The Gold Coin (Colby's Coin 1)

Damen's muscles went rigid. "You're trying to distract me."

"And if I am?" She slipped her fingers into the knot of his cravat, untied it. "It's working, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's working. Too damned well."

"Good," she breathed, kissing the strong column of his throat. "Because I don't want to talk about my uncle anymore, at least not now. In fact, I don't want to talk at all."

With a rough groan, Damen tugged back her head, lowering his mouth to hers. "You make me crazy," he muttered against her lips. "I want to protect you and throttle you all at once. And I want to strip away every last barrier between us and make love to you until neither of us can breathe."

"Um-m-m, the last sounds spectacular," Anastasia murmured, sliding her hands beneath his waistcoat, gliding them up the fine linen of his shirt. "Terribly improper, but spectacular."

"This discussion is not over," he warned, his fingers automatically reaching around, dispensing with the buttons of her gown. Hungrily, he tugged the bodice down to expose the upper slope of her breasts. "Understood?" His lips blazed a path to her chemise, dipping lower as he untied the ribbons, one by one. "We have to come up with a different plan for us to be together—one I can live with."

Anastasia urged him closer, welcoming his caresses, the all-encompassing surge of heat that claimed her, obliterated all else from her mind. "Understood," she managed. "We'll fight this battle out—later." She shifted restlessly, eager to free herself from the confinement of her chemise. "Much later."

* * *

Outside the door, the eavesdropper straightened, stepped away. He'd learned all he had to. He didn't need to tarry any longer—not when every moment meant risking discovery. Besides, it didn't take a scholar to guess what was about to take place behind that door.

Glancing around to confirm he'd remained undetected, he made his way toward the privacy he sought. His mind was racing, reminding him that time was of the essence. He'd send a message off right away, arrange for a meeting tonight.

What he'd just heard explained everything. He was pleased to discover his instincts hadn't failed him, contrary to what Medford claimed. He'd been right about Lady Anastasia and Lord Sheldrake.

As for Medford—well, the viscount certainly wasn't going to be happy with the news he was about to receive. Especially since the courier was already en route to his lordship's residence with that letter from the Continent he'd been dreading.

Two pieces of bad news in one night.

The man scowled. Ah, well. Making the viscount smile wasn't his job. Giving him information was.

With that, he stepped into the empty room and quietly shut the door.

* * *

Inside Damen's office, Anastasia, oblivious to anything but what was happening between them, lost patience. She reached around, untying the final ribbon of her chemise and shrugging the garment off her shoulders.

Damen drank in her beauty, his eyes darkening to that smoky gray that made her heart pound. "You're pushing me to a dangerous brink," he whispered roughly, bending his head to draw one aching nipple into his mouth. "Perhaps too dangerous."

"I don't care." She arched, offering him more of herself, quivering as he took it. "For once, I don't want to think. I want to go wherever this takes us. And when we get there—I don't want you to stop."

With a harsh shudder, Damen caught her about the waist, backing her up until she collided with the edge of his desk, then lifting her onto it. Urgently, he pushed up her skirts and wedged himself in the cradle of her thighs. "I won't stop," he vowed huskily. "I can't." His forefinger lifted her chin, and he lowered his head again, sealing their lips in a kiss that was slow and hot and deep. His tongue slid across hers, taking it in blatant possession, and his fingers tangled in her hair, cradling her head so she couldn't move away.

Moving away was the farthest thing from Anastasia's mind.

She moaned softly, wriggling closer to the warmth of Damen's body, knowing she was testing his control and half-hoping it would shatter.

It nearly did.

He gripped the bunched muslin layers of her gown, pushing them higher, gliding his palm up her stocking-clad inner thighs. He kept kissing her, his mouth eating at hers, devouring her with an intensity he'd never before allowed. He muttered her name, his fingers shifting higher, finding the spot where her stockings left off and her bare skin began.

"Damen." Anastasia clutched at him, sensing what he was about to do, frantic for him to do it.

"Do you want this?" he rasped against her mouth.

"Yes. Please. Yes." She nodded wildly, her hips lifting instinctively toward him, silently begging for his touch.

His palm climbed that last tantalizing inch, grazed the burnished nest between her thighs. Then, his fingers parted her, stroked the delicate flesh that screamed for his touch.

Anastasia's breath lodged in her throat. Time seemed to stand still, all sensation concentrated beneath Damen's heated caress. She heard him groan, felt the tremor that racked his body. But all she knew was the unbearable stirring inside her, the rush of wet warmth that surged through her core, the tight knot of need that coiled inside her, an awakening and an emptiness all at once.