Stephen tried to remember what he’d been doing. He had to get out of here before he forgot all his good intentions and succumbed to her charms.
Her many, many charms.
“Look, Miss Hale, I don’t know what you’re doing—”
“Don’t you?” she purred, and he heard the rustle of more fabric behind him.
His breath hitched. “—but I’m leaving now.”
Her buff-colored trousers landed at his feet. “Go ahead. Leave me.”
But he didn’t move. He couldn’t stop remembering the way she’d tasted, the way her mouth moved against his, the way she reacted to his touch.
But if he took her, if he surrendered to her now, what did that say about him? That he truly was a rake. That all those promises he’d made to himself would be dust. Could he ever forgive himself if he ruined Josephine? Could she forgive him?
But if he didn’t have her . . . If he let this opportunity pass, then what would he be?
His life had been so lonely, so empty until Josephine Hale had climbed through his library window. He’d had nothing but his memories and his regrets, and then she’d stumbled in and changed everything.
She’d given him hope, given him a purpose, given him her friendship.
And now she wanted to give him her body.
She was a virgin. An impetuous eighteen-year-old, she didn’t know what she wanted.
“I don’t see you walking away, Stephen.” Her voice washed over him like warm, heavy cream. “And here I am, naked and cold without you. I want you.”
Stephen swallowed and clenched his fists.
“I can’t stop thinking about the way your body feels pressed against mine, the way your hands feel on my breasts, and the pleasure your tongue gives me on my—”
Stephen swung around now, unable to stop himself. So perhaps she did know what she wanted. And she was making him so hot and hard that he could hardly deny what he wanted anymore either.
He looked down at her, drunk in the sight of her on the bed, lounging like the goddess Venus in his favorite Titian painting. Stephen’s breath caught, and he reached for her. His hand slid through her cropped curls, freeing them from their pins and fanning them over her cheek. Her eyes, hard emeralds, darkened and when he slid two fingers over her cheek and down to her chin, her lips opened in silent pleasure.
“Yes,” she murmured. “This is what I want.”
He wanted it, too. He’d wanted her for too long, dreamed about this moment, imagined it in excruciating detail.
Still cupping her jaw, he resisted one last time. “You’re a dangerous woman, Miss Hale. You’re an enchantress.”
She circled his wrist with one hand and rubbed her palm up his bare arm. Heat shot through him. Heat and desire in endless waves.
“I don’t want you,” he lied. “I don’t want this.”
She glanced down at the hard bulge that belied his words. “Then walk away,” she murmured, her hand brushing against his inner arm and touching his chest. Stephen took in a quick breath, and Josephine rose to her knees, slowly, like a graceful tigress on the hunt. She placed both hands on his chest. “You’re warm,” she whispered. “So warm.”
Her hands traced a path up and down, up and down, then down and down until they rested at his waistband.
Bloody hell, how he wanted her to continue. He couldn’t seem to resist her. She was kneeling before him, naked, not even long hair to hide the dips and curves of her slender body. The dawn light filtered through the drapes, and even more temptation was revealed to him. Her white breasts iced with pink aureoles, the sprinkling of freckles above her left hip, the dash of red curls at the juncture of her thighs.
Her hands made their maddening journey back up his chest and circled his neck. With a gentle tug, she pulled him close. “Make me warm,” she whispered. “Kiss me . . . everywhere.”
Stephen was drowning in the scent of her hair, the smoothness of her cheek. He made one last attempt to pull away, but her lips were so close and so ripe, he had to taste them.
Once his mouth was on hers, he knew the battle was ended. She’d defeated him, and to the victor went the spoils, and so he gave her a kiss of sweet surrender, long and hot and calculated to dizzy her brain as much as his own.
With a low moan, she pressed against him, her small, slim body sending skittering shocks of pleasure through his as flesh met flesh. Pleasure, was Stephen’s last coherent thought. He wanted to give it, and yes, God, he wanted to receive.
