it was too late, he mused, realigning his jaw, for he’d tasted the real Miss Jones. Whoever she was.
So, with breath still untamed, he leaned past for her lantern, mouth brushing her earlobe before drawing back and placing it within her hands.
Lips glistened, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, and her eyes… They were molten.
If she was genuine, she’d be gone by morn and he would never see her again.
That thought…pained somewhat.
“Good night, Miss Jones,” he rasped, “and no more prowling my townhouse in the dead of night.” He dared lift a finger to those lips. “Because as I told you once before…” Brushed it over. “I can be very bad indeed.”
