Samantha (Barrett 2)

God, if she only knew how badly he wanted.

"Am I all right?" Sammy whispered, her eyes as soft as the grass beneath their feet.

"All right?" Reverently, Rem caressed her with light, feathery strokes of his fingertips, reveling at her warm, responsive flesh, the quiver that raced through her, the never-before-touched splendor beneath his hands. "You're perfect. More than perfect. You're every exquisite fantasy a man envisions." Slowly, he lowered his mouth, acutely attuned to her response as he brushed his lips against the warm curve of her br

east. Her soft sigh, the acceleration of her heartbeat rippled through him, and he grew bolder, tracing the sensitive outline of her nipple, nuzzling its taut peak, finally surrounding it with his lips and tongue.

Sammy cried out, her legs buckling as dizzying sensations coursed through her blood in pulsing bursts. "Remington. . ." If there were other words to say, she couldn't imagine what they were. Nothing could describe this shattering feeling, this all-encompassing storming of the senses. She never, never wanted it to end.

Scooping her into his arms, Rem carried Samantha to the nearby bench, lowering her gently, half covering her with himself. "This is madness, imp," he murmured, taking her mouth in a long, drugging kiss, caressing her swollen breasts. "Anyone could discover ..."

His words of caution dissipated the instant her soft hands slid inside his jacket and beneath his shirt. Everything inside him went rigid, aching, as she unbuttoned first his waistcoat, then the shirt, tugging them away from his skin.

"I want to touch you," she breathed, smoothing her palms over the powerful muscles of his chest, gliding her fingers through the dark hair that curled on it. "Is that all right?"

"Christ, I want your hands all over me," he rasped, his whole body shuddering at the erotic contact.

Sammy watched him, her eyes wide with wonder and joy. "You're even more magnificent than I imagined." She leaned up to kiss his throat. "And I did imagine, Rem ... just as you did."

A harsh groan rumbled from his soul. "Sweetheart... you're killing me." His hands grew more feverish on her breasts, his mouth following in their wake. He pressed her down onto the bench, lost to the craving that was stronger than he. She was scented heaven beneath him, warm and soft and willing, and no amount of reason was going to make him stop. His lips closed around her nipple, tugging at it once, twice, then rhythmically until Samantha whimpered, feverish with a need she'd never envisioned.

"Remington ..." She shifted restlessly. "Please ..."

Her plea blazed through him like a brushfire. "Ah, Samantha ... my beautiful Samantha ... do you really know what it is you're begging me for?" God, he wanted to tear off her gown and bury himself inside her. It was beyond need; it was compulsion.

"Yes, I do." She caressed the broad expanse of his shoulders, staring up at him through trusting eyes that were misty with passion. "I've known from the instant we met that I was going to belong to you. Make love to me."

They were the most beautiful words Rem had ever heard. Also the most sobering. He gazed down at her, half naked in Vauxhall's very public gardens, and guilt reared its ugly head. Guilt, mixed with that strange new emotion in his chest and some very old, very ingrained truths about himself. What the hell was he on the verge of doing? "No."

Sammy blinked. "No?"

His breathing ragged, Rem hoisted himself to a sitting position, resolutely pulling up her gown and chemise and refastening them.

"Why?" she demanded in a tiny whisper.

"Because you're far too precious, that's why."

"Far too precious for what?"

"For a quick tumble on a bench at Vauxhall. For a quick tumble anywhere."

Silently, she watched him rebutton his shirt. "To me, it wouldn't have been a quick tumble," she said at last. "But you already know that. Just as I know that it's not merely my vulnerability you're so driven to protect." Gracefully, she stood, smoothing her hair back into place.

"Isn't it?" Rem's tone sounded wooden.

"No. 'Tis your own vulnerability as well." Sammy's eyes were filled with sad resignation. "You see, Rem, for the first time in your life, this wouldn't have been a quick tumble for you either."

10

Knollwood was already waiting.

Keenly aware of Templar and Harris concealed nearby, Rem headed toward the orange glow of Knollwood's cheroot, forcing everything but the confrontation ahead from his mind. Samantha's words still haunted him with their uncanny insight, resurrecting memories long since buried. Her reference to his staunch attempts at self-protection wasn't a revelation—Lord only knew how many times he'd heard it from Boyd—but from Samantha's lips the words were different, more profound. Boyd was his closest friend, the one who'd shared his pain, been there when the wounds were inflicted. But Samantha was ... different.

Rem needed to be alone, to probe into his own needs and motivations. But later, after Knollwood had been dealt with.

"Gresham. You're late. I thought maybe you'd changed your mind."

"Hardly." Rem glanced at his timepiece. "It's seven minutes past three, Knollwood. I had to conclude my evening plans and slip away. Oh, and stop for. this." He brandished a quill. "You did say to bring a writing implement?"