A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

They quaked; she shuddered delicately, then stepped closer, so her breasts met his chest, her hips his thighs. Completely trusting, she leaned into him, into his strength.

Demon's head reeled; his blood pounded urgently. The need to close his arms about her-to lock her against him and mold her to him-was almost overwhelming.

But she was too young, too innocent, too new to this game for that.

His demons wailed and demanded-with what wit he had left he fought to deny them.

Even while he fell deeper into their kiss.

Unaware of his problem, Flick reveled in the sudden heat that suffused her, in the heady sense of male strength that surrounded her, in the firm touch of his lips on hers, on the sensual slide of his tongue between her lips.

This was a kiss-the sort of kiss she'd heard maids giggling over, a kiss that slowly curled her toes. It was enthralling, demanding yet unfrightening, an experience of the senses.

The vicar's son had once kissed her-or tried to. That had been nothing like this. There had been no magic shimmering in the air, no skittering sensations assailing her nerves. And none of the excitement slowly growing within her, as if this was a beginning, not an end.

The idea intrigued her, but Demon's lips, firm, almost hard, cool yet imparting heat, effortlessly held her attention, denying all her efforts to think. Leaning against him, her only certainty was a feeling of gratitude-that he'd consented to show her what could be, not just in a kiss but in one glorious afternoon of simple pleasure.

The sort of pleasure a man and a woman could share, if the man knew what he was about. She was immensely grateful to him for explaining, for demonstrating, for enlightening her ignorance. Now, in the future, she'd know what to look for-know where to set her standards.

As for today, she'd enjoyed his tutelage, enjoyed the afternoon-and this kiss. Immensely.

Her unrestrained, open appreciation very nearly overwhelmed Demon. Inwardly shaking with the effort of resisting the powerful instincts that had for so long been a part of him, he finally realized his hand had fallen from her face to her shoulder. Raising his other hand, he gripped her upper arm as well and gently eased her back from him. Then, with gentle care and a reluctance he felt to his soul, he drew back and ended the kiss.

He was breathing too fast. He watched as her lids fluttered, then rose to reveal eyes a much brighter blue than before. She met his gaze; he prayed she couldn't read his state. He attempted a suave smile. "So now you know."

She blinked. Before she could speak, he turned her to the curricle. "Come-we should return to Hillgate End."

He drove her back directly. To his surprise, she was patently unflustered, sitting beside him, her parasol open, sweetly smiling at the sunwashed countryside.

If anyone was flustered, it seemed it was he. He still felt disoriented, nerves and muscles twitching. By the time he turned the bays through the gates of Hillgate End, he was inwardly frowning, and feeling a touch grim.

He wasn't at all sure what had happened that afternoon, especially not who or what had instigated the proceedings. He'd certainly organized to spend a comfortable, enjoyable afternoon with an angel, but he couldn't remember deciding to seduce her.

Things had not gone according to any plan of his.

Which was possibly not surprising-in this sphere, he was a rank amateur. He'd never dallied with anyone so young, so untouched-so damned innocent-before. Which was at least half his problem-half the reason he was increasingly attracted to her. She was a very fresh taste to his definitely jaded palate; awakening her was a rare pleasure, a sweet delight.

But seducing an innocent carried responsibility-a heavy, unavoidable responsibility he'd happily steered clear of for all his years. He didn't want to change-had no intention of changing. He was happy with his life as it was.

The taste of her-apple and delicate spice-returned to him, and had him stiffening. Swallowing a curse, he drew the bays up before the front steps. He tied off the reins and stepped down; rounding the carriage, he helped her down.

She smoothed her skirts, then straightened and smiled-gloriously, openly, entirely without guile. "Thank you for a delightful afternoon."

He stared at her, conscious to his bones of a demonic urge to taste her again. It took all his concentration to maintain a suitably impassive mien, to take the hand she held out to him, squeeze it gently-and let go.

With a nod, he turned back to the curricle. "I'll keep you informed of anything we learn. Do convey my respects to the General."

"Yes, of course."

She watched him drive away, a smile on her lips; as the shadows of the drive enclosed him, a frown settled on Demon's face.

He was still frowning when he reached home.

Chapter 6

Demon ran Gillies to earth later that evening in the crowded tap of the Swan; he was nursing a pint and keeping a watchful eye on Bletchley. Their quarry was part of a genial group crowding one co

rner. Demon slid onto the bench beside Gillies. "Any action?"