been desperate and dishonorable, easily swayed from his goal, she might have stood a chance with a tactic like that, but Harland was irritatingly upright. Getting him horizontal and trying to persuade him to free her would have no effect whatsoever. He was immune.
Emmy sent him her haughtiest glare. “If you think for one moment, Lord Melton, that I would stoop to such a level, then you are gravely mistaken. And besides,” she added for good measure, “even if I were the sort of woman who would do that, I know perfectly well that nothing could sway you.”
His low laugh made her stomach coil even tighter. “Are you sure? Why not try it anyway? What have you got to lose?”
What did she have to lose, indeed? Only her virginity. Only her pride, her honor, her personal integrity. Everything she had left.
“You never know,” he said softly, and his voice was a wicked serpent tightening its coils around her heart. “Maybe I’ll buckle under the onslaught of your ardor.” His gaze bored into hers. “Convince me, Emmy.”
“No!”
He raised his brows. “Why not? It worked last night, did it not? I congratulate you. If that was feigned passion, it was extremely convincing. You certainly had my body persuaded, if not my mind.”
Her eyes widened at his unexpected admission. He smiled.
“Let’s try something new, shall we? I call it ‘honesty.’ It’s where you say things that are true. I’ll start, if you like. I’m hard as a rock for you right now.”
Her mouth dropped open.
He casually lowered his hand to his lap and readjusted the bulge that had appeared in the front of his breeches. It reached almost to his waistband. He made no effort to hide it; he simply looked down and laughed.
Emmy couldn’t drag her eyes away. A terrifying wave of desire sizzled through her. He wasn’t lying. He wanted her. And she wanted him too. Not because she thought she could persuade him to release her, but because for the very first time in her life, here was a man who knew the truth—the complete truth about her—and he still wanted her. Wanted her despite it. Maybe even because of it.
Her senses reeled. That, paradoxically, was freedom.
He stood abruptly, and she did the same, instantly alert. He prowled around the desk and she sidestepped the opposite way, retreating until her bottom bumped the table that held the lamp. He sent her a mocking, triumphant look that said, Where do you think you’re going? He was blocking the path to the door and the only other choice was his bedroom.
Not an option.
She leaned back as he stopped in front of her and closed the distance until they were almost nose to nose. His breath warmed the skin of her cheek and something dangerous and ungovernable crackled in the air between them.
“Here’s another truth,” he growled, and this time she had no trouble reading the anger in his glare. His nostrils flared and his eyes grew impossibly dark. “You’re mine now, Emmy Danvers. I will never release you. Not even if you begged me on your knees. Not even if you fucked me all night.”
The coarse declaration dropped between them like an incendiary device. His storm-dark eyes dropped to her throat, to the dip of her clavicle exposed by her shirt, then travelled back up to her mouth. They were both breathing hard, as if there wasn’t enough air in the room, and Emmy couldn’t remember when she’d been so aroused. Every cell in her body burned.
“Damn you,” he murmured.
Emmy licked her lips. There were times when stealing something wasn’t so bad. Stealing a kiss, for example. “I—”
“Shut up,” he groaned. “I can’t trust a single word that comes out of your mouth.”
Chapter 24.
Alex couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so angry, so aroused, so full of contradictory emotions. He wanted to strangle the deceitful little wretch for proving his suspicions correct, to punish her for doing something so utterly foolish as to get herself caught like this, by him.
He was honor bound to turn her in—she was a criminal, one who’d stolen thousands of pounds’ worth of property that wasn’t hers. So why in God’s name was he feeling guilty for tricking her? For winning? Why this ridiculous urge to protect her from the obvious outcome of her capture—death by hanging, or at the very least banishment to the colonies, which was tantamount to the same thing, only slower?
And where had the suggestion that she use her body to influence