The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,80

for decency and a chance to collect herself, she turned away from the innkeeper as he came around the corner.

Lord Constantine had no such luxury. She must hope the entryway was dark enough to conceal any protruding evidence of their encounter.

She rested her hand against her heaving bosom and tried to untangle her thoughts while Con saw to the innkeeper’s questions. This shouldn’t have happened. Once, she’d stayed up nights planning her seduction of him. She’d wanted to have Lord Constantine eating out of her hand. What they’d just done was nothing like that. She tingled where his arms had embraced her. The hug that came naturally to him was foreign to her. And his kiss… That wasn’t simple passion. It wasn’t pity. It was two people who were slowly coming to need…

This.

Con swept her back into his arms as the innkeeper’s steps faded down the hall. He kissed her neck with light, tickling nips against her skin. Then he brought his lips down on hers with one whispered word, “Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth.

“Your father can’t reach you,” he murmured against her hair. “Please, Elizabeth. Let me keep the demons away.”

His proposition tugged at her heart, dragging her another foot closer to a dangerous place. Truthfully, her father’s threat had been the last thing on her mind. Con’s offer underscored his character. He reassured. He was the type to cajole a sad friend into cheer, or hold a fragile, disconsolate woman.

He was the opposite of her father. Her heart broke to know Wyndham hated her just as much as he always had. But she also felt as though a huge weight had been lifted. Lord Constantine had witnessed her father’s unequivocal hatred of her and still wanted her. He kissed her and caressed her as if she were the only woman he’d ever wanted. As if she were the most valuable woman in the world to him.

“Please,” he brushed his lips against hers in entreaty, “don’t make me sleep alone tonight.”

Her heart ached. Alone. They didn’t have to be alone. “Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes and tilting her face to meet his kiss. “I want you to hold me.”

He pulled back suddenly and stared at her with a frightening intensity. Then he grabbed her hand and tugged. The narrow downstairs doors blurred as he led her to the stairs. Her heart thumped as they ascended. Her senses heightened. By the time they reached his room and he swung open the door, revealing a bed, table and wooden chair, she felt ready to swoon. Then he turned her in his arms, kicked the door closed and kissed her again, and she knew…she would never be able to lose him after tonight.

He looked at her with open desire. Her pulse raced. He’d always been circumspect with her. Teasing, cajoling, and easy to be near, but the undercurrent was always there: I want you, but I don’t want to want you. At last he’d given in.

His hands roamed the dip of her spine, then lower, to cup her backside and bring her more fully against his arousal. He made an approving sound that sent a stirring of want straight to her core. Easily, he lifted her from her feet so that her breasts crushed against his chest and her arms were useless, and strode to the side of the bed.

She couldn’t take her eyes from him. He caught her staring and smiled deliciously. “Are you thinking I should have been carrying you hither and yon this entire time?” He let her slide slowly down the length of his hard abdomen.

Handsome, wicked man.

She returned his smile, feeling coy and beautiful. “It has its benefits.”

His gaze fell to the expanse of bosom smashed against his chest. “Certainly.” Then he stepped back and appraised her. He touched his first finger to his chin, as though deep in thought.

She rested her hand on her hip and thrust one leg out, tipping her head back. A coquettish smile invited him to look his fill. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

“The thing of it is,” he said, dropping his hand and stepping toward her. His hot perusal seared her. “The thing of it is, I very much prefer you to be looking at me.” With that, he shrugged out of his greatcoat. The heavy garment fell with a whoosh onto the bed. He made the same short work of his wool coat, cravat and waistcoat.

Her senses heightened as each layer came away. He watched her watch him. He seemed to