Page 7 of Cocky August Rake

When his mouth found her there, Rose’s breath caught.

There was something strangely innocent in the way he learned her—not expertly, but quickly. Each shiver drew him back to the same place. Each broken breath made his hold tighten.

When his teeth grazed her shoulder, she shivered.

He went still.

“Did I hurt you?”

Rose simply shook her head.

“Tell me plain.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” Her fingers tightened in his coat. “So do it again.”

His mouth returned to her shoulder.

The second scrape of his teeth sent another sharp thrill through her, and Rose tore off his mask.

He reached up for her, slipping one finger beneath the knot and freeing it with an ease that made Rose pause.

“Well,” she murmured. “You’re good with your hands.”

“With knots,” he said, tossing the mask aside. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Only knots.”

It was too dark to see more than the shape of his face, the pale gleam of his cheekbone, and the dark intensity of his eyes.

But she could feel him.

The pounding of his heart. The tightness in his hands. The rigid effort it took for him not to crush her against the stone.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

“Why would I do a fool thing like that?”

“You don’t know me.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

He stared at her.

Rose drew him closer.

“After, you’ll go your way, and I’ll go mine.”

One moment.

One reckless, impossible moment.

His hand tightened at her waist.

“By God,” he muttered.

Then he lifted her onto the low wall as though she weighed nothing.

Rose gathered her skirts without thinking, making room for him between her knees.

This never happened.