the hell out of him.
And he had relished every second of it.
So much that he had lost control.
Now? He could not stop kissing her. Not if his life depended upon it. Already, he had forgotten his every carefully laid strategy for the evening. All thought had vanished into the ether, replaced by the yearning and all-encompassing desire he felt for the woman on his lap.
But then, reality intruded, as it was so oft wont to do, in the form of a rap on the carriage door.
“Mr. Decker?” asked his man from the other side of the closed carriage door. “We have been parked for a quarter hour. Do you wish to proceed, or has there been a change of plans?”
Right. Damn it all. His stupid plans.
Decker tore his lips from Jo’s, exercising every shred of control he possessed to manage the feat. He sucked on his lower lip and gazed into her face. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses, her expression dazed.
Good.
Pleased at how affected she had been by their interlude, he removed her from his lap, settling her alongside him once more with the greatest reluctance. He found her hat and returned it to her head, flipping down her veil before inspecting his handiwork, making sure she was impossible to recognize.
“No change,” he called to his driver. “We shall commence with the evening as planned.”
Chapter Six
Jo had kissed Mr. Elijah Decker.
Shamelessly.
Awkwardly.
Roughly.
Her first kiss, and she had slammed her lips into Decker’s with so much force, hers still ached with remembrance as they settled in the sumptuous chamber he had escorted her to. Though they had entered from the rear, even in the low light of the street lamps, she had seen enough of the exterior of the building to know at once that he had brought her to a new location. This was not his townhome.
An acute, intoxicating tangle of trepidation and excitement washed over her as she sat at the intimate, exquisitely carved dining table. Just as he had two evenings before, he sat opposite her, folding his commanding height into the chair with an elegant grace she could not help but to admire.
This time, there were no servants hovering about. Not yet, anyway.
“I am sorry,” she blurted, and then cursed herself when her cheeks turned to flame.
His intense stare was upon her, inscrutable. “What are you sorry for, bijou?”
Though she had been bold in the low light of the carriage, she felt the opposite now. Her courage deserted her. “You know.”
Sky-blue eyes seared her. “No, I am afraid I do not. Else, why would I have asked?”
To torment her, of course. The man seemed to glory in making her weak.
“The kiss,” she forced herself to say. “I am sorry for kissing you so…hard.”
He bestowed one of his rare, gorgeous grins upon her. “Why should you be sorry? I found your enthusiasm quite infectious. However, since you have yet to reach the point of breathlessness, I consider myself firmly on duty this evening.”
Had she not been breathless? She was certain she had. What else could explain the manner in which her heart had raced, the tingly feeling that refused to be banished even now, the shimmering sensation deep within her, as if she had just walked into summer after a lifetime of cold winter wind?
She blinked. What had he said?
Ah, yes.
Jo frowned at him. “I am a duty to you, then?”
“Not a duty,” he said softly, “but a pleasure. Everything about you is the height of pleasure. Never doubt it.”
She thought then, of his words in the carriage. Wicked words, sinful words, those had been. No one had ever spoken to her thus. She ought to have been horrified. Instead, she was intrigued and gratified.
“Where have you brought me?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.
The impulse to kiss him earlier after his carnal declaration had been undeniable. But now, she was out of her depths. Adrift once more. She scarcely knew what to expect from him.
“To my club,” he answered easily, as if it were an ordinary occurrence for an unwed lady to be present at the Black Souls—a club notorious for its secrecy and whispered predilection for vices.
Her heart beat faster. And between her thighs, that same insistent heat blossomed into an ache. How wrong it was for her to be here. How thrillingly delicious.
Before she could utter a word, a subtle rap sounded on the closed door.
“You may enter,” Decker called, his eyes never leaving hers.
Liveried servants bustled forth, bringing with them silver trays