Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)

A layer of London grime coated her windows, letting in only the barest hint of light from the street. He pressed his forehead to hers. Say my name again.

Instead, her muscles tensed in rejection. First her thighs grew taut underneath his own, then her stomach. The tension traveled up her shoulders. She put her hands against his chest. Infinitesimal pressure; unmistakable message. Get off me.

With a sigh, he withdrew from her body and rolled beside her. The mattress sagged as he moved, compressing under his weight. It was some kind of an uncomfortable straw tick. He could feel every hint of unevenness against his bare back. The ropes supporting them swayed with the movement.

On this small a bed, it was difficult to lie beside her without touching. Somehow, she arranged herself to manage precisely that. Gareth shut his eyes. He imagined a nimbus of heat and light surrounding her. Touching him, like a tentative kiss. When she rolled on her side, away from him, cool air washed over his bare skin.

“Well.” His voice sounded foreign, clipped and shorn of emotion. “Maybe we should have said goodbye with a handshake.”

“Where would be the fun in that?”

And just like that, she trussed him up. Because what Gareth wanted was this—this naked intimacy, from this woman. From the one woman who had seen that the isolating role of Lord Blakely was as much a facade as the colorful costume she’d once worn. He wanted her.

“Fun.” The word tasted oddly in his mouth. Fun didn’t encompass this.

“Fun,” she repeated firmly, turning slightly toward him. “That’s when people enjoy themselves. I hear it’s even possible for lords with a serious, scientific bent.”

When he didn’t say anything, she sighed. “You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself just now.”

“I believe,” Gareth said quietly, “I was too busy enjoying you.”

Damning silence. He’d said too much.

If he expected to maintain any dignity in this, Gareth knew precisely what to do—stand up, find his clothing in the darkness and walk out her door. Give her the farewell she’d asked for. But while the ferocity of lust had burnt through him, something far more primitive called to him. His skin ached for hers; his arms clamored to hold her. He wanted to feel the rise and fall of her chest as she nestled against him, wanted to run his hands down her skin slick with sweat, until the moisture evaporated.

Caught between hubris and hunger, his body responded in geological time, as if he were embedded in a thick slurry of igneous debris. Cliffs could have crumbled to nothingness in the silence that followed. Instants bled into aeons.

“You needn’t feel any responsibility,” she whispered, her words uncertain. “And you need have no fear I shall kick up a fuss over you.”

“I fear only that I am too exhausted to move any further.” He let the muscles in his back slacken.

“Lord—Gareth?”

He still had no words for her. He feigned a sleepy murmur and turned, his arm sliding over her hip as if he were tossing in his sleep. She stilled beneath him, tense as a frightened cat. Then she sat up with a sigh and pulled the blanket around him. Weight distributed on the bed as she stood. The sound of splashing water followed. Minutes later, she nestled against him, her skin cool. She relaxed and gradually her breath slowed.

He was safe. She was close. Decisions would wait until morning.

With the lust burnt out of him, he realized his final words had been truer than he realized. Days of insufficient sleep and the worry of the passing night deadened his limbs. And Gareth slipped into the dark haven of sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JENNY WOKE to the raucous sounds of midmorning. The market a few squares over was in full swing, and the street outside was busy. She was warm.

Lord Blakely’s limbs were entwined with hers. He hadn’t slipped out in the middle of the night as she’d expected. He was still here. She sent up a fervent prayer that their final farewells would not prove too awkward.

Then she opened her eyes. He lay on his side, watching her with those intent, contemplative eyes. His hand lay negligently on her naked hip and his sleep-rumpled hair gave him an air of lazy self-satisfaction. How long had he been watching her?

She’d seen little of his features in the dark last night. Perhaps it had been a good thing. Even disheveled as he was, he made her heart stutter. Those eyes. She could not have dared make love to him with those eyes boring into her, stealing her anonymity.

Before she could think of a greeting, he leaned forward and captured her lips.