“Yes,” he said, and now his voice had lowered into something dangerous, something dragged from the very edge of his control. “Because when I look at you, I do not think of courtesy. I do not think of restraint. I think of every room where I have wanted to take your mouth simply to stop you from asking me questions I cannot answer. I think of your hands in my hair. Your voice breaking on my name. I think of you beneath me until there is nothing left in my head but wanting you.”
Heat tore through her so fiercely that her knees nearly weakened. Her anger trembled, shaken by the wound he had exposed beneath his harshness.
“Rowan,” she breathed.
His control broke.
He crossed the last breath of distance between them. His hands closed around her waist, hard and hot through the silk, and he pulled her against him with a force that tore a gasp from her mouth.
Rowan’s mouth crashed onto hers with a fierce, deep, and furious hunger. Emmeline’s mind went blank as her body ignited. Her hands flew to his shoulders, but the moment she felt the heat of him beneath his coat, her fingers clawed into the fabric instead.
Rowan groaned low into her mouth, and the sound ruined her.
He kissed her harder, his palm sliding down to the small of her back and crushing her against him. She felt the iron tension in his arms and the hard, heavy proof of his need pressing into her thighs. A wild, sharp heat shot through her. She gasped, and he caught the sound, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a slow claim that turned her knees to water.
“Rowan,” she breathed against his lips.
His grip tightened. “Say it again.”
“Rowan.”
He made a rough, jagged sound and hauled her up, pressing her back against the stone railing. He set her on the broad rail, her skirts bunching around his hips as the night air rushed beneath her layers of silk.
“Hold on to me,” he commanded.
She obeyed, her arms locking around his neck as he stepped between her knees. One of his hands cupped the back of herhead, his thumb dragging across her jaw before he buried his face in the curve of her neck.
Emmeline trembled, her head falling back.
He kissed her neck, biting at the sensitive skin beneath her ear. His mouth was hot and wet against her skin, his body wedged firmly between her thighs. Every layer of propriety between them became a torment. She wanted the dress off. She wanted his hands on her skin.
A burst of laughter sounded from inside the ballroom.
They froze.
The sound came nearer, then passed beyond the glass doors.
Emmeline’s breath came hard against Rowan’s cheek. For one suspended moment, he did not move away. His forehead lowered to hers, his hand still firm at her waist, and she could feel the battle inside him through the rigid tension of his body.
Then he lifted his head.
His eyes moved over her face, her mouth, her hair, which had begun to loosen from its pins. Whatever he saw there made his jaw tighten sharply.
“What I said to you was wrong,” he said, his voice rough. “At dinner.”
Emmeline’s breath caught. She had expected retreat. Not that.
Rowan’s hand remained at her waist, but his grip had changed. There was something steadier in it now, almost careful.
Her throat tightened before she could stop it.
He drew in a slow breath, as though the words had to be forced past old habits and older pride. “You were trying to protect Aaron. I saw it, and I snapped at you because I did not know what to do with the shame of it.”
Emmeline looked up at him, her pulse still wild from the kiss, from the nearness, from the sudden ache of hearing him speak so plainly.
“You hurt me,” she said quietly.
His expression tightened. “I know.”
