Page 46 of The Scoundrel and the Lady

And the worst of it was Agnes had been right—Iris was losing her heart to Merritt. It was time for her to fiercely protect herself so that she would not be permanently broken. Which meant that now that their wager had concluded, she needed to not see him again. It shouldn’t be too challenging, as their paths hadn’t crossed until she’d forced them to.

The following afternoon, her plan to never again see Merritt came to an ignominious end when he arrived at her doorstep, refused to be turned away by her butler, swept into her sitting room, and kissed her soundly.

Naturally, it took her several—quite enjoyable—moments to recover her senses enough to push him away.

“What—” She was breathing rather hard, as was only natural under the circumstances. “What do you think you’re doing?”

…

“I want you. It is that simple,” he said.

Her eyes rounded. “Well, you cannot have me. It wouldn’t be proper.”

He closed the distance again between them. “Not one moment we’ve spent together, since we met, has been proper. You cannot cry propriety only when it serves your purpose.”

“I most certainly can!”

“You crawled into my lap in the carriage last night.”

“Shh!” She glanced at the closed door to her parlor. “Someone might hear you.”

He stepped over to the door and turned the lock. “Now then, no one will hear us. Or stumble inside.”

“But—”

“Iris.” He trailed a finger down the bare part of her arm. “Have I ever told you that I always get what I want?”

Her green eyes met his. She shook her head but said nothing.

“Oh yes, it is true.”

“And you want—”

“You.” He looked directly into her gaze. “I want you.”

She swallowed visibly. “I don’t understand. Last night when we kissed, you pushed me away.”

“That is not why I stopped. I stopped you because I want you so badly, I’m not certain I can control myself when you’re around. You drive me to near madness.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Try me,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Kiss me again.”

She eyed him for a moment. Her tongue moistened her bottom lip, and then she leaned forward and kissed him. He pulled her the rest of the way to him, holding her tightly against his chest. And he kissed her back with all the passion he’d withheld from her in his attempt to rein in his desire. He walked her backward until her knees bumped against the settee, then he lowered them down atop it. Still, he kissed her.

She held nothing back, either; she moaned into his mouth and threaded her fingers through his hair. His hand found her breast. He was thankful that today she was dressed as a lady and her breasts were not bound and flattened against her chest. Instead he felt the delicious curve against his palm, and he wanted to explore every inch of her body.

He desperately wanted to see her, wanted to see the flush of desire spread across her lovely creamy skin, the pink at the center of her breasts, the length of her shapely legs.

“I want you now,” he groaned.

“Upstairs. My bedchamber.”

“Lead the way.”

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