Page 82 of A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

And she burned, as did he. There was fire in his touch, in his lips-despite the swelling heat, she couldn't get enough. As her limbs melted and resolution evaporated, she clung to her wits and inwardly cursed. How would she get him to love her if he married her like this?

How to stop him?

As if in answer, he deepened the kiss. Her head spun. Boneless, near to spineless, she sank deeper into his arms, into his strength. Into his shocking heat.

"I've dreamed of marrying you."

The words were a gravelly whisper. He steered her back a few steps; her hips met the dressing table.

"You have?" Breathless, she struggled to lift her lids.

"Mmm-hmm." Propping her against the dressing table, he eased back.

The sudden loss of his hard body against her, all but around her, left her disoriented. She dragged in a breath, watching as he shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat, tossing them on a nearby chair. He returned to her, his hands sliding, then firming about her waist.

"You've dreamed of our wedding?" She found that hard to believe.

His lips kicked up at the ends; his expression remained driven. "My dreams were more concerned with our wedding night."

He drew her to him. Eyes flaring wide, very certain of what she glimpsed in his, she braced her hands against his chest. "No. You know how I feel about marrying for such a reason."

He didn't force her closer, didn't pull her against him and simply melt her resistance. Instead, he ducked his head and dotted gentle kisses along her jaw, over her earlobe. Then his lips slid farther, to caress the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

She shivered.

"Would marrying me be such a hardship?"

He breathed the words against her ear, then drew back just enough so that as she turned, her eyes met his.

/> Their faces were so close that their breaths mingled. Wide-eyed, Flick looked deep into serious blue eyes, into his perfectly serious, well-beloved face. "No."

He didn't move, didn't grab her in triumph and crow. He simply waited. She studied his eyes, his face, then drew in a shallow breath. About them, the air shimmered, stirring, alive, invested with power. She felt his temptation, his promise, and more. Lifting one hand, she traced the line from one cheekbone to the corner of his lips. Hauling in another breath, she stretched up on her toes and touched her lips to his.

It was madness-a delicious, heady, compulsive madness-a sudden need that seared her, drove her, impelled her. It was impulse-pure, distilled and potent; she had no idea where it would lead.

But she kissed him-invitingly, encouragingly, challengingly. And sank into his arms as they closed about her, sank into his embrace, and into the kiss.

It caught her up, swept her up, and they were back in the fire, back in the flames.

Demon knew very well that she'd simply sprung her horses, that she was riding wild before the wind with no particular goal in mind. It was enough. He was expert enough to ride with her, to set his hand gently on her reins and guide her where he willed.

It took him a moment to work out the details-to plot and plan the where and how. Courtesy of her wildness, her increasingly abandoned kisses, he was already aching, but that was his most minor concern. He'd never made love to an innocent, wild or otherwise-she looked set to test his expertise, his control, to the limit.

Releasing her lips, he firmed his hands about her waist and lifted her, setting her atop the dressing table, giving thanks to whatever rakish god watched over him; the top was the perfect height.

She blinked at him in surprise. Her new position left her face more level with his. Her breasts swelled, then she noticed her skirts straining over her parted knees. She clamped her legs together and quickly shuffled back. Curls in disarray, her lips swollen, her eyes slightly wild, she stared at him. "What-?" She had to stop and haul in another breath. "What are you about?"

He let his lips curve reassuringly; he could do nothing about the fire in his eyes. His gaze locked on hers, he stepped forward, his hips meeting her knees, immobilizing her legs. Lowering his gaze to her chest, he reached for the top button of her bodice. "I'm going to make love to you."

"What?" Flick looked down as the first button popped free. His fingers caught the next button-she gasped and closed her hands about his wrists. "Don't be ridiculous."

She hadn't thought this far. And, thanks to him, her wits were frazzled, her brain was overheated. She certainly couldn't think now. She tugged once, then harder, and shifted his hands not at all. He continued to undo her buttons.

"Since by tomorrow evening we can rely on the entire ton believing that I spent tonight in your bed, there's no reason I can see that I shouldn't."

Fleetingly, he met her gaze; his was hot, smoldering blue. Temptation and promise-both glowed clearly; Flick found the sight reassuring.

Reassuring? She was losing her mind-he'd already lost his.

---