Page 72 of The Paid Companion

He halted in front of her, the toes of his boots mere inches from the tips of her shoes. If she took a step back she would come up hard against the wrought-iron balusters of the spiral staircase.

“We may both be capable of maintaining a professional relationship,” he said very softly. “But what if we choose not to do so? What happens then, Miss Lodge? Will you tremble?”

Her mouth went dry. Excitement snapped through her. She felt the knee-weakening warmth pooling in her lower body. She could not bring herself to look away from the smoldering fires in his eyes.

“I do not find myself trembling at that prospect either, sir,” she whispered.

“No?” He raised his arms and reached around and behind her to grip the balusters on either side of her head. “I envy you, Miss Lodge. Because every time I contemplate the prospect of an intimate connection with you, I do tremble.”

He was not touching her, but he had effectively imprisoned her. He was standing so close she could breathe in his unique, intriguing scent. Her head began to spin. She had to dampen her lips with the tip of her tongue before she could speak.

“Rubbish,” she managed. That sounded rather weak, she decided. Unable to resist the very closeness of him, she touched his jaw with her fingertips. “You are not even quivering.”

“That statement only proves how little you know about me.”

He did not take his hands off the bars on either side of her head, but he leaned forward until his mouth hovered just above hers.

He intended to kiss her, she thought, but he was giving her time to protest or bolt for the door.

A wild, reckless rush of sensation swept through her. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was run from him. Quite the opposite. Everything in her yearned to plunge into his embrace and allow herself to experience the mysteries of the passion that she knew she would find in his arms.

She flattened her palms on the front of his white linen shirt. When she touched him she heard a low, hungry groan deep in his chest. The knowledge that she had such a powerful effect on him made her feel as though she were a sorceress.

She sensed rather than saw his hands tighten into fists around the iron bars, and then his mouth closed over hers.

Sensation whipped through her; a glorious, heady, dizzying whirlpool of passion. She knew that if she did not explore these thrilling emotions with him she would carry the regret with her for the rest of her life.

Her hands slipped upward to encircle his neck. He reacted immediately, crowding against her until she was pressed tightly between his aroused body and the staircase. He gripped the balusters as though they were the only things that kept them both fastened to the earth.

“Elenora.” He drew a deep breath. “My brain tells me that this is not a good idea. But I do not seem to be able to listen to any more logic tonight.”

“There are other things in the world besides logic, sir.” She smiled up at him. “Things that are equally important.”

“Until tonight, I did not believe that.”

He kissed her again, deeply this time.

She responded eagerly, parting her lips for him and pushing her fingers through his dark hair.

He took his right hand off the baluster next to her left ear and began to unfasten the bodice of her gown. It fell away with shocking ease. When she felt his palm close over her left breast, surprise and pleasure rushed through her. A strange, delicious tension began to build deep inside. She heard herself utter a soft, husky cry.

He raised his head and looked down at her breast cradled in his palm.

“You are lovely.” He used his thumb to circle her nipple.

She wanted to touch him just as intimately. She lowered her hands and went to work unfastening his shirt. He muttered something. She could not make out the words, but the exciting promise in them was crystal clear.

By the time she got the garment open, her pulse was racing, causing wave after wave of tiny shivers to pulse through her. She drew her fingertips down his bare chest, entranced by the sensual feel of his firm skin and the texture of the hair that covered it.

Unable to resist, she kissed his throat and then his shoulder.

He shuddered.

His response encouraged her to move her palm lower, gliding across the sleekly muscled expanse of bare flesh until she was stopped by the waistband of his trousers.

He made a sound that was half groan and half muffled laugh and captured her exploring hand.

“We are playing with fire,” he said against the curve of her shoulder. “It is not a sport in which I often indulge. But tonight I am convinced that some flames are worth the risk.”

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