“Sod it,” he breathed.
There was no hesitation this time. No uncertainty. His mouth molded over hers confidently, the perfect weight, neither too soft nor too aggressive. Heat curled inside her. He increased the pressure, and her lips opened at his silent command. She gasped as his tongue tangled with her own.
Brandy and sin.
Emmy closed her eyes. He traced her lower lipthen slid back for more, angling, pressing, repositioning; an endless slow burn that grew more and more urgent with every swirl of his tongue. Reason slipped away.
Madness. This was madness.
Nothing had ever felt so right. His mouth was even better than she remembered. Hot and insistent. Addictive. Her blood was a dull roar in her ears, blocking out the sound of the club only feet away.
Pretend. Just for a few moments. Pretend we’re enemies who kiss. Pretend we’re not enemies at all.
Another kiss. A deep, wet slide. Slow and languid, as if he had all the time in the world. As if he were savoring the taste of her.
Don’t stop! Don’t ever stop.
Seized with a reckless desperation, Emmy captured his lower lip between her teeth. He groaned, a low sound of appreciation deep in his throat, and her pulse leapt with delight. Interacting with him made her feel stingingly, achingly alive. She wanted to ruffle his feathers, to goad a reaction out of him.
You’re supposed to be avoiding him!
Don’t care. Closer. More.
She flattened her palms against his chest. His skin was hot beneath the cotton, his heartbeat strong. His delicious masculine weight pushed her up against the wall and an aching heaviness pulsed between her legs.
His hand slid to her ribs then up the side of her breast in a wicked slow caress. Her nipples peaked inside her bodice, and she gasped in dazed wonder. His kiss became a challenge, a gauntlet being thrown down. Who would stop first? Who would pull away, admit defeat?
Not me.
Air whooshed out of her lungs as he caught her waist and lifted her, pressing her hard against the wall. Emmy wrapped her arms around his neck and marveled at his strength as he grasped her bottom in both hands and crushed her to him.
“God—” He sounded breathless, almost pained.
“Emmy!” Another voice, Luc’s, sharp and insistent.
Harland froze. And then cursed. He loosened his arms, and she slid back down to the floor, the wall at her back the only thing keeping her upright. Cool air rushed between them.
Emmy stared at him in astonishment. What had just happened? She could barely catch air into her lungs. Her legs felt like jelly. She placed one shaking hand over her heart and took as deep a breath as her stays would allow.Good God.
He stepped back, straightening his shirtsleeves, then ran a hand through his hair.
“Emmy!” Luc’s voice echoed through the thick door, fainter this time.
Harland caught the handle of the door and swung it wide. Light flooded in. He shot Emmy a fierce look. “Go home, Emmy Danvers. And stop playing with fire.”
Emmy scooped up her mask from the floor and ran.
Chapter 15.
Seb wrinkled his nose when Alex entered the Tricorn’s private sitting room the following afternoon.
“Phew! Where have you been? You smell like a tart’s boudoir.”
Alex raised his sleeve to his nose, sniffed, and grimaced. “I’ve been at Floris, the parfumier over on Jermyn Street.”
“Still trying to pin down our fragrant thief?” Seb surmised. “Any luck?”
“Indeed. Monsieur Fargeon confirmed what I’d suspected—that the scent on the feathers left by the Nightjar is the same as the one provided to us by Miss Danvers.”
