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He pulled back, and she let out a whimper of distress, clutching him closer. A chuckle left his lips, and Adam ran his thumb over her swollen, wet lips. “How do you feel?”

She nodded without a word, her breaths heavy, clouding her already foggy spectacles, hiding her beautiful eyes from him.

He longed to see her eyes. Those chocolate brown gems that sparkled with mischief, he wanted to see them darken with passion.

Adam reached out and gently took them off. He folded them and dropped them into the front pocket of his coat. “Better?” he asked, running a finger over the red line on the bridge of her nose left by her spectacles.

“Yes,” she breathed and licked her lips. God. His body tensed, his cock aching, straining against the tight fabric of his breeches. His fingers flexed, gripping the fabric of her dressing gown. Beatrice rose on her toes and nudged his nose with hers, before looking up at him, her gaze full of vulnerability.

“Bea,” he groaned. It was supposed to be just one kiss. A distraction. Consolation. A soothing touch. But then she touched her lips to his, and Adam couldn’t resist.

He kissed her again. Bolder now. Sipping on her lips, tracing the shape of her mouth with his tongue. Her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, her fingers scraping against his skin, weaving through his locks. That feeling was pure bliss. And having her touch him in pleasure—in need—was the sweetest torture.

She gasped his name, and Adam paused, their heavy breaths mingling. “Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head, and it was all the encouragement he needed to continue his tender onslaught. She parted her lips, and he darted his tongue inside, tasting her, devouring her. She whimpered, her hips pressing to his pelvis, her soft belly rubbing against his hardened cock.

He needed to stop.

Their innocent kiss turned into a blazing fire, ready to burn everything in its way. But he couldn’t seem to stop. He didn’t want to.

His hand slid from her waist up to the underside of her breast, then higher still…

Beatrice jumped and pulled away with a squeak.

Adam immediately let go, his hands in the air. “Apologies. I overstepped.”

She put the back of her hand to her lips, her gaze bewildered. “No, please, do not apologize. Not for this.”

Adam stepped closer under her wary gaze. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out and took her hand. When she didn’t protest, he brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Then he rolled down her sleeve and kissed the inside of her wrist, just where the dark bruise was.

She gasped, her eyes darkening, and it took all of Adam’s willpower not to pull her back into his embrace. Instead, he pulled her spectacles out of his pocket and placed them back on the bridge of her nose.

“Good night,” he said hoarsely.

Beatrice nodded but didn’t say a word. And perhaps that was best. Adam hovered for a moment in indecision, before sketching a bow and walking away.

* * *

Beatrice stood rooted in the same spot where Adam had left her and stared at the closed door. She looked down at her hands only to realize she was shaking. No, it wasn’t fear and disgust she was shaking with like she had felt after Lansdowne’s kiss. This time she was shaking with excitement.

Adam had kissed her. Oh, my God, Adam kissed me! And it was the most glorious kiss she could have ever asked for. She touched her lips, and they still buzzed with the memory of him. The confident tug of his lips, the taste of him as he swept his tongue into her mouth—oh, God! That wicked tongue and the things it did to her senses!—made her shiver.

She tingled from head to toe, the peaks of her breasts rubbing uncomfortably and somehow painfully against the flimsy fabric of her nightgown. And there was a peculiar pulsing ache between her legs. Her entire world whirled around when he kissed her, and she didn’t understand her body and its reactions anymore. She felt damp and fidgety and out of breath.

When she was finally able to shake her stupor, she ran to the window and caught a glimpse of Adam walking away in the rain. She let out a deep breath, trying to calm her rioting nerves.

Was it always like this? Of course, it wasn’t! She’d experienced it firsthand. Two men had kissed her in two days, and the feelings they’d left her with could not be more opposite.

But was it always like this with Adam? Did he kiss every woman with such tenderness and care? Did every woman he kissed feel this elation and complete surrender in his arms and under the pressure of his lips?

She whimpered and leaned her head against the cool glass. She wanted to be the only woman to ever be the subject of his kisses. The object of his desires.

Beatrice straightened suddenly and fixed her spectacles that slid to the tip of her nose from the quick motion. He had kissed her. On his own accord, without her prompting. And he’d kept kissing her.

He had enjoyed it, too, just as much as she had if the sounds of pleasure he’d made in the back of his throat were anything to judge by, if his persistent lips and his roaming hands held any keys to his thoughts.

He had kissed her. And more than that, he had wanted to continue kissing her. If she hadn’t stopped him, perhaps, he’d have done more.