Page 71 of A Deal with the Devil

Chapter Eighteen

Kitty narrowed her eyes back at him. “We are going to be late.”

“That’s not asking me nicely,” he drawled.

“You’re very accustomed to getting your own way.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure it’s not good for you,” she said.

“And yet.”

The game shivered between them. The thread that seemed to bind her to him, her body to his presence. Despite it—or because of it—she shrugged and turned, tossing him a glance over her shoulder. “Then I suppose I shall visit Lord Tadworth on my own.”

He caught up to her in a single step. It did things to her ability to breathe normally.

“The hell you will.” So did that thrilling, unyielding tone.

“Well, if you’re not interested…” She fluttered her eyelashes.

He very deliberately leaned a palm against the door behind her, caging her in. Just a bit. Just enough. Every part of her longed to arch closer, or better yet, to press back against the door to see if he would follow. “Is this you asking me nicely?” he said, deep voice both soft and rough.

She lifted her chin defiantly, even as her heart picked up speed and her thigh muscles quivered. Something he could never know. His effect on her was already too powerful. Too dangerous. Too delicious. “If I said please and flattered your ego and told you were handsome, you’d die of boredom.”

“True.” His mouth quirked. “Are you saying I’m not handsome?”

She licked her lower lip. He tracked the movement, green eyes flaring hungrily. He was so close that she could see the flecks of silver in his irises. He had forest eyes. Oak-leaf eyes. “You’re passable, I suppose.”

He grinned. A true, amused grin. Not a sardonic smile, or a wry quirk of his perfect mouth. A grin. And it was devastating. His scent wrapped around her, amber and wood smoke. And then his voice followed, a rough caress over her skin. “Are you at least going to say please?”

He trailed his free hand up her arm, along her neckline, just a tease to raise the gooseflesh. It was successful.

Exceedingly successful.

And then he closed his fingers very carefully around the base of her throat and tipped her head back.

Every thought in her head incinerated.

He applied no pressure, no hint of menace. Only a light hold on her, as though she was precious. Delicate.

His.

It was a promise. A foretelling. A claiming.

She whimpered, heat building in her chest, between her legs, streaking down her spine. He smiled slowly, hungrily. “I’m going to make you make that sound again and again.”

She leaned forward until his fingertips dug into her flesh. If he didn’t kiss her, she might expire on the spot. He tightened his grip infinitesimally, only enough to pin her back to the door. She nearly growled in frustration. His tone was soft but demanding. Utterly in control.

Even as he gave her that same control.

“Just as soon as you say please.”

She felt wild with the need to have him touch her. To touch him. He made her feel things she had never felt before. And ever since their interrupted moment, she had been tense with need and want and unfulfilled desires. His breathing was harsh, not quite as polished as the rest of him appeared. It snapped whatever resembled restraint in her.

“Please,” she begged softly. “Please.”

“Thank God,” he murmured before yanking her forward. Their mouths met, tongues tangling, soft moans fueling the heat between them. The need to chase and be chased, the need to taste and be tasted. A hunger only he could sate.