A Rakes Guide to Pleasure (Somerhart 2)

"Then what are you thinking, Hart? I'm the worst possi­ble choice of lover. Unmarried, poor, clearly grasping for wealth and attention. And then there is the notoriety! For God's sake, employ your ducal brains."

Her speech had no effect, or rather it coaxed a wide grin from his lush mouth. "You are a harsh mistress."

"I'm no mistress at all."

"You will be."

"Hardly."

The grin faded to something secret and sly. "Must I order you to lift your skirts again? Or perhaps something more wicked this time?"

More wicked? Good Lord. All the moisture in her mouth dried to sand. "No," she started to say, but her voice was swallowed by his.

"You are quite naughty, aren't you, Emma?" She'd thought herself safe because of his distance, but he was too danger­ous for safety at any length. "That picture of you hasn't left my mind for a moment. Would you obey any command, I wonder?"

"No."

"What if I ordered you to your knees, Emma? Right here?"

His words exploded through her. She had to open her mouth to draw even the smallest breath. Images played behind her eyes. Those things she'd seen and never done. A man's head thrown back, fingers tangled in a woman's long hair. A woman on her knees, mouth opening. Lust spun tight deep inside her.

Hart leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs. "Would you, Emma?"

She shook her head as her nipples peaked. His eyelids dropped until he showed nothing more than glittering slits of bright blue. "I think you would."

"No." But she could almost feel it. His hand fisted in her hair as she did his bidding. Pleasure racking his body, shak­ing his muscles to steel. Oh . . .

"No." She pushed to her feet, tried to lock her liquid knees. Hart stared up at her with sleepy eyes. "I did not come to London to take a lover," she insisted.

"Regardless, you have."

"No."

He leaned back and searched h

er face with an insolent gaze. "You want me to take control." His own words made him smile as the blood drained from her face. "That's it, isn't it? You want me to tell you what to do, so you'll have no choice but to give in and enjoy it."

"I want you to leave me alone!"

"This morning you wanted me right. . ." His gaze dipped low, his cheeks flushed. "There. You demanded it."

"I. . . don't. . ."

"Don't what?" The sharp look had faded to unfocused softness, a haze of blue desire. His left hand rose to stroke down the front of her skirt. A feather touch that whispered over the navy satin. "You smell like . . . heat, Emma. Like someplace I want to be."

"Oh." She wanted to give him that, give him everything. Oh, God, she wanted. "I can't! You don't understand!" With an awkward lurch, Emma broke free of his mesmerizing nearness. He rose slowly, shaking off the spell he'd woven around both of them.

"What are you looking for?"

Emma backed away, but he stalked forward, keeping her within reach. She was conscious of his long-fingered hands and the warmth they contained.

"A challenge?" He nodded in answer to his own question. "A challenge. Am I making this too easy for you, a woman who needs risk?"

"No, I don't want—"

"Fine. I won't come to you tonight. I'm not a supplicant, nor will I ever be. But a challenge? I can be that. I'd love to be that."

Her back hit the wall. She was only six inches from the closed door, but Hart reached her before she could catch hold of the doorknob. His palm hit the wall above her head. He loomed above, his clean scent sneaking into her soul.