Page 17 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

She lifted the note, and he reached over her shoulder and took it. A moment later the note dropped to the floor. “I win. Again,” he murmured.

Beatrice didn’t dare turn to look at him. She didn’t trust herself. Already her body yearned to sway backward and lean against his. “You didn’t even kiss her?” she asked.

“I kissed the back of her hand once in the coach when I had to stop it from wandering and then again when I said goodnight. It seemed only proper when she’d made such an effort.”

Beatrice turned her head, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “I suppose I chose poorly. She wasn’t the sort of woman you fancy.”

He put a hand on her waist, and she tensed as he turned her to face him. Her heart began skipping, beating like the wings of a butterfly in her chest as he held her at arm’s length and looked down at her.

“I wanted her,” he said. “I was tempted.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I want you more, and I earned my reward.”

She shook her head. “You can’t mean—”

“To claim my kiss right here and right now? That’s exactly what I mean to do. And believe me, that’s the least of what I want to do to you. But I’ll play by your rules because something occurred to me just now.”

“What’s that?” she asked, her voice a whisper. She couldn’t seem to draw enough air into her lungs, not with him so near. Not with his hands on her waist and those impossibly beautiful eyes locked on her face.

“You want me as much as I want you, and this game isn’t just torturing me. It’s torturing both of us.”

“I’m not tortured.” She gave a false laugh. His lips turned up at the corner.

“We’ll see about that. You owe me a kiss, Beatrice.”

“Fine.” She leaned forward to peck him, but he arched back and away. Her mouth dropped open at his obvious avoidance. “I thought you wanted a kiss.”

“Don’t try me, woman. I want more than a peck. Our agreement was for more than a peck.”

“We never specified—”

“Beatrice.”

His hands on her waist trembled slightly, and she caught her breath. He was exercising every ounce of restraint he had to hold her at arm’s length. Her gaze clashed with his again, and she saw the naked need in his eyes. He wanted her. Badly.

Heat rushed from her chest to her belly and between her legs. How could she not be aroused by the way he looked at her? She didn’t want to deny herself the pleasure of his mouth any longer. She lifted her arms from her side and slid her hands up his shoulders and behind his neck. He took a slow breath, and she felt his hands flex and release on her waist. She tugged his head down until their mouths were inches apart. She looked at him, watched as he lowered his lashes and closed his eyes, clearly wanting to savor this moment.

Whydid he have to do that? Her skipping heart tightened with desire and something else. She pushed everything but the desire away and slid her lips over his, closing her own eyes and simply feeling the softness of his mouth.

The kiss was…she wasn’t certain where he ended, and she began. It started slow and tentative with Beatrice in control. But somehow once her lips touched his, she couldn’t maintain that control. Her hands slid up into his hair, and he pulled her against him. Then his mouth claimed hers, hot and demanding, and she took as much as she gave. When his tongue stroked hers, she moaned and clung to him. He walked her backward until she was pressed against a wall. His hands slid into her hair, and he angled her head back to give him better access to her lips.He took full advantage of that access, kissing her until she was breathless and vibrating with need.

“Munro.” She grasped his coat, yanked it down from his shoulders, slid her hands over his chest.

He pulled back, his eyes full of promise, but instead of stripping her naked and taking her there against the wall, he freed his hands from her hair and pressed them against the wall behind her. His breathing was rapid, coming in short pants. She could feel his heart racing under her hands, and she stilled when he pressed his forehead to hers.

“Thank you,” he said between breaths. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight?”

He pushed away from the wall, adjusted his trousers, and turned his back to her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Where are you going?” she demanded. If he was half as aroused as she—and given the bulge in his trousers, she believed he was—he would want to finish what he’d started.

“To bed,” he said. “In my chamber. On the other side of the house.”

“And if I asked you to stay?” she asked, telling herself it wasn’t because shewantedhim to stay but because she was testing him again. Yes, that was it. More tests—except was he still the one being tested?

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