Page 30 of A Spinster's Guide to Landing a Lyon

Her knees buckled. But he caught her before she could stumble. Lifting her up, clasping her against his body. It had to be the most euphoric feeling he had ever experienced.

He laid her gently on the bed and shrugged out of his breeches.

She gave a small gasp that plucked its way right to his heart.

When her eyes found his, he knew he would never be the same. No one had ever looked at him with such fascination, respect, and genuine admiration. But it was more than that. It was also a look of utter vulnerability and trust.

“Benedict, I want to let go. But I don’t know if I can.”

“I’ll make it my life’s mission to get you to let go, Amelia. If you give me permission.”

She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

And that was all he needed.

Chapter Eighteen

His heavy breathon her neck nearly robbed her of all rational thought. Well, no, that’s not true. His breath upon her secret place…that had stolen every logical bone in her body.

Huh. That made sense given the lump of mush she felt like lying on the bed. A hot, fiery mess.

A hot, fiery mess that was about to embrace something like happiness.

And when had she decided that was a good idea?

When had her fury with him turned to this God-blessed fire?

It was impossible to tell. One minute she had been infuriated with him. The next she had been stripping off her clothes in front of him. And then suddenly she didn’t want her dreams to just be dreams. She wanted a piece of her dreams to touch reality.

And he seemed willing.

More than that. He was insisting that she let go. That she trust him. Insisting, but not with any kind of pressure. He was a gentleman of honor, and she could see the question of permission in his eyes every time he touched her. It was why every time he asked, with his eyes or his mouth, that she ceded just a little bit more.

But now…now that she was in it—or rather, under him—she wasn’t sure how much longer she could wait.

“You deserve to be worshipped, Amelia.”

And there it was.

This pronouncement of worth. Tickled with the promise that he would deliver on it.

“I want it, Benedict. From you.”

She could feel his hard length resting on her leg. Hot and heavy. It only increased the deepest sensation of need within her. Like drilling a well, looking for water. The hunger was growing desperate.

“You deserve to have that ache soothed.”

But then one last fleeting thought of decency reared its genteel head. “Arabella?” she asked.

“You know that I’m not a good fit for her.”

“I do?”

“You didn’t see it from our first meeting? It’s hardly worth recounting. We met. We saw. We said how do you do. That was it.” His finger trailed down the column of her neck, ushering in a shudder all the way down her left side. “Not at all like meeting you.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No.” He murmured something indecipherable into her hair. “From the moment I met you, I’ve been captivated.”