Page 108 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“But—”

He stopped her mouth with his thumb. “Not here. I need to get you home.”

Behind them, the constable was issuing orders and directing his men in helping Lord Mooney’s son with his coin. Lord Rimbury had already left with Silas and the other captives. Perhaps Peter wanted to be there.

“Did you need to join Lord Rimbury?”

“No. I think you had the right of it. We need to talk, you and I. Come this way.”

He slid his hand down her arm, softening enough for her to entwine her fingers in his. Callused skin, big fingers, broad palm. Why didn’t this man dwarf her into nothing? Given what she’d seen of his physical prowess, he should seem like a hulking brute to her. Instead, she felt protected and cherished.

She stepped closer to his side.

“Are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine. Where are we going?”

“To talk.” He looked at her. “In my rooms.”

She nodded. “Perfect.”

He snorted. “Dangerous.”

Perhaps. But she liked the danger.

They moved quickly through the dark streets. More than once they heard something that disturbed him. On those occasions, he pulled her into the darkest shadow and waited, while her heart pounded in her ears and his breath slid hot against her cheek. Nothing ever happened. The sounds either faded away, or the people passed without seeing them. But the excitement made her grin in the darkness, and his body made her liquid with memories of the night before.

They made it to his rooms eventually. She ran as quietly as she could up his stairs, then slipped inside his room while he shut the door. Then she leaned back against the wall, feeling her heart race and her breath—

Oh!

He was kissing her. Hot and hungry, his mouth covered hers, his tongue thrust inside hers, and his body pinned her to the wall.

She didn’t mind in the least. She set her arms on his broad shoulders, twined her fingers through his hair, and kissed him with every part of her body and soul. It was wild abandon, and she loved it.

Then he pulled back. His right fist hit hard against the wall near her head while his left hand cupped her face. “I brought you here to talk.”

She knew. She wanted that too, but those thoughts were so far away when he touched her. She stroked her fingers through his hair. “I don’t know why I don’t love you,” she whispered. “You’re everything I think about. I can’t breathe without remembering some moment with you.”

“You do love me,” he said, his words harsh. “Good God, Mari, who else would you wander through the streets of London to be with?”

“Just you.”

“Who drove you to six years of hiding?”

“You.”

“And who makes you want this more than I?” He jerked the ties of her cloak apart before pressing his mouth to the mounds of her breasts above her bodice.

“Just you,” she said as she let her head drop back. His mouth was hot, but it was nothing compared to the fire in her blood.

She felt his fingers on her bodice, unbuttoning her quickly. It wouldn’t take long, since she hadn’t been able to fasten it all the way. That was why she’d chosen her cloak even though it was too heavy for sneaking about at night. But it was off her now. And within moments, her gown parted and slipped away.

“You love me,” he said as if imprinting the words onto her skin.

She loved this. She knew that. She set her hands to his clothing, pushing off his rough coat, then fumbling with the buttons on the shirt beneath. Then she pressed her hands to his chest. She felt the wiry hairs, the shift and flex of his muscles beneath, and the exquisite heat of the man himself.

“I would never be cold around you,” she said, knowing it was an odd comment.