occurred to her that she may have inadvertently left Decker’s note behind, nestled amongst her other correspondence. But his carriage was in sight, awaiting her, and she did not dare take the chance of returning and risk being observed. If someone caught her now, she would lose her chance of spending more time with Decker alone.
What were the odds anyone would enter her chamber whilst she was gone? She had dismissed her lady’s maid for the evening. Her lights were lowered. As far as the entire household was concerned, she was abed.
Her heart was already lighter. The pent-up excitement tangled in knots in her belly ever since she had gone to his offices earlier could no longer be contained. Her every sense was heightened. The night smelled like imminent rain and the promise of summer. The air was damp and humid. Darkness had never seemed more inviting. In the distance, a low roll of thunder sounded above the ordinary din of the city.
Jo’s heart was aflutter by the time his servant gave her a hand into the vehicle.
She entered to find him awaiting her as usual, his long legs on display in black trousers, his eyes almost cobalt in the low light. Their gazes clashed and held as she entered, and suddenly, everything else fell away. She forgot about the note, about the possibility of detection. She scarcely heard the door close at her back. All Jo could do was drink in the sight of Decker, so big and powerful and handsome.
“Josie.” He grinned.
There was his sobriquet for her. It suits you, and I like it, he had said. And she liked it, too. And, as she had told Decker, she liked him.
Too much.
Far too much.
Her heart plummeted somewhere into the vicinity of the soles of her handsome boots. All the rage, finest leather, crafted just for her, thanks to her sister-in-law Clara’s immeasurable wealth. They pinched Jo’s toes, but she had worn them because she wanted to look her best for him.
“Decker,” she greeted him in return.
His hands clamped on her waist and he hauled her toward him. She let out an embarrassing squeal of surprise, her hands finding his broad shoulders, as she landed sideways in his lap.
“Finally,” he muttered.
She inhaled, worrying her lower lip with her teeth, for she felt the same way, as if an interminable eternity had passed between when she had last seen him in his offices and this moment. “You saw me this afternoon.”
“And yet, waiting for this evening was torture.” He grimaced, but the action did not abate his allure one bit.
As for torture? Jo knew the feeling. Wrong or not, part of her was pleased to know he had been thinking of her and suffering. Perhaps even longing for her in the way she longed for him.
“I have not forgotten about the piano and the orphanage,” she reminded him.
“Of course you have not,” he said. “But I have not forgotten about something else. You owe me, and I intend to collect your debt.”
And then, his mouth was on hers, ending further discussion. She would think about it later, she told herself. She would question him. Get him to admit that he was the source of the piano, that he had sent those crates of books to the orphans, that he actually possessed a tender heart when it came to those who were not as fortunate as him. She would…
Oh.
She would…
Forget everything but the play of his mouth over hers. It was sinful, forbidden, delicious, knowing. So very knowing. He kissed her as if it were the last kiss he would ever give, the last she would ever receive. As if he were ravenous for her.
And her mind became a blank canvas.
All thought was banished by Decker’s kiss. His lips were smooth, soft, yet demanding on hers. She was helpless to resist. Not that she wanted to resist. Because of course, she did not. His tongue slid against hers. His teeth were on her lower lip, biting. Delicious.
She moaned into his mouth.
Her bustle was askew, which meant that beneath her bottom, she felt quite vividly the full, thick length of him. His manhood. How intense. How illicit.
How delightful. How delicious.
Jo kissed him harder at the thought. Kissed him back with all the ardor that had been waiting every second since she had seen him last. Since that precipitate knock at his office door from Macfie. Since his business interests had interrupted their interlude.
His hand was on her breast. Separated by layers, so