Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“I am sure of it!” she exclaimed. “With these words as your warriors, you will checkmate the opposition.”

“As I said, I never could have done it without your inspiration,” he replied warmly.

Feeling a tingling of heat spread over her cheeks, Olivia dropped her eyes. “Here, let me read over your notes, to see if I see any problems. I know there were spot

s where I was talking awfully fast.”

He handed over the papers.

“Not, bad, not bad,” she murmured, half to herself. “Only here, in last few lines, I think we should change “ask” to “demand” and “rights” to “inalienable rights.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Much better.”

She crossed out the originals and wrote out the new words. “There! I’m sure there will be a few other minor changes when you write out the final copy. But in essence, it’s done!”

Smiling broadly, John rose and carefully tucked the papers inside his portfolio case, along with the drafts of the other sections.

“You should feel very proud of yourself, Wrexham. Most war heroes would be content to bask in the glow of their medals. That you care about fighting new battles is admirable.” On impulse, Olivia circled her arms around his big shoulders and gave him a fierce hug. “More than admirable, in fact.”

Taken by surprise, John couldn’t react for a moment. Every muscle in his body felt as if it was held in thrall by some strange force.

Save for his heart, which was hammering helter-pelter against his ribs.

He inhaled slowly, filling his nostrils with the uniquely sensuous fragrance of her skin, her hair. Verbena, neroli, and wild thyme—slightly sweet, slightly salty, slightly exotic, it reminded him of sun-drenched Spanish hills and the Mediterranean Sea.

“Sorry,” murmured Olivia.

“Don’t be,” he said.

She tipped up her chin, an uncertain smile quivering at the corners of her mouth. “As you know, the passion of words seems to release some primal, primitive emotion inside me. Society is right to call me the Hellion of High Street.” She pulled back, the warmth of her body giving way to a lick of chill air. “So, you know yet another of my sordid little secrets.”

“Your secrets,” he replied slowly, “are safe with me.”

“Yes—I don’t doubt that I can trust you, sir.” Her tone took on an odd note. “You are, after all, the Perfect Hero.”

The hold on his body suddenly gave way to a different force as John felt himself seized by a fierce longing he couldn’t explain. Couldn’t control.

“Damnation—to the Devil with Perfection!” Impelled by the momentary madness, John caught hold of her shoulders, aware of the slide of silk against his calloused palms. “At this instant I’m not feeling very perfect.” The fabric was soft. Sensuous. “Or very heroic.”

Her eyes widened, and a blade of sunlight caught the swirling, spinning currents beneath the jade green hue.

“Damnation,” he repeated, his voice dropping to hoarse whisper. “I want…I want there to be no secrets between us.” He leaned in a little closer, and suddenly he was plummeting, plummeting down into their depths.

Drowning. Unable to breath.

“God help me,” he rasped as his lips touched hers. His hands tightened, feeling the soft contour of her flesh, the firm slope of her shoulders. Hard and soft—a contrasting conundrum of textures and nuances.

Infinitely alluring, dangerously intriguing.

Retreat! The military part of his brain was commanding him to withdraw. But in the heat of battle, the word was naught but a fuzzed boom, echoing far, far away.

“Wrexham…” Olivia wrenched her mouth free. “Wrexham, th-this is madness.”

His fingers brushed through the downy wisps of hair at the nape of her neck…found the fastenings of her gown…

Pulled the ties loose.

Heat thrummed against his skin as the finespun silk fabric slid down her arms.