Page 70 of A Wicked Game

“Oh, no. I’m not afraid of that,” she said with perfect truthfulness. “You might be a dastardly Davies, but youhave a code of honor. And extraordinary control. I can’t imagine you being so overcome with lust for a vexing virgin like myself that you’ll abandon it.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw and she stifled the urge to smile. How could she be both amused and terrified at the same time?

He leaned in, looming over her, using his size to deliberately intimidate: all glorious threat and empty bluster. Her heart pounded in delicious anticipation.

“You, Miss Montgomery, are what they call atease.”

She batted her eyelashes at him. “Well, if you’re worried you might lose—”

“I’m not going to lose.” His eyes bored into hers. “I’ll take your bet. And I’ll kiss you so stupid you won’t evenrememberto say stop.”

Harriet tried not to let her delight show on her face.

Perfect.

Chapter Thirty

God, she was infuriating.

Morgan had no idea what game Harriet was playing, but whatever it was, if it involved letting him kiss her, anywhere at all, then it had his full support.

He was equal parts frustration and shimmering lust. Only she would blithely remind him of his honor and—in the very same breath—tempt him to abandon it.

He didn’t know whether to curse her or kiss her to within an inch of her life.

Fight her, or fuck her.Rhys’s sly comment echoed in his head.

No. There would be no fucking. They would stop long before that point. Harriet was just punishing him for making her the butt of the jokes on theBriseis. She would tell him to stop the moment she’d brought him to his knees.

Well, two could play at that game. He liked kissing. Helovedkissingher. He’d kiss her so thoroughly she’d forget her own bloody name.

He would remain in control.

He’d stop when she said so.

And he would win.

Even if winning—stopping—would feel very much like losing.

Ugh.She made him want to bash his head against the wall.

He wasn’t entirely sure what prize they’d agreed on, but since he’d been given permission to kiss her, he didn’t much care what it was. The kissing was a prize in itself. However long it lasted.

She was staring up at him, her gray eyes wide, her cheeks a faint pink in the firelight, and his stomach tightened in longing as his eyes dropped to her cheeky, damnable mouth.

He hadn’t kissed that mouth since Gryff’s garden—kiss number one—and the taste of her, the luscious feel of those pillowy lips, had plagued him ever since.

Bloody woman, to make him dream of her.

She wasn’t as confident as she was trying to appear. He could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath the hands splayed over her breasts. She was as much bravado as challenge, and the combination of innocent girl and provocative vixen was almost more than he could bear.

She wanted kissing? While she was half-undressed?

Fine.

It would be his pleasure.

Holding her stare in blatant challenge, he stepped forward, caught the back of her head in his palm, and tilted her face to his. She didn’t resist one bit. Her hands, still clutching the front of her gown, were crushed between them, trapped against his chest. He shot her a taunting smile.

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