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Miss Roseingrave’s carriage was well sprung and well cushioned, but every jostle still sent Sabrina’s body swaying against his, the wind-scent perfume of her hair making him want to bury his nose against her neck and inhale.
A voice in his head urged him to take her up on her oh-so-obvious proposition. She wanted him. Who was he to deny her? Besides, it would make extracting the information Roseingrave wanted that much easier.
He shifted uncomfortably as the carriage rounded a corner, almost tossing her into his lap.
No, he should be chivalrous. Refuse the lecher that wanted her astride his lap and panting. To hell with Roseingrave.
Another corner. Another press of her soft body to his ribs. A hand against his leg as she braced herself. A hand suspiciously fluttery and warm before it was withdrawn.
He looked up to see the same blaze of hunger he knew existed in his own gaze.
“Aunt Delia told me there’d be some simpleton newly come to town who’d be content with having me as a partner.” Her shy smile doing far more than her clumsy attempts at bold allure to goad him to action.
“Your aunt was right.”
She gave an uncertain laugh. “Probably the only time in her life.”
Leaning in, eyes closed, her face turned to his with such pure innocent yearning that a twist in his gut rose to his heart. His finer instincts trampled under the crush of desire. He tipped her chin with one gentle finger. Pressed a kiss upon her. And surrendered.
He flicked his tongue against her lips. Then within. Tasting. Teasing. Enticing her ever further forward in this sweet seduction.
She answered by caressing his cheek. Smoothing the hair back from his forehead. Tracing the line of his jaw. Dropping to splay a hand over his chest. Her breasts crushed to him beneath the heavy wool of his coat. Her actions came tentative and unskilled, but flared through his body with raw force.
He pulsed with arousal, alight with a dazzle of lush wild heat.
“It’s like the memory of us,” she murmured. “And not.”
“Mmm.” He could barely talk. Only feel. “Not real. Only a ghost. Like me.”
She giggled. “An awfully solid ghost.”
He pulled her into his lap. Dragged his coat off her, revealing the white of her shoulders, the sweep of her collarbone. The rounded mounds of her breasts. Taut. Sweet. Straining against the silky fabric of her gown. He cupped them. Thumbing the nipples taut. Easing the collar lower. Skimming the slope of her throat. Tonguing the creamy flesh inch by exposed inch. Slowly. Gently. Giving her every chance to change her mind.
She trembled but didn’t pull away. Rather, she leaned into his touch. Followed his lead. Her own hands growing ever more adventurous. His cravat discarded. His shirt un-tucked. Then on the seat beside them.
“Oh, Daigh,” she mourned, tracing the puckered silver tangle of scars.
He shivered, gooseflesh following the path of her fingers. Slanting his mouth over hers. Gliding a hand up her calf. Her thigh. To the junction of her legs.
She squeaked, her eyes flying open. He moved no farther, letting her adjust to this new sensation. Taking his time, though it cost him to do so.
Slowly she relaxed under his steady, sultry kisses. Her body melting into his. Her hands coming round his neck, pulling him close. Threading through his hair.
She was wet for him. It would take little more on his part to have her aching. Just as he ached.
She lifted her head to stare deep into his eyes, a siren’s smile playing about her bruised lips. “Don’t stop, my love,” she whispered.
He didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare move. Afraid to break the spell of that whispered endearment. It wasn’t true. But it felt so good.
He was reminded of their conversation at the cove. The way she stared at the sea with a wistful longing. The slender poignancy of her movements as she lifted her face to the wind. The nascent courage in her bluest-of-blue eyes. Like a jessed hawk. Tethered to her perch, yet yearning to try her wings.
Then she kissed him, and the spell dissolved in a blinding flash of reality. What he was. What he could never be.
Did he care? He could satisfy the greedy hunger he’d harbored since that first long-ago kiss. Could drive himself deep within her velvety heat. Bruise those coral lips with his kisses. She was willing. It would take naught but a few skilled moves on his part to have her beneath him. And since when had his conscience carried the day?
He couldn’t remember. And there lay the heart of his dilemma.
He couldn’t. Sabrina could. She remembered him. And trusted him. Could he really break that trust for a quick bedding?
