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That’s not where she wanted it. There was an aching emptiness at her center, and she whimpered from the desperation of wanting to fill it.

As if reading her mind, Ian dipped two fingers inside her.

Helen cried out from pleasure. Her pelvis continued the rhythmic movements against his hand as his fingers slipped in and out of her core.

Sweat dripped down her body and the only thing Helen could do was hold on tightly to the man who was wreaking havoc on her body as her hips moved in unison with his rhythmic motions.

Helen arched and writhed on top of him as the ticklish, fiery feeling gathered at her center again.

“Ian!” she cried out of sheer frustration.

He lowered his face to hers and pressed his cheek against hers, not pausing the assault on her senses even for a moment. He pressed his thumb against her swollen, sensitive nub, and Helen cried out in pleasure.

She didn’t know what happened next. Her body was not in her control. Her mind had left the body and traveled to heaven, or so it seemed.

When she finally opened her eyes, her breaths were still coming out of her mouth in short gulps. Her body was covered with sweat and the juices of pleasure were running down her legs.

Ian held her tight, his hands stroking her back in soothing sweeps.

Helen pressed her cheek on his shoulder, feeding off his strength.

There was a smile in his voice when he asked, his voice hoarse, “How was it?”

Helen burrowed her nose in the crook of his neck and inhaled his pleasing scent. She knew by now that that would comfort her as nothing else did. “Better than I imagined,” she answered against his skin.

* * *

Ian covered Helen with his coat and went into the dressing room. His loins still ached from the unfulfilled need. He could have undone his breeches and spent himself against Helen’s soft, silky skin, but this wasn’t why he was here.

He was here to do a job. And he didn’t feel worthy of the release.

She wanted pleasure, passion. Hopefully, he had delivered on his promises. Now it was time to leave and take care of the things he came here to do.

Ian washed his face and waited a few moments for his desire to subside. He was in for an uncomfortable night tonight.

But perhaps that need would drive him to finish his mission even sooner than he’d intended.

He needed all the drive he could get. Because at the moment, the only drive he had was to go back to Helen’s room, shed his breeches, and bury himself in her heat.

Ian shook his head. He needed to keep his thoughts from drifting to the enticing widow.

She was not his.

She was not for him.

He washed his face again, then took the towel and wet it from the pitcher.

He returned to the room to see Helen throwing her flimsy nightgown over her shoulders.

Truly, that gown did nothing to conceal her form. It was designed to tease, to tingle the imagination, to torture poor lads until they could finally tear that thing off the woman’s body.

Ian cleared his throat. “I brought this,” he offered her the towel, “to clean yourself.”

Her cheeks flushed red as she took the towel from his slack fingers. “I shall do it,” she said, then threw him a timid smile and disappeared inside the dressing room.

Ian took the bowl of cherries and placed them back onto the metal footman. He’d never be able to look at cherries in the same way again.

He picked up his waistcoat and put it on.