The Gold Coin (Colby's Coin 1)

Damen took over, penetrating and devouring her mouth in hungry, relentless possession. His arms locked around her like steel bands, and he drew her up on tiptoe, crushing her body to his in a way that made her blatantly aware of his hardening contours.

"Don't pull away," he muttered against her lips. "Just lose yourself. For a minute. That's all I ask."

Ask? He didn't need to ask. Anastasia was already complying, molding her body instinctively to his, twining her arms about his neck as their tongues melded, parted, melded again.

With a rough, appreciative sound, Damen relinquished another modicum of control, his hand gliding around to find and cup her breast. His thumb found her already hardened nipple, rubbing it sensuously through her gown, sending skyrockets of sensation shooting through her.

"Damen…" She gasped his name, every nerve ending in her body centered beneath this new, incredibly spectacular sensation. His only answer was a harsh groan, a tremor racking his body as he pressed more urgently against her, his thumb continuing its motion—faster, more voracious.

Long minutes passed, time and the world held at bay, the kiss, the embrace, blazing hotter, growing more abandoned.

Abruptly, with what was clearly a herculean effort, Damen yanked up his head, dragged his hand away from Anastasia's breast. He planted both hands on the safety of her waist, gripping her tightly as if to anchor not only her but himself. Neither of them spoke, just stared at each other, their breathing labored, uneven.

"Anastasia," Damen managed at last, her name a hoarse, awed caress. "Ending that was the hardest thing I've ever had to do." His gaze sharpened, delved inside her. "But the kiss is all I ended. Make sure you understand that. Everything else between us is just beginning."

Pangs of guilt and worry intruded on the moment. "It can't."

An astute look. "Because of Breanna. Or rather, Breanna and me. And whatever it is you perceive about us."

She started. "You do know."

"I told you I knew. I also told you you're wrong."

"If you'd already guessed the reason for my aloofness, why did you question me?"

"Because I wanted to make sure there wasn't something else bothering you—something more than the foolish conclusions you'd jumped to. I saw my answer in your eyes."

Anastasia sighed, still reeling from the impact of their embrace. "What you saw there was real; I'm not denying that. I wanted you to kiss me. But that does nothing to change what can and cannot be."

Damen's jaw set. "Don't you think I should have some input into that decision? Or have you already sent me marching down the aisle with your cousin?"

Confusion knotted Anastasia's stomach, and she broke Damen's grasp, turned away. "I'm not planning your life, Damen. That was done before I arrived."

"By your uncle," he supplied.

"Or by fate."

"Fate?" Damen made a frustrated sound, gripping Anastasia's shoulders and whirling her around to face him. "I'd say fate is playing a much bigger hand in fanning the flames that burn between you and me, than in pushing me toward Breanna."

That Anastasia couldn't deny. "I'm not saying you're in love with Breanna. Nor, for that matter, is she in love with you. But you do enjoy being in each other's company. That was obvious at the ball. And given time…"

"Given time, she and I would be nothing more than good acquaintances who like and respect each other," Damen finished. "Just as we are now. And, before you ask, that would have been the case whether or not you returned to England."

"How can you be so sure?"

A wry grin tugged at Damen's lips. "If you'd given me the chance to tell you about my insights into you and your cousin, you'd know why. That was one of the unfulfilled terms of our racing bet, remember?"

Anastasia felt her lips curve in return. "I remember." She inclined her head, studying Damen's expression. "Very well. Share your insights with me."

"All right. I'll begin with my assessment of you." Damen's fingers caressed her shoulders, his touch warming her skin through the fine muslin of her gown. "You, Lady Anastasia Colby, are a strong-willed, intelligent, spirited nonconformist. You're always the leader, never the follower. You believe in yourself, in your ideas and your principles, and you believe life was meant to be savored, not nibbled at. You have keen instincts, a quick mind, and an independent nature. You also—as you're first discovering—have a rush of untapped passion just waiting to burst free." Damen's gaze fell to her mouth. "And I unlock that rush of passion in you. Just as you do in me."

Anastasia swallowed. "I think I've just been called a bluestocking," she managed weakly. "A bluestocking and a wanton."

"I think you've just been called breathtaking," Damen replied. "Breathtaking, enticing, and so beautiful you bring a man to his knees." He lowered his head, brushed her lips with his. "All of which you are." Another whisper of a kiss. "Shall I continue?"

A heartbeat of a pause.

"With my insights," Damen clarified.