Page 61 of The Countess Caper

She couldn’t say why, only that suddenly she had to bite her lip against a whimper.

Mortifying.

“Tessa,” he said. There were threads in his tone: command, amusement, patience. Desire. They wound around her, slipping under her stays, across the top of her spine, along her inner thighs. “You ran from me.”

She swallowed.

“So now you’ll have to come to me,” he continued, as if every word wasn’t setting fires inside her body. “I want to remind you of every way our bodies came together. Not because we signed our names in a church ledger; not to join estates or families, or to save your house. Not because of a vow I made a long time ago.”

“Why, then?” She had to ask. His words, usually so sparse and direct, were stroking along her skin. She could taste them in her mouth. They were everywhere.

“Because I want to make you feel so good that you lose yourself to it. To me.”

She swayed toward him without conscious thought. Wetness gathered at her core, sending bolts of heat down her legs. Her skin prickled, so aware, so sensitive that it was almost painful. In the best possible way.

“But only if you let me,” he added. “Only if you choose it.”

She licked her bottom lip. His eyes fell to the motion, hungry. His fingers curled against the cushions, as if it was a struggle not to reach for her. It made her feel so powerful, even as she had never felt more vulnerable. “Won’t it complicate things?”

“Maybe,” he replied. “Let’s find out.”

“This is a bad idea,” she pointed out.

“It’s yours to make or unmake.”

Damn it, he wasn’t going to give in. She had hurt his feelings. She never would have thought it possible. She wanted to make it up to him. Wanted to feel him inside of her again. Wanted.

“Maybe complications aren’t so bad,” she said. She was going to have to reach for him. To prove she wanted this for herself, not simply because of a marriage certificate. Because of rules they had both agreed not to follow. “If we’re careful.”

She could be logical about this. Sensible. She wasn’t a green enough girl to think a man had to love her to want her. Or that she had to love him to want him. They had respect. Rules. Heat.

It was certainly more than most people had.

More than she had ever imagined possible for herself, given her circumstances. And her past. Her present. Everything.

Why not take joy when there was joy offered?

She was absolutely going to break her own heart.

May as well make it worth it.

She reached for him.

It took more courage than she knew she had. A thrill worked through her. It was a heady thing to take your own life into your hands. Not just to help others to do so.

She ended on her knees between his thighs because carriages were not particularly made for grand gestures.

Or perhaps they were.

Chapter Eighteen

Roarke stayed where he was, sprawled at his ease against the seat, his hair dark and tousled, his shoulders wide and strong. She could easily picture him as some grizzled medieval warrior just off the battlefield. His eyes were hooded as they tracked her every movement. She might have thought him unaffected. That this was a game to punish her. That he had changed his mind.

Only it wasn’t that kind of stillness.

This was the pause before lighting flashed from the sky. That moment you could feel the rain before it fell. Feel the ice before it cracked.

She eased closer, suddenly feeling powerful despite her subservient position. A muscle ticked in his jaw. His thigh twitched under her hand when she laid her palm upon it.