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“You are staring.”
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“You are compelling.” He cleared the hoarseness from his throat. If he made a mistake and took her in his arms, there would be no denying the heat simmering between them.
She sashayed over to him, slow, sensuous, and he had never known his cock could harden further. He shifted deeper into the shadows, not wanting her to see how easily she affected him. “I’ve never waltzed,” she murmured. “There had been a time I wept with the need to dance just once.”
And how could he deny her anything with that heartfelt admission?
She wound her arms around his neck. “Will you waltz with me?”
Her body slid against his in a sexually charged roll, a far too intimate version of the waltz. Emma’s hips sashayed in a rhythm that was so beautiful, and provocative Elliot’s mouth went dry. A familiar craving awakened inside him, and he wanted to drag her up to his chest and kiss her so badly his teeth ached. He had to resist, for one kiss with her wouldn’t be enough.
He spun with her, laid his hands high above her on the wall, eased close so he could speak just beside her ear, ignoring the temptation to nibble. “Why are you here? I am at your disposal if you want to talk.” He tried not to come off as too demanding, but damn it, she needed to speak so he could fix whatever the hell made her run away from the safe comfort of her home and into this den of sin. Then he could be out of her tempting presence before he did something stupid.
She leaned against the wall and perused him slowly. “I want you to make love to me…with me.”
Her words tore gaping holes through his composure. “I believe I misheard.”
“You did not.”
He pushed from her, taking a few steps back. She followed, and the sinuous way she came over to him should have been seductive, but he could see the nerves in her eyes, the slight tremble in her delicate frame.
“I came here tonight for this…for you. I want to be made love to by you. I want decadence for the night. Make love to me…Elliot.”
Chapter 5
Emma’s heart was a war drum in her chest. Elliot’s hands gripped her hips in a painful vice, but she did not complain. She was too intrigued by the battle flashing across his face. Stark hunger, uncertainty before the coldness won out. She had pierced his armor, and the success of it had all the nervousness fleeing. In fact, she wanted to do a little dance of victory and barely restrained the need.
Instead of pulling her to him, he pushed her away. Though she had spied the raw cravings a few seconds before, his face was a mask of studied indifference. She wouldn’t let it disconcert her. Resting her hips on the balcony, she ran her gaze lazily over him. “I’d thought a reputed rake as yourself would have ravished me already.”
His brows arched. “Do you now?”
The amusement in his voice piqued her a bit. She wanted him to find her bold and enticing. Nothing else. She shrugged as if his insouciance didn’t sting a bit. “Yes. I have heard whispers that called you London’s wickedest lover. I’ve heard that you are truly sinful.”
Her voice was a purr in the dark, and Emma kept her eyes glued to his face. Her brother Anthony would roar in rage if he ever discovered how she was shamelessly using an overheard conversation when he had been in his cups to further her own agenda.
Elliot gave her a long, unfathomable glance. “I hesitate to wound you, but you don’t want to be anywhere near my wicked desires, princess.”
“Don’t I?” she sashayed over to him, hoping her walk was provocative and not clumsy. “Why don’t you tell me what they are, and I will be the judge of that.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Is it spanking?” She had no notion what that meant, and Anthony would be truly appalled if he knew she had been in the library trying to sleep that night he had been talking with their cousin, Mr. Thomas Belfry, another rogue of the ton.
Surprise flared in Elliot’s eyes, then desire.
Emma fought to hold back a sudden smile. “Is that it? It would be such a pity if your wickedness was only spanking.”
He went still. Yet his was the stillness of a predator stalking his prey. He prowled closer, circling her. She wanted him to kiss her…dear God, she wanted him to kiss her so badly. The last time they had swayed together this close he had kissed her with such longing. It was that night she had fallen so hopelessly in love with him and had never been able to drag herself back to normalcy. I miss you, Elliot.
Doing her best to root herself into his moment, she tipped her head back, probing his features in the shadows. “Kiss me.”
His lips twitched ever so slightly, and his eyes warmed. “You don’t know what you’re inviting.”
“I do. I want you to make love to me. Tonight.”
“Take off the mask,” he said, watching her closely.
A sudden rush of fear almost made her jerk from him. This was not part of the script she’d prayed he would follow. “No, the mask stays on…no matter what happens.”
The raw flash of pain that seared from his eyes had doubt clawing at her. He stepped back, encasing himself further in the shadows, and she wondered if the bleakness had been her imagination.
