Reckless - By Anne Stuart Page 0,75

small curtsy. "You've been very kind. Lord Rohan,"

she said. "I will bid you good-night..."

"Allow me to hand you into the carriage," he said politely, taking her arm and leading her toward one of them. In days to come she would berate herself for being so unobservant, but at the time she was so relieved to have made it through the evening without being recognized that she probably would have climbed into the royal coach without looking.

The door was opened, the steps came down, and he put his wide hands around her slim waist and lifted her into a closed carriage that was far too elegant to be a hired hackney, and then the coach dipped beneath his weight as he followed her in, closing the door behind them, shutting them into the darkness.

She opened her mouth to scream, but he simply stopped her with his mouth, kissing her, holding her still as the carriage moved forward with an almost imperceptible jerk.

She fought him, furious. She had thought he was above such shoddy tricks, absconding with unprotected females. She tried to use her knee, but he simply put one of his long, heavy ones over hers, trapping her in place. She tried her elbows, but his arm snaked around her, imprisoning her against him.

Oh, God, she wanted to kiss him back, she wailed inwardly, keeping her jaw clamped shut. She wanted to taste him, fall back against the squabs and let his mouth wander everywhere. His hand was cradling the back of her neck, slowly massaging it, and she could feel herself begin to melt anyway, soften against the steady pressure of his strong body.

He lifted his mouth for a brief moment, and in the darkness of the unlit carriage she could see the glitter of his eyes. "Open your mouth for me. Charlotte," he whispered. "I've been waiting hours to kiss you and I'm running out of patience."

Her shock was enough that she did as he told her, and his kiss was full and deep, a possessive hunger she felt vibrating through her body. She stopped struggling, when she knew full well she should have fought even harder. She let him kiss her, closing her eyes and savoring the taste of him in her mouth, and he pulled her unresisting body onto his lap.

"You can do better than that, sweet Charlotte. By the time I left you, you were growing quite adept.

Give me your tongue.”

“Give me yours," she murmured, “and I’ll bite you.”

She could feel the laugh rumble through his body as it pressed against hers. "No, you won’t."

And he proved it, tilting her head back, cradling it with one of his hands, and kissing her so thoroughly she felt as if she were melting against him. She made a small, whimpering noise, and she knew what it was. The sound of surrender.

He'd removed her loo mask and tossed it to one side, and he was busy unfastening the ribbons that held the domino close about her. "How could you think I wouldn't know you?" he chided softly. "I know the way you move, the way you bite your lip when you're nervous, the sound of your laughter, your eyes. I know your hands and your skin, your scent, the way you try to pretend that something doesn't bother you when you're very bothered indeed." He slid one hand down between them, between her thighs, and she tried to squirm away from him. "Though I must admit I'd like to hear your laugh more often. Perhaps see you scowl less and smile more.”

“Leave me the hell alone," she said breathlessly, hoping the curse added the peremptory note mat her aching voice lacked.

He caught her chin, pulling it up to meet his face, and she looked into his devastating smile. "I can't do that, love. That's been my problem for the last three weeks. I can't stop thinking about you, and I'm afraid no one else has managed to distract me.”

So she wasn't alone in this, she thought miserably. That was something, at least. He lusted after her. She could feel his erection beneath her hips, and she moved, just enough, a subtle caress that made his arms tighten around her.

“Holy Christ," he muttered in her ear. "Don't do that."

“Why?"

“Because I'd like to wait until we get back to my house."

Her heart leaped into her throat. "I'm not going to your house."

"I'm afraid you are, love. You're in my carriage, and that's where we're heading. Don't worry—I'll send a note to