A Daring Passion

With a small sniff, Raine settled on the delicate sofa and smoothed the skirt of her rose satin gown.

“You frighten them.”

“How the devil could I possible frighten them? I have yet to actually catch sight of more than a fleeting glimpse of most of them.”

Raine shrugged. “No doubt your brother spoke of you upon occasion.”

“No doubt.” His lips twisted. “’Tis no wonder they regard me as an ogre. Jean-Pierre has always taken great delight in convincing others that I am just a breath away from Beelzebub himself.”

“And you take great delight in convincing others your brother is absolutely right,” she pointed out dryly.

The devil possessed the audacity to give a low chuckle. “It is true that I rarely concern myself with the opinion of others.”

“You enjoy causing others to fear you.”

“It does have its uses.”

Her lips thinned. “So does simple human kindness. The servants would not flee if you took a few moments to assure them that you are pleased with their efforts.”

He regarded her for a long moment, as if wondering if she had lost her senses. “If I was not pleased, they would be seeking new employment.”

Raine rolled her eyes. The man’s aloof arrogance never failed to astonish her.

“And you cannot take a few moments to offer words of praise?” she demanded.

“I pay their salary. I assure you that is far more important than any words of praise.”

Without thinking, Raine was on her feet and crossing to regard him with a small frown.

“What do you fear, Philippe?”

His green eyes narrowed. “Fear?”

“Do you believe you will be thought weak if you lower your guard for even a moment?” she demanded. “Or is it that you merely prefer to keep everyone at a distance?”

“Not everyone.” Without warning his arms whipped around her and Raine discovered herself hauled against the hard contours of his body. The ice melted from his expression and a dangerous heat smoldered in his eyes. “The less distance between us the better.”

Her breath tangled in her throat. “Philippe…your arm.”

With a groan he buried his face in her neck. “My arm is not what is currently aching.”

There was no mistaking the stirring of his body as he pressed her tightly against him. Even worse, there was no mistaking her own response as his lips skated down the line of her throat.

“For God’s sake, Philippe. Do you never think of anything else?” she protested.

Philippe nipped sharply at the lobe of her ear. “Not when you are near.”

Her already raw nerves rebelled at the blatant confession that she was nothing more than a warm body he currently desired. Stupid, really. He had never pretended that he had any other interest in her.

Still, the realization that he remained impervious, while every day she was growing more deeply ensnared with the vexing man, made her struggle from his clinging grasp.

“That is hardly flattering,” she muttered, stepping back before he could halt her retreat.

A smile twitched at his lips. “It does not please you to know that I cannot keep my hands from you? That you plague me with thoughts of your satin skin and plum-ripe lips even when we are miles apart?”

“It takes little accomplishment to stir a man’s lust,” she said tartly. “As a rule one need only be a female.”

“Ah, but I am a gentleman of discerning taste,” he drawled. “Only the most beauti