Page 6 of A Rogue to Ruin
“You seem to know where you’re going,” she said.
“I’m good at pretending.”
His words made her stop. She tugged on his hand. “Is that what we’ve been doing?”
He pivoted, and she moved with him until her back was against the wall. With more than a foot of height advantage, he towered over her. “What would we have been pretending? I am not a lord. I made that clear from the start.”
He’d made it clear he wasn’t anearl, but she wouldn’t quibble. Now that he was so close to her and the space was dim and small, she knew what she’d said was foolish. The time she spent with him was the most real she could be. He didn’t expect her to be a perfect young miss or to conquer Society and be the success her older sister wasn’t.
“I don’t pretend with you,” she said softly. She also didn’t tell him the complete truth, such as her name, and neither did he totally reveal himself to her. “You see who I am. Don’t you?”
“Yes.” His answer thrummed in her chest.
“And I see you.”
“No.” The word came hard and fast. “You see what I want you to see.” He put his palm on the wall above her head and to her left as he pressed his body against hers. He tipped his head down and looked into her eyes. “What do you see?”
Anne lifted her hand and touched his cheek. She glided her fingers down to his jaw. “I see a man. A man who makes me feel important and valued. A man I want.”
A soft but guttural sound lodged in his throat. “You can’t know what that means.”
“Can’t I?” She slipped her hand between his collar and his neck and moved it back to his nape. Pulling him toward her, she stood on her toes and touched her lips to his.
What on earth was she doing? This was utter madness. It was one thing to traipse all over East London in a stranger’s company, but to kiss him?
Only, he wasn’t a stranger. She might not know his name, but she knew him—his character, at least.
And now she was kissing him.
He clasped her waist and pulled his lips from hers but didn’t retreat. “Brazen,” he whispered against her mouth. “Beautiful.”
She looked up into his eyes. “Kiss me. Please?”
“I should decline, but fortunately for you, my judgment is questionable.” He slid his hand between her and the wall, flattening his palm against the small of her back. Holding her fast, he pressed against her as his other hand cupped the side of her neck, his thumb stroking along her jaw. “Ready?” At her nod, he added, “Remember, I am not who you think me to be.”
His mouth crushed over hers, his hands pressing into her, capturing her for the onslaught of his lips and tongue. For that’s what it was—a tumult of desire and desperation that echoed her own. She had no idea what he was doing as his tongue slid into her mouth, but she wanted every part of it.
Sensation soared and spiraled, igniting little fires of need throughout her body. But it was the lush beauty of his kiss that captivated her. He tasted of that bitter coffee but there was something else, a masculine flavor and swagger that threatened to sweep her away if the sudden wobbliness of her legs meant anything.
His tongue swept against hers, exploring and teasing, provoking her to respond. She met him with a gentle thrust, and it must have been right because his thumb pressed into her cheek just in front of her ear.
His body was big and solid against her, making her feel both small and secure in his embrace. She never wanted to leave it. Or him.
The kiss gentled, slowing until he pulled back. But he didn’t move away. “That was unwise.”
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “That was heavenly. Please do it again.”
The edges of his mouth curved up. “What am I going to do with you?” he murmured.
“Anything you like.” She trailed her fingertips along the underside of his jaw toward his throat.
“Brazentemptress.” He abruptly let her go and clasped her hand, leading her to a door. Once they were outside in a narrow alleyway, he wound around the row of buildings and back onto Paternoster Row. “Time to return to Hatchard’s.”
Anne sighed. “Pity.”
They walked in silence for a moment. Anne worked to organize her jumbled thoughts—and tamp down the persistent desire she felt toward him. “Would it be bad if we told each other who we are?”
“Yes.” He didn’t pause or even slow. “I meant what I said before—I am not the man you think me to be. If you hope I can court you, know that I cannot. Ever. I should not have kissed you.”
