Page 103 of The Wolf of Mayfair
And then it hit him.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he barked.
People didn’t walk away from him.
“Leaving,” she said, without breaking an impressive stride.
Apparently, this chit did, however, walk away from him.
Wingrave gnashed his teeth.
The hell she would.
He took a step toward her.
Even with the sizable lead Helia had on him, Wingrave overtook her in three long strides.
He slapped a palm over the panel, anchoring the door shut.
Unfazed, Helia’s scowl only deepened. “Move yer hand, my lord.”
When fired up, her brogue thickened, and he found himself not repelled but further lured by whatever siren’s spell she’d cast. He dipped his gaze to the rapid rise and fall of her chest; the pink, erect tips of her breasts pressed invitingly against the thin fabric of her modest night garments.
“That is, unless ye find yerself in the habit of trapping women who want nothing to do with ye,” Helia taunted.
“I confess, kitten,” he said, desire thickening his voice, “I’ve never found myself in this position.”
“Never tell me, becauseallwomen want ye?” she dryly asked.
“Yes.”
Helia rolled her eyes. “Well, I am nah that woman.” Her expression hardened. “Now move.”
“I’ll do so happily.”
Like a good girl, she waited patiently.
“When?” she snapped, like the naughty girl she truly was.
“After you tell me just where it is you’re going with those letters you’ve pocketed.” Boldly, Wingrave slipped his fingers inside that pocket and caressed not those pilfered notes, but rather her soft, flat belly.
Her lithe muscles lost the tension in them. The graceful column of her neck moved.
He stroked his hand lower, so that he brushed the dark curls shielded by that cotton.
Her thighs slipped apart, and Helia bit her lower lip.
Suddenly, Wingrave stopped, and her body sagged.
Still, he made no attempt to withdraw his hand.
He bored his angry gaze into Helia’s dazed, desirous one. “Tell me,” he demanded sharply.
She blinked furiously, then snapped upright, as if jolting herself out of the haze he’d placed over her.
“I’m l-leaving.”
She thought to just leave? The audacity. The gall. She’d just up and go, without so much as a parting farewell?
