He nodded. “Unfortunately. Like tasting a bit of frosting that gets on your hand while serving someone else a slice of cake. It would addle anyone. Absolutely anyone.”
“‘Cake,’” she repeated, hands still crossed behind her back, eyes traveling over his face, examining the alarming ease of his jaw at this vantage. “Right. Well, what now, then?”
“We keep resisting it,” he said with a shrug, “and stay at each other’s throats. Or we satisfy the curiosity and get our sanity back.”
Her lips parted, her chest rising with the little gasp of air she took. “Jasper,” she whispered, molasses-dark irises glittering under her lashes as they flicked back and forth over his gaze. “That is a terrible idea.”
He grinned at her. He couldn’t help it.
And it made her release a sound like a whimper of distress, her hands coming up and digging into his hair as she dragged his face down to hers, cementing her choice in no uncertain terms.
It broke something in him. Something that was already cracking and straining and fractured and needed, more than anything, to be broken. It came with a rush of heat and relief and hunger and he found his hands back on her waist immediately, slipping beneath that pelisse to pin her hips to the wall, tracing the forbidden taper of her shape under that blue dress.
He ran his thumbs down the long, lean muscles of her abdomen, hot and loose under the gown, which evidently only had stays from the ribs up beneath it.
He rolled his tongue into her mouth, groaning in satisfaction at finally getting a full, unobstructed taste of the sweetness inside. She did taste poisonous, he thought. Like stinging, sweet poison that was worth the cost of ruin.
She nipped at his lips, slick and hot, and fisted her hands in his hair, dragging him closer. She moaned into his mouth when his body collided against hers, pressing her close to the brickwork, allowing her to feel just how badly he’d needed this.
“You should be wearing a thicker dress,” he murmured against her mouth, bunching the fabric up between his fingers as he continued to feel the shape of her body beneath it. “It’s cold outside.”
“I am not cold,” she managed to say and then she gave another sharp tug at his hair when he smiled against her mouth. “Bastard.”
He tangled his tongue around hers, preventing her from insulting him further. He slid his hands down to feel the shape of her thighs, strong and firm under that skirt. He used his weight to hold her against the wall so he could lift one of those beautiful legs against his own hip, so he could press deeper into her, teasing against the ache that had built in his cock, confined as it was between these layers of fabric.
He knew he had to stop. He knew he had to get a hold on himself or he was going to rut her against this wall here and now.
“You want to see my flat?” he asked, kissing down the line of her throat, nipping at the swell of her breasts. “I could take you there now.”
“Jasper,” she said again, ragged and gasping and still clinging and tugging at his hair. “Oh, God.”
“You taste so good,” he murmured, rocking his hips against her again, his hand sliding up to cup her breast as he reclaimed her mouth. “You taste better than I’ve always imagined.”
He felt her melt then, felt her slacken into nothing but want under his hands. His mind crackled and spit like a fire, focused only on her, on touching. On tasting. On every forbidden impulse she’d ever stirred in him.
And that was when the door gave a crack, the handle jiggling with the telltale intent of someone on the other side trying to seek entry.
They both paused, suspended and groggy, glancing back at the intrusion with frowns.
“Jasper?” came Malcolm’s voice on the other side, followed by a rap at the wood. “Let me in. I’ve brought you a list of workers. Why is this locked?”
It was more effective than an entire freighter of ice poured in from the ceiling. Grog, heat, sedation—all of it was snatched away in the space of a breath.
He realized he was gripping her thigh so tightly, he’d probably bruised it. She hadn’t moved to dislodge herself, though, her eyes wide and her body as stiff as a board.
“Give me just a moment,” Jasper called back. “I have to… erm… seal the vault. EIC regulations, you understand.”
There was a pause.
He could hear Malcolm frowning through the thick wood. “Yes, fine. I’m doing you a favor, you know.”
Libba started to move then, a string of truly impressive and multi-lingual curses emerging from between her lips in the softest whisper. She gave him a shove, shaking hands flying to her hair like she could pat herself back into presentability. Like either of them could explain this.
She was staring at him, wide-eyed and desperate, her fingers curling under her collar and gripping the fabric in a panic.
“I’m almost done,” Jasper shouted, taking a step back to open and shut his desk drawers loudly, keeping his eyes on Libba as he did so. He rustled papers and slapped a ledger closed. “Let’s get breakfast, why don’t we? I haven’t eaten yet. Can you get us a table at the Cauldron? I won’t be a tick.”
Malcolm sighed behind the door. “Yes, fine,” he said after a moment. “See you there.”
