He felt something.
She didn’t know why this confirmation that he was vulnerable to sexual longing mattered. After all, the man who held her was undeniably flesh and blood. She’d tasted need on his lips and felt desperation in his embrace.
“Damn you, I have to see you.” His hoarse baritone soaked into her skin and made her bones melt once again. When he released her, she swayed back against the bricks. Her legs felt like custard.
How had her coldhearted seduction come to this?
Without awaiting permission, he tugged at the strings holding the mask. He caught it in one elegant hand and flung it into the mud at her feet. His hands framed her face.
“What if I want to go back into the ballroom?” she asked on a spurt of defiance, feeling the attention he focused on her features like a physical touch.
“Why should you?” His chuckle was soft and knowing. “You caught the quarry you set out to snare.”
This time his kiss was rougher, his mouth more predatory, his grip tighter. The pressure of his mouth made her blood beat hot and fierce in a way it hadn’t beat in eight years. Her senses thawed after a long winter under ice.
In the dim recesses of her mind, disquiet stirred. There was danger in what they did. She wasn’t a highborn lady, but until now, she’d been a respectable, virtuous woman. Lord Ashcroft treated her like a trull he’d picked up in a gutter. Hauling her into an alley to take his pleasure and kissing her as though he had the right to command her.
There were other, more insidious dangers. She’d embarked on this plan intending to stay in control, uninvolved. At this torrid moment, it was laughable how far she strayed from either description.
If she remained cold in his arms, she could justify what she did. Losing herself to heady rapture made her a whore indeed. And she’d never be able to live with herself afterward.
It made no sense, but pleasure seemed the ultimate betrayal of her principles.
Too late…
The warnings were dim and far away. Much more immediate was the magic of Ashcroft’s touch. She met his passion with rising passion of her own.
When his tongue thrust into her mouth, she sucked hard on it. He groaned and pressed into her. Even through the layers of skirts, she felt his erection. She was so lost to hunger, she thrust her hips forward to meet that raw male power.
Foolish, naïve Diana. She’d never expected to want Lord Ashcroft. Now, with astounding swiftness, she was so aroused that if he didn’t fill the aching emptiness inside her, she thought she’d die.
With a complete absence of tenderness that only built her excitement, he ran his hands up and down her sides. He must know she burned for him to touch her breasts, but his exploration remained almost innocent. Apart from the blazing pressure of his mouth. And the throb of his rod against her belly.
She made a protesting sound. She’d never known kisses like this. Kisses that stole her soul, changed her into an unabashed sensualist.
A terrifying thought invaded her mind. If he could turn her into his willing creature with just his mouth, what would happen when he took her body? Because it was as inevitable as sunrise that he’d take her body. Also inevitable, she now realized, was that she’d long for his possession more than a saint longed for a glimpse of heaven.
He kissed her neck and shoulders, roughly pushing the dress aside. She shivered, wild response rippling through her. “Stop teasing me,” she gasped, as he bit down on a sensitive nerve, and heat blasted her.
He laughed and bit again, more gently. The rasp of his teeth made light explode behind her eyes. “You’ve never been shy before about telling me what you want.”
“One meeting doesn’t count as before,” she objected, rubbing herself shamelessly against him, frantic to ease the painful ache in her breasts, the even more painful ache between her legs.
“It was enough.” He trailed his lips up to her ear, where he nipped the lobe. Another arrow of need pierced her. Her knees wobbled so badly that only his hands around her waist held her upright.
She wanted those hands to touch her properly.
She wanted those hands on her breasts. Oh, shocking admission, she wanted those hands on her sex.
Trembling, she grabbed his wrist. Clumsily, she pressed his palm into her breast. Even through her bodice, the sizzle of contact made her gasp.
“Please…” she begged, hating her open need.
Her seduction of Lord Ashcroft wasn’t supposed to be this heated encounter. She had intended to remain in charge.
Desire turned her into a pleading slave. Too late to create a distance. Too late from the first moment she’d seen him, she acknowledged in hazy bewilderment.
Automatically, his fingers curled around her breast. Fiery pleasure streaked through her. Breathing unsteadily, she leaned into that touch, but it wasn’t enough. She yearned for him to explore her naked body. She was dizzy with the heady scents of soap and warm, aroused male. She’d forgotten what an evocative fragrance that was.