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As soon as she felt the tug on her arm, Emma knew she was lost.

She had little experience with men and even less with desire, but she’d begun to understand both a little more over the course of the meal. To be around Garrick was to experience a constant state of desire. Her rapid heartbeat was so strong she imagined everyone could hear the pounding in her chest. The need to look at him whenever he was in the same room was almost overpowering. The utter lack of control, not that she had much to start, over what came out of her mouth.

Around him, Emma felt like a witless fool. She’d never be as controlled as Sara, but she strove to emulate at least a shred of her poise.

Not with Garrick near.

The very thin thread of control she had clung to these last days was about to snap. He was pulling her back toward him now, and she’d not stop him.

When she slammed against his hard chest, Emma wanted more. She pressed against him, wrapping her arms around his neck as his head descended, his lips covering hers. Their tongues performed a wild and erotic dance.

As he pressed into her, Emma’s knees buckled. Rather than pull her back up, Garrick allowed her body to fall backward onto the stairs, his hands cushioning the initial impact. She half sat, half lay against the stairs as Garrick moved on top of her. He cradled her head with one hand, leaving the other free to explore.

And explore it did.

No part of her wanted this to end or cared about tomorrow. This man, pressed against her, showing her what it meant to be desired . . . this was all that mattered.

“This cannot be,” he murmured against her ear while at the same time nipping the sensitive flesh there. The warning seemed more for himself than for her.

In response, she pressed her hips against him, easily able to feel the thick column through the folds of her gown and his tunic and hose. It wasn’t quite in the perfect position, though, and she squirmed to make their bodies match.

“Oh God, Emma, no . . .”

But his words didn’t match his actions. For as soon as they were perfectly aligned, he pressed his body against hers and kissed her again. He circled his hips against her, and Emma did the same, their bodies moving in rhythm with their tongues. With his free hand, he covered her breasts and squeezed so gently Emma thought perhaps it best not to interfere.

But she wanted more.

She arched her back to feel her hips and breasts more firmly again him.

Garrick responded by squeezing again, this time harder. His thumb ran across the tip of her breast.

“Gown, shift . . . it matters not. I can feel your tips beneath me.”

His hand moved even lower, then inside her gown, dipping under the layers of fabric to cover her breast. When he took her nipple between two fingers and squeezed, Emma broke the kiss. It was an overwhelming surge of sensations. His tongue, his hand. The pressure of him against her.

“What is—”

“Shh, just feel.”

Then all at once, his hot breath against her neck, his body and hands against her—pushing and circling, squeezing and pinching—everything started to vibrate and intensify.

“I—” Emma tilted her head back and allowed herself to let go. When she did, a flood of pleasure washed through every part of her body like a tidal wave, but concentrating down there. She began to shake, her fingers clasping onto his tunic as the tingling became a steady throbbing.

“Look at me, Emma.”

She did. He watched her, waiting for something, she knew not what.

She couldn’t breathe. Emma tried to inhale a deep, calming breath, but she couldn’t. Her breaths were shallow and fast. Her grip tightened, and Garrick’s intense gaze only made it worse.

Then, with the smallest of smiles, he pressed her hips into the stairs below and squeezed her breast with his rough, strong hand.

And she was undone.

“Look at me.”

Doing so made her shudder—not just there, but everywhere—and she struggled to form a coherent thought.