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“I like you, Miss Artemis Jones, for the simple reason that youdidn’tswoon when you learned that I’m a duke. Or that I have an infamous reputation. You have a mind of your own and are not easily swayed or intimidated.”
Oh…Artemis hadn’t expected such an admission, and she was momentarily lost for words. “Well, I suppose some women would. Swoon, I mean. But”—she met his steady gaze—“I rather like it thatyouaren’t impressed by women who are fawning or foolish or overly timid.”
His perfect teeth flashed in a wolfish grin. “A point in my favor, then.”
“If this is a game, I’m not keeping score, Your Grace.”
“Oh, I am,” he said. “And it’s a game I hope to win.”
“Win?” Artemis lifted her chin. “And what is the prize, pray tell?”
Oh, that was a silly question. Dartmoor drew closer. So close that his legs brushed her skirts. So close that the heat radiating from his large body seemed to warm every bit of Artemis’s bare flesh that was on display—her cheeks, her throat, her shoulders, and her arms. The tops of her breasts that rose and fell with each quickened breath she took.
“I thought it was obvious, Miss Jones,” he murmured in a voice as dark and hot and soft as smoke. A voice that curled around her and set her aflame. “I want you in my arms. The question is…do you feel the same way?”
Artemis bit her lip, intense want warring with her last shreds of common sense. She should be affronted that he was insulting her honor, but she wasn’t. Their innuendo-laden verbal sparring had no doubt revealed she wasn’t a virginal shrinking violet who’d run away at the first suggestion of a moonlit tryst.
And then of course, she couldn’t deny she wanted this. This feeling of being alive. Of being desired. She knew what the risks were—all of them—and yes, shewaswilling to take them, right here, right now. To steal a few heady moments in the arms of someone like Dominic Winters who happened to be the most handsome, compelling man she’d ever met.
A Byronic hero in the flesh.
She glanced about. No one else lingered in this corner of the Castledowns’ garden. Although the muted buzz of conversation, laughter, and music floated through the velvet darkness toward them, they were ostensibly alone. Of course, that might change at any moment…
Perhaps sensing her hesitation, and the reason for it, Dartmoor whispered, his voice as deliciously persuasive as a caress, “I understand the need to be careful, Miss Jones, and precisely what’s at stake. What you’re risking. If you prefer, we can return to the house—”
“No. That’s not what I want. I want…” She swallowed and reached for one of his large hands. Entwined her gloved fingers through his. “I want this too.” It wasn’t a lie. One thing she’d learned in her twenty-nine years on this earth was that life, for many, could be unfair and far too short.
So yes, she’d take hold of this experience Dominic Winters was offering her, with both hands and with no regrets.
Capturing her gaze, Dartmoor lifted her hand, then pressed his lips to her knuckles. Even through the thin silk of her gloves, the light touch seared the skin beneath. “This? Is this what you want, Miss Jones?”
“I…” She licked her lips. Exquisite anticipation unfurled low in her belly. “Not exactly, Your Grace.”
“Hmmm.” He turned her hand and, with a deft flick, undid the pair of pearl buttons securing the top of her glove. “What about this?” he murmured before parting the fabric and brushing a whisper-soft kiss on the exposed tender flesh of her inner wrist. His warm breath teased even more than his intimate touch. “Is this any better?”
“A little.” He was playing games again, but she didn’t mind. Not in the least.
“Well, alittlebetter isn’t good enough. I certainly wouldn’t want to disappoint.” Dartmoor leaned in. The scent of aroused male and the expensive cologne he favored drifted around her, tantalizing her. Brushing aside her curls with gentle fingers, he placed his mouth upon her neck, just below her ear before grazing her jaw with another kiss.
A tiny moan tumbled from Artemis’s lips. “I think you’re getting closer to the mark, you cruel, cruel man,” she whispered. Unfulfilled desire was burning her from the inside out. One of her hands came up to grip his arm. Through the layers of fine fabric, she felt his hard-as-marble biceps twitch and flex. It was all she could do not to wrap herself around him.
His warm breath gusted against her cheek as he emitted a low chuckle. “Cruel, am I?”
“Yes. Excessively so,” she returned. She caught his sharply cut jaw with one hand and turned his head until their lips were almost touching. “You know exactly what I want, Dartmoor, so just do it. Kiss me before I expire with—”
She got no farther as Dartmoor at last relented, pressing his mouth to hers. The sinuous glide of his lips was commanding yet languid. The pressure firm yet as soft and voluptuous as satin. As he ever so gently cradled her face between his hands, she tangled her fingers in his thick silky hair. Dragged him closer. Kissed him harder. Oh, how she’d missed this glorious feeling. It would be far easier to live the life of a spinster if her body didn’t crave this sort of contact. If she felt nothing at all for a man like Dominic Winters.
But she did, and God help her, Dartmoor was a masterful kisser. When his tongue caressed hers, the hot, slick strokes were long and deep and slow. And the taste of him… Her mouth was flooded with the flavor of warm brandy and the man himself. He tasted like the perfect blend of heaven and sin. This kiss was so potent, so wickedly delicious, her head began to whirl. But the most intoxicating thing of all was the way Dartmoor continued to kiss her with determined, deliberate languor. As though he had all the time in the world to explore her mouth. To devour and savor. Give her untold pleasure.
One of his large hands slid to her shoulder, then lower. When he cupped her breast, she shamelessly pushed herself into his palm, striving to get closer, to increase the pressure. Lust raced through her veins, setting every part of her alight. If they were anywhere else right now, she’d—
“Artemis? Are you out here, gel?”
Oh God!Artemis ripped her mouth from Dartmoor’s and jumped away as though she’d been struck by lightning. “It’s my aunt,” she whispered, breathless with panic and thwarted desire. “She cannot find us here together.”
Dartmoor inhaled deeply and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. “I understand and I’ll make myself scarce. Only…” He reached out and gently grasped her arm. His eyes locked with hers. “I must see you again. Tell me that you’ll agree to another—”
“Artemis?”
