He caught her by the wrist, and she looked up at him. “Yes, I am. I find I have a sudden interest in this warehouse.”
“Why?”
She leaned close, and once again those rosy lips taunted him, begged him to be kissed. “You tell me, Lord Westman. What’s your business here? What are you trying to hide?” Her green eyes flashed.
“Bloody hell. I’m not trying to hide anything.”
“Then this warehouse has nothing whatsoever to do with the—the you know what?”
Stephen didn’t answer.
“My lord?” she pressed. “Does this place have anything to do with our grandfathers?”
Stephen wanted to say no. His mouth worked, his throat worked, and his hands clenched. Why the hell was it so difficult to lie to her about this? Because he’d given his word last night to include her?
But damnation! That didn’t include a foray into London’s underworld.
“I can see by the look on your face that the answer is yes.” Her hand snaked out and smacked him on the chest. “You lying rogue. And to think I trusted you!”
He grabbed her arm before she could strike again. “You didn’t trust me. You gave me a litany of terms.”
“And you gave me a lecture about how you were a man of honor. Where’s that honor today, Lord Westman? Or does it only surface when you’re trying to woo a woman into your bed?” She spat the last, her tone harsh and unyielding.
Stephen’s was equally so. “If I’d been trying to get you into my bed, Miss Hale, you would have been there.” And he wouldn’t still be wanting her right now. “And I was going to tell you about the warehouse.”
“After the fact!”
“Yes. Seven Dials is no place for a lady.”
With a mutinous look, she spun away from him. He watched her march back and forth before the warehouse’s entrance, her hands clenching and unclenching. “Just like a man,” she spat at him on one pass. “Liar!” she hissed on the next.
He grabbed her arm again. “I am not a liar.”
“You promised me that you would not leave me behind. That you would share all knowledge.”
“And I would have.”
“After you left me behind!”
“I told you, Seven Dials—”
“I don’t care whether we have to descend into the pits of Hell, my lord. If you go, I go. Understood?” He glared at her. If he had to listen to one more word . . .
“Do you think you can get that through that thick male skull of yours?”
“Do you think you can get this through that hard skull of yours?” And then he pulled her against him, lowered his mouth to hers, and took her sweet, round, complaining mouth with his.
It was the only way to get her to shut up. It was the only way to prove he was in charge here, not her. And it was the only way to get his mind off all the other wicked things he wanted to do to her. He should have throttled her, but how could he when she stood before him in that pretty pink dress, her cheeks flushed, her eyes flashing, and her small, round bosom heaving.
Stephen couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman so much. Wanted to kiss her or throttle her, he wasn’t sure which. But once his mouth met hers, he knew he’d made the right decision.
She was shocked at first. Her mouth was tight and her body rigid, but then she let out a soft sigh, and she was all his. Or, rather, he was hers. Her arms came around his neck, her body melted into his, and her tongue plunged into his mouth, at once beginning an erotic duel with his own. She was telling him that he hadn’t won this battle. That she wasn’t surrendering one inch to him.
And Stephen loved it. He loved having it proven, once again, that this woman was his match—and more.
“I don’t have rooms,” a creaky male voice said. “This isn’t that kind of establishment.”
Josephine broke the kiss first, jumping away from him with lightning quickness. Her cheeks were red with heat and passion, her breath came fast, and Stephen found that he was irrationally proud of the fact that he’d done that to her. And now that he was once again in possession of his wits, he was also disgusted with himself. Kissing her on the street corner. What had he been thinking?
