She did not pull away.
Her fingers lay cool within his for one suspended moment, and then his thumb moved slowly over the back of her glove.
And when her breath caught, it was that tiny sound that ruined him.
Gideon turned toward her. “Beatrice.”
She came into his arms with a soft gasp, one hand landing against his chest, the other still caught in his.
And the way her body fit against his—perfect, familiar—should have been impossible.
It wasn’t.
She tasted of tea and peppermint, and beneath that, simply Beatrice. Strong but yielding, and unsteady in the most devastating way.
Her lips parted on a breath, and he took the invitation with a low growl.
She answered him.
God, she answered him.
Her fingers curled into his coat as though she had been every bit as starved for this as he had. That realization lit through him like fire taking to dry kindling.
Gideon shifted, drawing her more fully against him, and somehow they were no longer sitting properly at all. Beatrice had tilted backward along the sofa cushions. Gideon was bracing one hand beside her shoulder so he would not crush her beneath his weight.
But he wanted to.
Christ, he wanted to feel all of her beneath him.
He had one knee between her legs over the barrier of her skirts. His other thigh to the outside of hers. Still, it was not enough.
They were on a sofa. In her brother’s drawing room. In the middle of the afternoon.
He knew all of that.
And still, when she arched slightly beneath him, his body reacted with humiliating speed, hardening with such force that he had to drag his mouth from hers to draw in a ragged breath.
It didn’t help.
Beatrice’s lips were flushed. Her hair had loosened near one ear. Her chest rose and fell against his.
The sight of her like that—kissed, mussed, wanting—did not scatter Gideon’s thoughts.
It brought them to a single, devastating point.
Her.
When he lowered his mouth to her jaw, she made a small sound.
Not quite his name. Not quite a plea.
Gideon followed the graceful line of her throat, tasting the warmth of her skin where her pulse fluttered beneath his lips.
“God help me,” he murmured against her skin.
Her fingers tightened at the back of his neck.
“I know I should not.” His mouth moved lower, barely brushing the edge of her bodice. “Why the devil can’t I resist you?”
