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“I thought you meant to tumble me onto the bed,” he murmured.
As he spoke, his breath drifted over her face with suggestive warmth. Antonia couldn’t deny she’d thought about kissing that sensual, cynical mouth. Now, close enough to feel his heat, the impulse was nigh overwhelming.
“You flatter yourself,” she retorted shakily, trying to pull away. Fear trickled through her veins like iced water. Fear of what he might do to her. Stronger fear of what she might do to him. “You can let me go.”
“Why? I’ve got you where I want you—and you put yourself there, Miss Smith.”
She struggled with more conviction. “I will scream,” she hissed through her teeth.
He trailed his free hand down her cheek with a lingering softness she felt to her toes. “No, you won’t.”
No, she wouldn’t scream. She couldn’t risk anyone coming in and finding them. With her history, nobody would believe she was innocent of inviting him.
“Stop it.” The protest emerged as a wisp of sound.
He traced the line of her jaw. No one, especially no man, had touched her with tenderness in years. The sweetness was a lie but her heart didn’t recognize that. Her heart expanded in uncontrollable longing. Oh, she was such an idiot. She swallowed the tears that clogged her throat and jerked her face away.
“Can I take your glasses off?” he whispered, leaning forward to brush his cheek against hers.
She hadn’t been this close to a man in years either. She was tinglingly aware how differently Ranelaw was made compared to her. The height. The strength. The leashed power. The stubble on his jaw.
Stupid little rabbit she was, she’d stopped struggling. Her heart banged so madly, every thud rocked her. Through her daze, she took a few seconds to register what he’d said. He already reached to unhook her spectacles.
“No!” She broke away, surprising him enough to force some space between them, although he didn’t release her. “I told you to stop it.”
“Don’t you want to know what a kiss is like?” he murmured. “You strike me as a woman full of intelligent curiosity.”
“You’re utterly patronizing,” she snapped back, straightening her glasses.
“And you’re utterly beguiling.”
Damn him, he sounded sincere. She reminded herself sincerity was a rake’s trick. “Don’t make me laugh.”
He raised his hand to her face again, holding her when she tried to turn away. “Antonia, kiss me.”
She struggled not to hear urgency. Rakes were never urgent. Rakes treated the world as one vast larder for their appetites. If one dish failed to satisfy, they indulged their cravings with another.
“You have no right to use my Christian name,” she protested, sounding to her chagrin like a breathless virgin.
He smiled at her, smoothing a few stray tendrils of hair that escaped her cap. More sweetness. More hankering from her reckless heart. “Foolish girl.”
His hold remained implacable. And if she was honest, the magic of his touch transfixed her.
Foolish girl indeed.
She tried to inject some force into her voice—and signally failed. “I won’t betray Cassie for your beaux yeux.”
He still stroked her temples. She wished he’d stop.
She wished he’d never stop.
“I don’t know if you have beautiful eyes. In fact, I know so little about you. It’s time that changed.”
Even through the pleasure, that sounded ominous. She tried to escape but she was too late. He grabbed her lace cap and flung it to the floor.
“Curse you, Lord Ranelaw!” she said on a burst of anger, and this time she wrenched free.
