Samantha (Barrett 2)

"Samantha."

She stopped, inclining her head slightly. "What is it, Remington?"

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

Rem inhaled sharply. "What the hell were you just doing?"

"Conversing with Viscount Anders."

"You mean flirting with him."

"I don't flirt, my lord. You of all people know that. Remember? You're the one who told me how forthright I was."

Despite his anger, Rem's dimple flashed. "I remember," His gaze fell to her lips. "I remember many things."

Her flush deepened. "May I go in now?"

"Only to say good night."

"What?"

"I'm taking you home."

"But—"

"Don't argue with me. Just tell your aunt I'm taking you home."

Sammy studied him uncertainly. "Why?"

"Because neither of us wants to be here. And because I need to talk to you."

"All right."

Several minutes later, Sammy sat rigidly in Rem's luxurious carriage, desperately trying to calm herself. She must act casual, nonchalant, as if she hadn't spent the past forty-eight hours yearning for this man. It was imperative that she keep her anxiety carefully concealed.

"Why are you so uneasy, imp? You've been alone with me before."

So much for concealment. "After Monday ... I feel uncomfortable."

"Why?"

"Because"—she averted her eyes—"I'm well aware that you undress and ... touch women with great regularity. But it was my first such experience with a man. And, in the wake of our encounter, I'm not certain how to behave."

"Come here."

"What?" Her chin came up.

"I said, come here." Rem reached over and lifted her onto his lap. "God, I've missed you." Hungrily, he buried his lips in hers, his kiss burning with passion and jealousy and a touch of anguish.

"Is this because of Stephen?" Sammy managed.

"No." His mouth was on her neck, her throat. "Not that I didn't want to kill him. I did. But this is because of us." He tugged down her sleeve, bathing the smooth curve of her shoulder with his tongue. "Because the very thought of you with another man—any other man—is untenable. Because you're mine. Because I'm so bloody tired of fighting a battle that was lost the moment we met. Because if I don't have you I'll die." He pressed his face against the hollow between her breasts. "Are those reasons enough?"

"Yes," she breathed, threading her fingers through his hair. "Oh, Rem, I've missed you, too. I couldn't stop thinking about Vauxhall, and what happened ... what almost happened—"

He silenced her with his mouth, pressing her to the velvet cushion of the darkened carriage, following her down.