When the tip of his tongue traced along the seam of her lips and coaxed her to open, he gave her exactly what she wanted—more. More heat as his tongue invaded her mouth to claim the entire kiss. More aching in her loins as he explored every dark recess of her mouth and made her shiver when he swept his tongue across her inner lip. And even more dizziness and weak knees, until she melted against the wall behind her and didn’t fight him at all as his hand slipped behind her nape and his strong fingers kneaded seductively at the base of her skull.
Her last thread of resistance snapped at that surprisingly erotic caress, which joined rhythmically with the slow but steady thrust of his tongue between her lips and the increasing throbbing between her legs. His mouth slid away from hers, and a soft whimper of loss fell from her parted lips.
“Mariah.” He smiled against her cheek.
A stab of defeat pierced her. So Carlisle thought he’d won, did he? Well, she’d prove to him that it would take more than that to convince her to surrender.
This time when he stepped back, Mariah advanced.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and delved her fingertips through the golden curls at his nape, then pressed her body so tightly against his front that she felt his heart slamming furiously against her chest. When she brushed her hips against his, a low groan tore from the back of his throat. Emboldened, she brazenly kissed him, and in that moment’s hesitation, when he was too stunned to move, she slipped her tongue between his lips the way he’d done to her.
That was enough to snap him out of his reverie.
He grabbed her shoulders and set her away, demanding in a raspy voice, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Despite the racing of her heart and the need to gulp back the air he’d stolen, she forced a shrug of her shoulders. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Kissing you.”
Then she pressed against him again, her lips managing to barely make contact with his before he set her away. An angry scowl hardened his face.
“Don’t you want me to?” she prompted as innocently as possible.
Something dark and heated flickered in his eyes, and thinking it was anger, she thrilled at finally gaining the upper hand. Hiding her own shaking and quaking brought on by the heat of his embrace, she leaned toward him as far as his restraining hands would allow.
She purred huskily, “Surely the notorious Robert Carlisle knows what to do with a woman who wants to kiss him.”
Despite gritting his teeth, his gaze fell longingly to her mouth, and for a moment, she thought he might just kiss her senseless again. And if he did, she wasn’t certain that she could withstand it this time without falling completely apart in his arms.
“Don’t tease me, Mariah,” he warned in a murmur. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Am I?” Pretending that he hadn’t affected her, even as that tingling heat still throbbed achingly between her thighs, she sadly shook her head. “Well, I certainly hope the other gentlemen I’ll meet this season are better at kissing than you.” She slipped away from him before he could reach for her again. Or she for him. “Or I’ll be too bored to consider marrying any of them.”
He stared at her coolly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You will be married by season’s end, I promise you.”
This time when he took her arm, instead of angling her against him to embrace her, he pulled her toward the door. He flung it open and led her into the hall so quickly that she struggled to keep up with his determined strides.
Robert snatched her bonnet and cloak from the waiting butler, who wisely averted his eyes, then slung the cloak around her shoulders and unchivalrously slapped her bonnet on her head. Then he pulled her toward the front door again. Anger radiated from him as he led her across the small portico and down to the carriage waiting in the street.
Ignoring the tiger, he placed her inside the carriage himself. But when she yanked her arm away, it wasn’t relief she felt but an inexplicable sense of loss. For one maddening moment, she wanted to blurt out an apology, to beg him to crawl inside the compartment with her and keep kissing her just as he’d done before, all the way home to her doorstep.
But the devil inside her couldn’t help one last parting jab, and she sniffed with mock disappointment, “If I’m going to be forced to give my first waltz to such a boorish man, I certainly hope you’re far better at dancing.”
He rose up onto the step and leaned into the compartment, bringing himself close to her in the small space. “Don’t you worry, minx,” he assured her in a husky voice that twined down her spine. “When it comes to having a woman in my arms, I do everything well.”
Her breath strangled in her throat. Leaving her to gape at him in stunned mortification at her own heated reaction to the beastliness in him, he closed the door, then ordered the coachman to drive off.
The carriage rolled forward, and she slumped against the squabs. A curse left her lips at him, followed immediately by several more at herself.
They’d fought their second battle, yet for the life of her she couldn’t have said which of them had emerged the victor.
CHAPTER FIVE
One Cold Day Later
Henry Winslow poured two glasses of bourbon. “The first thing you need to learn about Winslow Shipping, Carlisle,” he instructed, “is that we always make room for good Kentucky bourbon in our ships returning from the United States.” He looked up at Robert, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “Even if we have to tow it behind in a dinghy!”
Robert laughed and accepted the second glass.
Around them, the shipping offices on Wapping High Street were quiet and empty, which made for the perfect time for Winslow to meet with him. For once, all the employees were out for the afternoon, including John Ledford, the man who managed the day-to-day office operations. And who didn’t seem at all happy to have Robert joining the company.
Not that Robert was much bothered by it. Ledford would accept him once he proved his worth. The same way that Mariah would once she gave up her fight against her father and realized that his partnership was in the company’s best interests.
“The king wants new docks close to the Tower,” Winslow explained, jumping straight into the reason for this meeting. “With the current Parliament, whatever King George wants, he gets. And I want to make certain that Winslow Shipping benefits.”
Robert had heard the rumors himself about the king’s desire to expand the Thames waterfront, but he’d chalked it up to nothing more than royal egotism. If new docks were built at all, they’d have to be much farther downstream toward Millwall. “There’s no room for more docks at the Tower.”
“There is at St Katharine’s,” Winslow countered in a knowing drawl.
Robert narrowed his eyes. New docks at St Katharine’s? Impossible. The London embankment was already filled to capacity with wharves and quays so busy that ships often had to wait at anchor mid-river for days before they could unload. Including the stretch fronting St Katharine’s.
Robert shook his head. “The only way that more docks can be made in London is if God himself moves the river, to carve out miles of new embankment where it doesn’t exist.”
Winslow paused, the glass of bourbon raised halfway to his lips. A slow, devious smile spread across his face as he pinned Robert knowingly over the rim, then finished taking his sip.
“Good God,” he murmured as the full realization of what Winslow was insinuating washed through him, sending up a tingle of excitement in its wake. New docks…in the city. God didn’t make enough river for that, but King George could, by digging out a basin just inland along the riverside that would create miles of new riverbank. And miles of new riverbank meant miles of new quayside and warehouses—and tremendous new profits for Winslow Shipping. If they were bold enough to seize the opportunity.