When Harry Met Molly

the best three minutes you can imagine in a kissing closet. I’ll never be in one again.”

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

They were against the back wall of the space now, and he was leaving a trail of kisses down her neck. And somehow, he’d managed to pull down her neckline in the pitch-blackness and rub his thumb over her breast.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“Good,” he said back. And then he kissed and suckled her, rolling lazy circles around her nipple with his tongue. It was just enough to drive her crazy with desire, a desire she felt at that hot point between her legs. The thrumming had become full-blown drumming, and her knees were weak.

While his mouth played with her breast, he moved one hand down her leg and pulled up her gown and shift.

She held her breath.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

She would. She would trust him, the way she had at the lake. His warm, rough hand gently parted her legs. She couldn’t see him, but she felt him move lower, his hair brushing lightly against her skin, his lips and that wonderfully scratchy jaw sending chills over her flesh as he left more hot trails of kisses.

He slung one of her legs over his shoulder, all the while keeping her propped against the back wall. And then she felt it, his warm mouth kissing the inside of her thighs, and his fingers—

She couldn’t restrain a moan at the sensation of his fingers playing with her softest flesh. Sliding down the wall, she was helpless to stand, until he stopped her descent with a hand slung around her backside and his mouth.

His mouth.

He was licking and suckling her most womanly place. She arched her back and writhed with the delicious sensation.

“Harry.” She could barely get the word out.

He murmured something back.

Which sent her to the next level of delight.

She had no idea what he was doing with his tongue, but whatever it was, she was suddenly caught—over and over—in a wave of exquisite pleasure even more intense, if possible, than what had happened between them at the lake.

When it subsided, she felt—

She didn’t know how she felt. Sated. Thrilled. Wanting more.

Still pressed against the back of the closet, she took deep breaths. How could she ever have thought him selfish? He was always thinking of her pleasure. Always.

Harry partially stood, laid a light kiss on the fullest part of her left breast. “And that’s the best three minutes in a kissing closet I hope you shall ever have.”

She heard the smile in his voice and let out a shuddering breath. “Once again, I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” he said warmly. “Leaving a woman speechless is every man’s greatest delight.”

“Harry.” She giggled. “I want to do it again. It was…fun. More fun than I’ve ever had.”

He stood up and took her face in his hands. “You’re talking,” he said softly.

“I can’t help it.”

“So it seems.” Again, that smile in his voice.

“Is there a way…I can do that for you?” she whispered.

“Yes. Not that I expect you to. You’re not supposed to be a true mistress, remember?” He managed to find her nose and tap it with a playful finger.

And before she could answer, he opened the door. A stab of light from the candles in the drawing room illuminated his face. He turned to gaze at her.

“I’d give anything for a cameo of you looking the way you do right now,” he said, his voice so gruff and liquidy warm that she could hardly bear to let him go.

But he shut the door, and she heard his booted footsteps carry him away.

Away from her.

Away from her heart.

Chapter 27

Harry vowed to enjoy every minute of his last few days with Molly at the hunting box. Today was the treasure hunt, tomorrow evening was the big finale, and the day after that, the Impossible Bachelors and their mistresses were to go home. He knew what that meant—he and Molly would go their separate ways. And if he won the wager, he’d even have to help her find a husband.

After a filling lunch (with no tarts in sight), he sat on a bench outside the house with Molly and admired the soft, vulnerable tilt of her neck as she smoothed out the first page of directives Prinny’s advisors had devised for the treasure hunt. Each couple had a different set of clues, but they all led to one, final hide site containing the treasure.

“Here goes,” she said, then looked up at Harry. “First, there’s a long word, a string of random letters that doesn’t spell anything.”

She held up the paper:

HTIHSERVOILYLALAHGIGEHNPEUSBS

“Hmmm,” he said. “Gibberish, followed by a short verse.”

“Yes,” she said with a laugh. “Shall I read the verse aloud?”

“Of course. With fervor, please.”

She cleared her throat:

A story of love you’re commanded to find

About Wood house and Knightley and their meeting of minds.

She lowered the paper. “That’s Emma! You’ve read it, haven’t you? It’s not been out long.”

“I can’t say that I have,” Harry confessed.

“Oh, but it’s wonderful!” Molly wriggled in her seat. “It’s all about this girl, Emma, who gets in the middle of everyone’s business because she thinks she knows best—”

“Wait. Are you sure it’s not called Molly?”

She gave him a droll look. “I believe I’ll read the rest of the poem now.”

“Go right ahead,” Harry said, suppressing a grin.

Molly cleared her throat:

To whom does The Author dedicate this book?

Slash through those letters, then take a look

Your next move forward should be plain to see—

’Tis more than a destination—’tis your destiny.

“Our destiny?” Molly arched her delicate brows. “That’s rather dramatic.”

There was a tiny pause.

“And you love drama, don’t you?” Harry grabbed her hand and squeezed.

“Oh, yes!” She squeezed right back.

He laughed. Seeing her so happy was his greatest pleasure.

“I suppose we should find out who Emma is dedicated to,” she said thoughtfully, “and then we’ll eliminate the letters comprising that person’s name from this nonsensical word to find our next destination.”

“You mean our destiny,” Harry corrected her with a wink.

She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was enjoying herself immensely, judging from the way she kept