“The choice is yours.” He glanced at the documents on the floor. “We can return to the matter of why a man attacked my mother in an alley, why he killed the poor fellow who came to her aid.”
Her gaze shifted to the scar on his chest. “You’ve suffered enough heartache tonight. We can meet at a coffeehouse in the morning and make a list of likely suspects. Begin there.”
“And now?” If the sensual thrum of energy in the air was any indication, he’d be inside her mouth in seconds.
“Now? Perhaps you should kiss me, Dante, just so I might test a theory, you understand. There’s every chance we’ll both feel slightly underwhelmed.”
Not if he could help it.
He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, reached up into her loose coiffure and pulled the pins. Long, golden locks came tumbling down around her shoulders. Hmm. Much better. He slid his hand into her hair, welcomed her sweet sigh, gently cupped her nape and drew her close.
“This will be a kiss to satisfy a desire, not a theory,” he whispered, tilting his head. “A kiss from a man whose only aim is to please you.” He brushed his lips softly over hers, not wishing to frighten her with the depth of his experience. And for some inexplicable reason, he wanted to make every second last a lifetime. “We’ll begin slowly.”
He nipped her plump lips, sipping, not drinking, not yet.
Beatrice seemed to find his chest fascinating, or maybe she wasn’t sure where to place her hands. He might have gathered her tight to his body, might have enveloped her in a steely embrace, let her feel the thick length of his arousal through the flimsy trousers. But he suspected she’d panic. And so he captured her hand and held it to his chest. A means to calm his pulse, temper his lust, but it only served to deepen his need to conquer and claim.
He fought it. Rained kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat to distract him from wanting to thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. The plan might have worked had he been kissing any other inexperienced woman, but this temptress spoke to his carnal needs.
“Oh, Dante,” she breathed, tilting her head and moaning her pleasure.
“You like that?”
“A great deal.”
Damn. His body burned to push inside her warmth and he’d not yet explored the delights of her mouth. So much for a slow tutoring, for easing her gently into the wonders of a physical relationship. Too late. His lust had escaped its leash.
She’d have all of him. And she’d have it now.
“Forgive me.”
“For what?” She was panting slightly.
“For rushing you.”
He kissed her open-mouthed, possessing her as he’d wanted to do the first night they met, slipping his tongue over hers and feasting on her innocence.
She faltered, took a moment to find a rhythm, but when she did—holy hell—every sweet stroke left his cock throbbing, throbbing to push into her tight channel, to feel her hugging his hardness, to make sure she remembered being stretched and full long after they’d parted.
His control slipped. It didn’t help that the minx moaned into his mouth, that he could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. It didn’t help that he gripped her thigh, raised it over his hip and ground his erection against her sex, that everything about her was so bloody intoxicating.
Blood surged through his veins like a fast-flowing river. He was in danger of being swept away, of tugging off her damn trousers, spreading her wide and plunging deep.
With the wild roar of passion ringing in his ears, he’d failed to hear the knock on the front door, but whispers of Evan Sloane’s voice drifted into his head, so close his friend could be standing in the hall.
“Move aside, Bateson. Don’t pretend your master has a woman here as we both know he never entertains ladies at home.”
“But, sir, you can’t go in there without—”
Hell! Dante tore his mouth from Beatrice’s luscious lips. She gasped for breath, stumbled back, but he caught her hand just as Sloane stormed into the drawing room.
Sloane came to an abrupt halt. He assessed the scene through the narrowed eyes of a skilled enquiry agent and grinned.
“Bateson was right. You do have company.” He bowed, his gaze skimming the lady’s unconventional attire and dishevelled appearance. “Good evening, Miss Sands. Forgive me, I expected to find D’Angelo alone. Indeed, I feared he might be about to head to the White Boar and have some lout pummel him senseless. I thought he might need a friend tonight.”
Damnation.
Dante wasn’t finished sampling Miss Sands’ delights. But he supposed he should be grateful. Without Sloane’s timely intervention, he would have struggled to temper his lustful cravings.