The heady pleasure of the experience was not something that she would ever forget. She adored it, the way he let her dominate, the way he leaned back against the seat, his hands at her hips only to steady her in case the carriage moved unexpectedly. The way he let her lead the caress, first with hands and then with lips.

And she adored the way he felt against her, hard and unyielding and so incredibly warm. He did not touch her, and she at once hated and loved the fact. She wanted the exploration. She wanted to tempt him. And touch him. And do her best to seduce him, for in all the years that she’d dressed as Anna, she’d never tried seduction.

Something that he seemed to do so effortlessly. Without even touching her.

She let her lips linger on his for a moment, getting her bearings before placing her hands on his shoulder and letting her tongue edge out to lick at him. He growled deep in his throat at the sensation, and she felt the rumble as much as she heard it. His lips parted, and she leaned in. Tested her power.

His grip on her hips tightened, and the kiss grew deeper, more intense. She turned her head, fitted herself more carefully to him. The growl turned into groan, and one of his hands finally, finally moved, coming up the side of her neck, cupping her jaw, holding her for his kiss. His tongue met hers, and she pulled back at the lovely sensation. For a moment, he seemed lost, and then he met her gaze and with complete control, reached up, pulled her back to him, and took the kiss for himself.

His hands were everywhere – sliding over skin and silk, up to her hair. She pulled away from the touch, “Wait,” she gasped, grabbing his hands, pulling them away from her. “Not the wig. Not yet.”

“I want it off. I want you,” he confessed.

“And I want that, as well,” she said. “But if anyone sees —”

It had to be Anna entering his house in the dead of night. Alone. Wearing black silk.

He groaned his agreement, placing his hands at her hips, instead, pulling at silk, shifting her, bringing them closer together. “There is far too much fabric in this dress,” he growled as he pulled her down, lifting himself, fitting them together, hard and soft, rocking against her once, twice, before biting at her bottom lip and taking her mouth with lips and tongue.

It was her turn to groan at the onslaught of his kiss – and it was an onslaught, a carefully waged war of long, slow, drugging kisses, matched with movement and unspoken promises that made her hot and cold and desperate for him all at once.

She lifted her head, wanting to see him. To understand this moment, when they seemed the only two people in the world. His eyes opened at the loss of her. “I had not planned this,” she whispered, her fingers running along the crests and valleys of his face.

“The carriage?” he asked.

“The pleasure,” she said.

He paused, watching her carefully, and she nearly closed her eyes, afraid of what he might find. “That’s interesting, as your pleasure is all I had planned.”

He stroked down the sides of her body, sending ripples of that promised pleasure through her, from shoulders to hips and back up to the place where her bodice seemed too tight, desperate for loosening.

Desperate for his touch.

He gave it to her, running his thumbs over the tips of her breasts, hardened beneath the silk. She threw her head back at the sensation, and he leaned up to run his teeth along her bare collarbone. Following the sharp edge with the warm stroke of his tongue. “Stop,” she whispered.

He did, instantly, pulling away from her. Surprise flared, his willingness to stop unexpected. He watched her. “Is something wrong?”

Yes.

But it wasn’t what he thought.

It was all wrong – every bit of it – because it felt so damn right. Because it made her wonder, fleetingly, what she’d been missing all these years. Whom she’d been missing.

It made her question too much. Everything. She shook her head. “No,” she lied. “Kiss me again.”

But he could not, because the moment the words were out, the carriage slowed. He leaned into her, placing a long, lingering kiss at the edge of her dress, where she strained for breath. “Tell me we are at my home.”

She laughed at the desperation in his voice, only because it was similar to her own. She moved off him, wishing she didn’t have to. Wanting to stay there forever. “We are. I thought here, rather than the club.”

He leaned over to help rearrange her skirts, and she loved the way his fingers lingered on the curve of her knee, the slope of her calf. “You thought well. I do not want us meeting at the club.”

“Why not?” she asked as he lifted one foot and returned her slipper.

“I won’t be seen with you there.”

The words stung. “But you can sleep with me?”

He stilled, his gaze meeting hers, hot and full of promise. “First, you misunderstand. I don’t want you there. I want you far from there. Far from scandal and sin and vice. I want to be the only scoundrel in your company.

“And second…” He lifted her other foot, stroking his fingers down the arch of it before placing it in her slipper. “I assure you, there won’t be any sleeping.”

The words sent a thread of pleasure through the core of her, as surely as if he’d lay her bare and whispered them against her skin.

He set her foot gently to the floor of the carriage, and she said, “Take me inside.”

White teeth flashed. “With pleasure.”

Chapter 13