Samantha (Barrett 2)

Sammy needed no encouragement. "Last night," she whispered, stroking Rem's jaw, "when you kissed me ... it was heaven. I dreamed about it all night."

"Then let me give you something else to dream about," he murmured, covering her lips with his. "Let me …"

What was it that happened when he held this woman? he wondered dazedly. It was as if nothing existed outside the magic they made when she was in his arms. All he wanted was more: to hold her closer, to taste her more fully, to possess her more completely.

Reason be damned.

Beginning as pure fire, the kiss exploded into streamers of white-hot sensation. Rem pressed Samantha back onto the carriage seat, following her down, his lips already leaving hers to caress her throat, her neck, her shoulders. Sammy arched, breathing his name, and Rem's fingers dug into the sleeves of her gown, dragging them down her arms to give him access to the upper swell of her breasts. He could feel the pounding of her heart, the harsh little sounds of pleasure she made.

"You're so bloody beautiful," he rasped, his hands gliding around to cup her breasts through the fine material of her gown. "So impossibly, irresistibly beautiful."

Sammy whimpered, her breasts swelling at his touch. His thumbs brushed ever so lightly across her nipples, feeling them harden instantly at the fleeting caress. The urge to see, touch, taste her exquisitely responsive flesh, was almost more than he could bear. But he couldn't, not in a carriage with the e

ntire ton frolicking about them.

He settled for a far less satisfying substitute. Lowering his head, he nuzzled her through her gown, tugging lightly at her nipples with his teeth.

Sammy's reaction nearly undid him. She cried out in undisguised pleasure, drawing his head closer, more intimately, against her.

"Christ, Samantha, stop." Rem was barely able to breath, let alone think. "If you don't, I'm going to lose all control."

"And what would happen then?" Sammy asked breathlessly, gazing up at him with wide, questioning eyes.

"I'd do something we'd both regret."

"Would we?"

"You, imp, are playing with fire." Rem pressed his lips to the pulse at her throat.

"I'm not playing at all."

"We're in the middle of Hyde Park, sweetheart." He kissed her again, deeply. "It's not the time."

"When will it be the time?"

Their gazes locked.

"Samantha . . . you're a beautiful, enchanting young woman."

"But I'm not proficient enough for you." Sadly, Sammy drew herself upright, adjusting her bodice and smoothing her hair.

"Proficiency isn't the issue. The fact is, a quick tumble in my carriage is beneath you. You deserve everything a woman dreams of: flowers ... wine .. . firelight... music ... long hours of preparation . . ." His mouth snapped shut as he realized how his own words were affecting him.

"It sounds like heaven," Sammy whispered, her face flushed with the picture Rem had conjured up. "When can it be?"

God, he wanted to take her to bed. "On your wedding night, imp. With a man you have yet to meet—the man who will be your husband." Seeing Sammy's anguished expression, feeling the insistent throbbing in his loins, Rem decided that he was a saint. "Samantha, love ..." He cupped her face. "You deserve it all—commitment, a husband, a family."

"A hero?" She tilted her head back, studying him with those mesmerizing jade-green eyes.

"Yes ... a hero."

"I've found him."

Why the hell did he want to be all that she believed he was?

It didn't matter. He wasn't.

"No, sweetheart. I'm not a hero."