were artificial."
For a moment she didn't move. She wanted to be closer to him, to press up against him and have him put his arms around her, holding her. He was strong, in ways she couldn't even begin to comprehend, and that strength drew her to a dangerous degree. She wanted to bury her face against the somber black cloth of his coat, she wanted to stop smiling, stop laughing, stop dancing.
She wanted to run as far and as fast as she could.
She took a swaying step toward him, her most seductive smile on her lips. The carmine red had worn off hours ago, but she knew her mouth was one of her best features, full and inviting. Men loved her mouth, and Simon Pagett, beneath everything, was simply a man. "Our stakes were artificial,"
she murmured, "but my offer is entirely genuine." She reached out and gently stroked his chest, her fingers dancing on the thick wool. He caught her hand, stopping her. But he didn't release her fingers.
"Lady Whitmore," he said, and his voice sounded weary, "there is very little about you that is genuine. You aren’t the strumpet you wish you were. In feet, you are a kind woman who loves Montague very much, and for that I'm grateful."
"You have no cause nor right to be grateful," she said, her languor vanishing. "My affection for Monty has nothing to do with you." She tried to pull her hand free, but his grip lightened, and she was right. He was quite strong.
"True. But my feelings are my own. I reserve the right to feel anything I wish. Gratitude, disapproval.”
Her laugh was supposed to be light and airy. Instead it sounded bitter even to her own ears. "You don't feel desire, remember. Vicar?"
"I don't give in to desire. It doesn't mean I don't feel it quite profoundly. Unlike you."
She froze. "Don't be ridiculous. As you put it so elegantly, I spread my legs for anyone. I like to sleep with men. Is that so hard to believe? You think only men feel sexual desire?"
"I think women feel sexual desire quite strongly. I just don't think you do. You're a fake, a poseur.
Lady Whitmore. You may open your legs, for whatever twisted reason you have, but you never open your heart."
Since he wasn't releasing her hand, she moved closer still, pressing her body up against his, her anger overcoming every other feeling that might have tempered it. "Spare me your homilies. Vicar, they make me ill." She rubbed up against him, like a cat in heat, mocking him, but as he released her hand he caught her arms, putting her away from him. But not before she felt the unmistakable outline of his erection.
"My, my... It seems your vow of celibacy might be ready to take a tumble. Unless you walk around with a spyglass tucked in your breeches. It seems you want me to spread my legs for you." Her smile was mocking as she waited for him to push her away.
He wouldn't pull her back, she knew she was safe. She didn't want someone like Simon Pagett in her bed—he saw her with uncomfortable clarity. She preferred drunken lordlings and—
"I gave up meaningless couplings outside of marriage for reasons you couldn't possibly understand."
“Try me. And I do mean that."
“No," he said flatly.
"There it is again. No. Don't. Never. You really should find new words. Like Yes. Do. Always."
His fingers tightened, and he was going to kiss her. His grip was almost painful, and he lifted her off her feet, pulling her closer, and she wanted this kiss more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. His hands hurt her, though she doubted he realized what he was doing, and she closed her eyes, waiting for his mouth to meet hers.
And then she found herself plopped down on the floor, unceremoniously. "I refuse to play your games. Lady Whitmore."
She should have left well enough alone. He was far more of a danger to her equilibrium than the men she slept with—he had the capability of destroying all her hard-won defenses. But she couldn't stop herself.
"Coward," she said.
Monty let out a soft snore. Before she realized what was happening, Simon had grabbed her arms again and pushed her outside the tall French doors, out onto the stone terrace in the early-morning light. He pushed her up against the stone facing, holding her there, and put his mouth on hers.
It was astonishing. It was full-mouthed, seething with lust and abandon, and