Samantha (Barrett 2)

He was going to pull away. Sammy knew it. And she couldn't allow it—not yet. "Please, Remington..." She pressed closer, twining her arms about his neck and lifting her gaze to his. Her eyes were candid, appealing, wide with discovery, misty with pleasure. "Please . . . kiss me."

Was it her entreaty that did it? She never knew. Nor did she care. All she knew was that he swallowed her plea with his mouth, crushing her against him, taking her lips in a series of long, drugging kisses that made tension coil inside her like a drawn bowstring. A never-before envisioned yearning ignited inside her, a need like none she had ever imagined. Whatever this wildness was, only her hero could assuage it.

"Remington . . ."

She parted her lips to ask him to do more, and by her very action, received what she sought.

Rem's tongue slid into her mouth, touching every sensitized nerve ending, gliding over each tingling surface until it mated with her own.

Sammy whimpered, bright lights exploding inside her head. She relented without thought or hesitation, opening to him, yes, but so much more than that… eagerly joining in the wondrous caresses. Her tongue intertwined with his, mimicked his every motion, then gracefully eased into his mouth to intensify the heady sensations and share the euphoria.

A hard shudder wracked Rem's powerful frame. With a muffled curse, he drew her tongue deeper, more completely, into his mouth, kissing her with a naked urgency that seemed to stun him even more than it did her.

For one endless, exquisite moment Sammy teetered, suspended on the fringes of a tantalizing, unknown inferno.

Abruptly, Rem pulled back.

"Dammit!" Dragging air into his lungs, he released her, his gaze filled with shock and condemnation. "I don't believe this!"

Sammy crashed back to earth. Trembling violently, she regained her balance, uncertain what she should say or do. He was furious about what had just happened, that was obvious. Evidently, he blamed her for initiating the kiss. Initiating it? She'd practically forced him to kiss her! "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean—"

Rem's head jerked around. "You're sorry?" His tone softened. "You have nothing to be sorry for, imp. I do. That loss of control was inexcusable. I don't know what got into me." He took her gloved hands in his. "Forgive me."

"F-Forgive you?" Sammy shook her head, dazed. "No."

"No?"

"No. Because I wanted you to kiss me. I've dreamed of little else since we met... in truth, before we met." She raised glowing eyes to his. "And it was even more glorious than I expected."

Cloaked in shadows, Rem's expression was indistinguishable. "I'm delighted that I didn't disappoint you, little romantic." The sound of laughing voices drifted in from the hallway, and Rem brought his head up like a wolf scenting danger. "We'd best get you back to the ball. You'll be missed. And I'm the last person the gossips should discover you with."

"Ah, yes. Your wicked reputation." Sammy smoothed her hair back into place, fervently wishing she could read Rem's thoughts. Was it pleasure she heard in his tone, or was it simply amusement? Easing open the door, she paused, striving to prolong the moment. "Do you know, my lord, for a notorious rake, you really do make the most wonderful hero."

Silence.

A narrow shaft of light from the hallway illuminated Rem's face, and, with a sinking heart, Sammy got her answer. There was no doubt of what Lord Gresham was feeling. It was not the pleasure she'd prayed for, not even the amusement she'd feared. It was guilt... guilt and regret.

"Remington—"

"Go back to the ball, imp." Crossing over, Rem glanced surreptitiously through the open doorway. Assured that no one was about, he propelled Sammy gently into the hall. "I'll follow shortly. Tell your aunt you felt light-headed and went out for some air. Alone."

She hesitated another second before she complied. Then, bewildered and hurt—and desperately trying to conceal both—sh

e did as he asked.

* * *

Her attempts at concealment failed miserably.

Alone in the anteroom, Rem could visualize naught but Samantha's anguished expression, and his guilt magnified by the minute. Because, no matter how sound were his motives, the reality didn't change. He was using her.

Or was he?

Swearing softly, Rem stared down at his tightly clenched fists. How long had it been since he'd so totally lost control; behaving like an inexperienced schoolboy in the arms of his first woman ... and from a mere kiss?

Dammit.

He hadn't counted on this. He had a job to do. Samantha was a possible link to the discovery of a criminal, an undeniable entry to the circle he needed to infiltrate. His plan had been simple, and formulated to cause Samantha the least amount of distress: He would fuel her infatuation with a bit of harmless flirtation, a few chaste kisses, and, hopefully, long hours of carefully maneuvered conversation that would provide him with the information he sought. Tonight had been the perfect opportunity to begin ... Samantha's first ball.