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She was. With desire, with guilt, with the knowledge that this was their first and only night together.

She couldn’t speak, afraid her voice might betray her. All she allowed was a breathless whisper. “Don’t stop.”

Chapter 14

Don’t stop.

Her plea sent a shiver down his spine.

He wasn’t going to. He didn’t know if he could.

The taste of her skin, the sound of her moans, the way she moved beneath him, ignited a fire that could only be tamed by her total and complete surrender.

He wanted her. More than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

Driven by instinct, he let his hands roam her body, boldly learning the shape of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the fullness of her hips, while his tongue traced a path down to the edge of her bodice.

He dipped his head lower, aching to circle her nipples with his tongue, to surround them with his lips and suck on her sweet nub.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured,and he meant it. Though he could barely see her features in the dim light—he didn’t need to. He could feel her. “So beautiful.”

His friend’s advice must have worked, because she moaned, tipping her head back, surrendering to him completely, her fingers plunging into his hair, massaging his scalp.

God, how good this feels. The heat of her touch, the desperate tug at his hair, guided him where she wanted him.

He eased her backward until her legs met the edge of a chaise lounge. Gently, he lowered her onto it, following her down, covering her body with his.

“I shouldn’t want this so much,” he confessed against her skin. “I shouldn’t feel… this.”

He pressed his knee between her thighs, parting her legs, his hands cupping her breasts, thumbs searching for her nipples through the thick fabric of her bodice.

She let out a desperate sound—somewhere between a cry and a whimper—and it nearly pushed him over the edge.

He hooked his fingers over the neckline of her bodice and yanked it down, the sound of tearing fabric sharp in the quiet, freeing her soft, round, perfect breasts.

He almost came right there.

Caldwell looked away, forcing himself to breathe, to think.

He palmed his engorged cock and squeezed, silently begging it to behave. Just a little longer.

Relax. Think of something else. Anything else.

But the woman beneath him reached out, her touch light as a feather, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

He turned toward her sharply.

That voice.

He could have sworn she sounded just like her.

Honoria.

The thought should have pulled him from his delirious state of desire. Instead, it only intensified it. That’s why he had such a visceral reaction to this woman. She reminded him of her.

When he kissed her again, in his mind he was kissing Honoria. When he cupped her breasts in his hands, he saw his poised, professional housekeeper writhing under his touch.

He surrendered to the fantasy, letting himself imagine it was her. The woman who ran his household as if it were her own. Who cared for his wards more tenderly and fiercely than he ever could. Who spoke gently, moved gracefully, and managed his life with ease.