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Such a small request for him. Such a huge request for her. Because the longer he held her, the more addicted she grew to his embrace. To the firm, masculine feel of his unyielding upper torso imprinted on her back and derriere. To the warmth of his body curling around hers. His hold immobilized one of her arms, yet he exerted very little force. She believed he really would release her if she asked.

She didn’t ask.

“Is that what you want—for me not to touch you?” He brushed his parted lips over her ear, and a luscious shiver swept her skin. “I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifted his gloved hand scant inches to place it squarely—scandalously—upon her breast. “This, sweeting, is an ‘improper advance.’ Feel free to chide me for it.”

She opened her mouth to do that very thing. Then he began rubbing in exquisitely slow, tempting circles, and she couldn’t form any word or thought that didn’t involve him continuing that intriguing motion.

“You like that, don’t you?” There was triumph in the words whispered hot against her ear. “You like having my hands on you. Say it.”

“I-I can’t…” Because then he’d win. She couldn’t stand letting the wretched liar win.

Yet she also couldn’t wait to see what outrageous thing he’d do next, what naughty touches he’d use to sway her. Why not see? At least then she’d know. She’d get to taste the forbidden fruit he’d dangled in front of her two years ago, then snatched away. After that, she’d have a perfectly good reason to slap him and thrust him away. And she would. Afterward.

As if he read her very thoughts, he stripped off his gloves, then slid both bare hands over her clothed breasts to engage in the most daring caresses. His palms fondled her artfully, his fingers squeezed and thumbed and stroked through the muslin until she wanted to die from the thrill.

He made her want things, unbelievable, wicked things…He made her ache to tear her clothes off to feel those expert hands on her naked skin. On her nipples, yes, and her belly and…

My oh my oh my. She ought to stop him. Really. Now…

“You like having me touch you, my naughty angel. Admit it.”

“Sebastian…” she whispered, trying for a protest, but managing only a demand.

He chuckled. “I know why you can’t admit it in words. Why you’ve been toying with me all this time, refusing to admit you want me.”

She froze. Had he guessed what she’d been trying to do? “Wh-why?”

“Because of what my foolish brother did to you by gaining your affections and then abandoning you.” He nibbled her earlobe. “But I won’t abandon you like Morgan. If he’d had an ounce of sense, he wouldn’t have either. He’d have ridden off with you when he had the chance and carried you straight to Gretna Green. He was a fool not to.”

His words trickled into her consciousness, rending the sensual haze of his caresses. Drat him for saying such things now, when it was too late! How dared he maintain the pretense, thinking he could make it all right with a few kisses and sweet words?

She wriggled out of his too tempting arms and turned to face him, eyes blazing. “Yes, ‘Morgan’ was a fool. You’re right about that. And it cost him his chance with me.”

The sheer force of his will glimmered in his midnight black eyes. “But it won’t cost me my chance.” He reached for her. “I won’t allow it.”

“A pox on you, Sebastian—”

He stopped her with a raw, needy kiss, his hands gripping her arms to hold her still. Angry resentment pounded through her, but though she fisted her hands against his chest and tried to shove him away, he didn’t let go. He just kept his clever mouth on hers, wearing down her resistance, twisting her fury into something more fiery, more dangerous. By the time he backed her against the marble pedestal and deepened the kiss, she’d completely forgotten why she shouldn’t let him.

So of course, the devil took full advantage. With a groan, he drove his tongue into her mouth, demanding a response. And he got one, too. She clung to his lapels like a woman drowning in treacherous waters. The marble edge of the pedestal dug into her back, yet all she felt was his hungry mouth feeding on hers.

When he had her weak-kneed and limp, he drew back. Watery sunlight filtered down from the glass ceiling to light his yearning expression. Tugging loose the fichu tucked into her bodice, he tossed it beyond her reach when she made a grab for it. “Admit that you want me, sweeting. Or you’ll force me to take extreme measures.”

A thrill coursed through her. “Like what?”

His eyes darkened. “Like this.” He skimmed his knuckles lightly over the swells of her breasts, then had the audacity to dip one finger beneath the bodice to graze her nipple, back and forth until it grew tight and hard.

“Stop that!”

“Not until you confess. You have two choices—tell me you despise me or admit that you want me. Either choice will gain you your freedom. Otherwise…”

“O-otherwise?” she stammered, intrigued despite her better judgment.

“More extreme measures, of course.” Flashing her a dark smile, he reached behind her to remove the potted begonia from the wide marble pedestal. Like an idiot, she just gaped at him as he set it on the floor. Then with no more warning than that, he straightened and lifted her onto the marble.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, taken by surprise. There was probably dirt on top of this thing, and bugs and—

He pressed into the gap he’d created between her legs, opening them so he could lean into her and pin her skirts to the marble. Within seconds, he had her trapped. “I’m putting you on a pedestal, Aphrodite. Where every goddess belongs.”