The Art of Ruining a Rake Read Free Page B

polished mahogany. He paused to relocate her standish to a nearby bookshelf and in those two seconds, she had her chance to stop him from ravishing her again. Those seconds passed without incident.
    He returned to her, dropping kisses along the side of her face before slanting his warm mouth over hers. His palms inched down her waist. She gasped as he branded her beneath her stays. His touch seemed to sear her heart, for she desired him with a passion that defied her feeble attempts to pretend otherwise.
    An irrational passion. One that might very well leave him dead.
    Her stomach heaved. She pulled away from his kiss. They must stop. Her father had died for his infidelity. Roman would surely meet the same fate if she were foolish enough to consider him hers.
    Yet without his kisses, she felt bereft. Her fingers grappled for Roman’s lapels. “My lord?”
    He opened his eyes slowly. Infinite azure gradually focused on her. As if he’d been far, far away. “Tell me to stop.”
    She hesitated. Her fingertips drew along the folds of his cravat. What reason did she have to deny herself this moment, if she promised to walk away as coolly as she had done the time before? So long as he remained out of her reach, she couldn’t hurt him.
    He couldn’t hurt her.
    “Don’t stop,” she murmured, tugging him closer.
    His eyes searched hers convincingly. “Am I worth it, then?”
    He was an expert rake, one who couldn’t possibly care whether she loved him or not. He sought only to make her admit her weakness for him. She refused to give him the satisfaction. Yet she feared her answer was in her eyes, impossible to hide no matter how hard she tried. Because she did love him, as she always had.
    Even if he didn’t deserve it.
    His cravat rose and fell with each erratic breath. “As I thought,” he said of her silence. “You would deny me the chance to be happy . ”
    Oh, how she hungered for his words to be true .
    He dipped his head and met her lips again. This time, his kiss was insistent. He tugged her fichu from her décolletage with his teeth and dropped the sheer fabric against her collarbone. “I’ve thought of nothing but you since the masque ball,” he said between grazes along her clavicle. “You can’t deny we were extraordinary. Say it. Tell me you missed me, too.”
    She gripped the wool of his greatcoat and inhaled air laden with his lemon soap scent. She had thought of him. A woman didn’t forget the man who’d taken her virtue.
    His lips teased her nipple beneath the many layers of cloth. He began inching fistfuls of gown up her legs. “Say it,” he urged her, his voice roughened with need.
    But she wouldn’t admit she’d missed him. She wouldn’t surrender her hard won control. Their tryst had been one night’s rendezvous designed to avenge the many young ladies he’d ruined, and her own dashed hopes. A torrid assignation capping weeks of her concentrated effort to build his awareness of her, all for the goal of seducing him and walking away with her heart intact. How could she have missed him, when leaving him bereft had been her intent all along?
    He tossed up her skirts, exposing her stocking-clad legs, and pulled her body along the slick surface of her desk. Her bottom almost reached the edge. With deft hands he unlaced her drawers and tugged them down, betraying his experience in such matters. But she refused to allow her temper to ruin this unexpected chance to have him for her own.  
    As his hands nudged gently at her knees, she could hear nothing but the sound of her frantic pulse. She could think of nothing but what he was about to do. He studied her for one breathless moment before he fully parted her legs. Then, bending down, he dipped his face toward her most intimate place. Those piercing eyes never left hers. When his tongue darted out to lick her, she jumped, then moaned as he began to sweep his tongue against her sensitive mound.
    Quickly, her moans became whimpers. She could