Page 52 of A Wicked Game

She had no idea what she was doing to him, thank God. If she did, he was bloody sure she’d keep on doing it, just to drive him mad.

He was probably there already.

Lust held him on the knife-edge of reason. Every muscle roared at him to sate himself. It would be so easy. Tumble her back down onto the bed, kiss that gorgeous mouth of hers, bare every inch of her skin, and his, and push himself into her. He wanted it so badly he was shaking with it.

Do it!

He ignored the insistent whisper.Enough.This would have to be enough. He had no more kisses left.

He frowned. Had he actually pushed his finger inside her, or just his tongue? The past minutes were a bit hazy. It was probably a moot point anyway. Even if he hadn’t ruined her in strictly technical terms, she’d ruined him. For every other woman, ever.

She’d won, and she didn’t even know it.

She was watching him from her seat on his bed. Her gray eyes were dark and dreamy, her hair in delightful disarray around her face. Her lips were pink—and still un-kissed. A shaft of outrage pierced him.What a fucking waste!Those lips were made to be kissed. Daily. Hourly.

He started to lean forward to remedy the oversight, then remembered he was out of kisses and forced a light, teasing smile onto his face instead.

“So. Kiss number three. Did it meet expectations?”

God, his voice was low. He sounded like he’d been bellowing orders over a force nine gale. He cleared his throat.

Harriet let out a shaky laugh. “It surpassed them. But then, you knew it would.” Her face fell a little. “You’re very skilled. I suppose that comes from practice.”

His euphoric mood plummeted. Yes, he’d done that to other women on occasion, but every one paled into insignificance compared with her. Harriet wasn’t just one of many: She was thelastof many. The only woman he wanted to make love to ever again.

“No!” he growled, more harshly than he’d intended. “It comes fromdesire.”

Her eyes widened at his fervency and he cursed himself for not keeping things light. He didn’t want to frighten her with the force of his feelings; she was probably already embarrassed enough by what they’d just done.

She stood, suddenly awkward, and bent down to fasten her shoes. “So. Your forfeit is paid,” she mumbled at the carpet. “Thank you. It was most…”

“Extraordinary?” he suggested. “Unforgettable?”

“Educational.”

Morgan frowned at the top of her bent head.Educational?! Bloody woman!He’d show her educational—

No.He bit his lip to stop the words from tumbling out. She needed time to process everything.

And he needed a swim in an ice-cold lake.

She crossed to her discarded clothes on the back of the chair and struggled to refasten her shirt over her stays. “I should go.”

He clasped his hands behind his back to stop himself from taking her in his arms and kissing her senseless. Her color was still high and she was looking everywhere but at him; she was clearly mortified.

“Of course,” he said. He grabbed his own clothes and crossed to the door. “I’ll tell Mason to ready the coach.”

As he headed down the stairs, he realized how dismissive that had sounded, as if he couldn’t wait to get her out of the house. She wasn’t some harlot to escort off the premises now their liaison was at an end.Idiot!Hemight as well have warned her not to steal the silver on the way out.

His own hands were unsteady as he pulled on his jacket and retied his cravat using the mirror by the door. When he returned from the stables—ignoring his coachman’s cheeky comments about the brevity of the lady’s visit and how Morgan must be losing his touch—Harriet was waiting in the hall.

She followed him to the coach without a word, but when he climbed in after her, she finally looked him in the face again.

“Oh! I thought you would be sending me home alone.”

He feigned scandalized horror. “Unchaperoned? My dear Miss Montgomery, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I dread to think what youdodream of,” she countered, then bit her lip as if shocked by her own unguarded words.

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