Page 103 of Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

She could not allow it. She threw her arms around him, pressing the length of her body against his. Her hands sank into his hair, pulling him toward her as her lips pressed against his. “Thomas,” she moaned, the word sinking into his skin. “Thomas, please…”

But he didn’t move. He stood stiffly, with no reaction to her onslaught, and then…

Something softened. First it was in his chest, as if he’d finally allowed himself to breathe. And then one of his hands moved…slowly, almost shaking…to the small of her back.

She shivered. She moaned against him. She let one of her hands sink into his hair. And then she begged.

“Please.”

If he rejected her now…She didn’t think she could bear it.

“I need you,” she whispered.

He went very still. So still that she thought she’d lost him. But then he exploded with passionate energy. His arms wrapped around her with stunning speed, and he wasn’t just kissing her back…

Dear God, it felt as if he were devouring her.

And she wanted to let him.

“Oh, yes,” she sighed, and she sank more deeply into him. This was what she’d wanted. She’d wanted him, yes, but more than that, she’d wanted this. The power, the knowledge that she had started something. She had kissed him.

And he wanted it. He wanted her.

It made her shiver. It made her melt inside. It made her want to knock him to the ground and straddle him and—

Good God, what had become of her?

Whoever she was, whoever she’d been just hours earlier—that woman was gone, replaced by some wanton spirit who had not spent twenty-one years of life learning to be a proper lady. When she’d kissed him—no, when she threw herself at him, praying he wouldn’t push her away—it had been a thing of her emotions. She was angry, and desperate, and sad, and wistful, and she’d wanted, just for once, to feel as if she were in control.

But now—emotion was gone. Her body had taken over, fueled by a need she’d only barely tasted before now. It was as if she’d been gripped from within. Something was tensing, twisting. It was deep inside of her, in places she’d never discussed, never even acknowledged.

And he—Thomas—only made it worse.

And better.

No, worse.

“Please,” she begged, wishing she knew what she was asking for. Then she moaned, because he was making it better again. His lips were on her throat, and his hands were everywhere—in her hair, stroking her back, cupping her bottom.

She wanted him closer. Most of all, she wanted more. She wanted his heat, his strength. She wanted his skin, burning against hers. She wanted to arch her back, to spread her legs.

She wanted to move. In ways she’d never dreamed possible.

Squirming in his embrace, she tried to shrug off her coat, but it only made it to the crook of her elbows before he groaned, “You’ll be cold.”

She struggled to free her right arm from its sleeve. “You can keep me warm.”

He pulled back, just enough so she could see his haggard expression. “Amelia…”

She heard the old Thomas in his voice. The one who always did the right thing. “Don’t stop,” she begged him. “Not tonight.”

Thomas took her face in his hands, holding her so their noses were a few inches apart. His eyes caught hers, tortured and bleak. “I don’t want to,” he said, his voice ragged.

But I have to.

They both knew what he’d left unspoken.

“I…I can’t…” He stopped, taking a shuddering breath as he forced himself to step back. “I can’t…do something…that will…” He was choosing his words carefully. Either that or he could not manage normal rational thought. “If I do this…Amelia…” He raked his hand through his hair, his nails biting into his scalp. He wanted the pain. Right now he needed it. Something, anything, that might ground him, keep him from falling apart.

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