She tied the deck up with the string and paper they’d come in, then rose and crossed the room, returning the cards to the drawer.
Ivo stood, somewhat clumsily. He was a trifle foxed, and trying not to appear too eager. He had to do this just right, or she’d bolt. One chance. That was what fate had given him. Once chance.
He paused, one hand on the door’s handle, and looked down at her. Her eyes were slightly unfocused. As he took a last step towards her, she smiled tremulously, and put one hand up to his chest to clutch his waistcoat. Her fingertips hooked over the edge to nestle between the thick silk of his waistcoat and the fine linen of his shirt.
His struggle to formulate a plan was wholly given up under that tiny encroachment. He let go of the handle and pulled her to him, groaning as she slid her other arm up around his neck, tilting her face up and offering him her lips.
Oh, yes. She was going to make it easy…
She flicked her tongue over his lips, parted her mouth to meet his returning thrust. Ivo caged her, turned her so her back was against the door, moved his hands slowly down until they gripped her hips. He deepened the kiss, tongue stroking, filling her mouth. He’d spent too many nights recently picturing this, and she was every bit as willing as he’d ever hoped or dreamt. Suddenly she was the siren without the rocky coast.
Breaking off their kiss, he slid one arm securely about her waist and turned the handle of the door. He wanted to be upstairs, in one of the large, sturdy beds. Now.
She didn’t move when he tugged her towards him. He paused and looked down at her, captured again by the clear wing of her brows, the sculptural purity of her nose, the enticing bow of her top lip.
‘Once,’ she said, that same lip blooming out, forming the word as though she were puckering for a kiss. ‘Just this one night.’
Ivo let go of the handle and pressed her back against the door. ‘What?’ He struggled to make sense of her statement. Surely she couldn’t mean—
‘One night, Dauntry. That’s all I ever allow.’
‘No.’
She stiffened slightly. Her eyes shuttered. She put one hand up to his chest and pushed him back a fraction of an inch.
‘No?’
She looked honestly perplexed.
‘No,’ he repeated, pressing close again, his erection riding against her belly. One night had been all he’d been after, what he’d thought it would take to appease his pride, but hearing her dictate it in that condescending manner angered him. ‘Six years, George. That’s what I gave up for you. One night doesn’t come close to compensating me for that.’
‘Compensating you?’ Her eyes flashed, anger bubbling up, making the depths sparkle. ‘Tonight isn’t—’
‘Six nights. One night for every year.’ He cupped her jaw, ran his thumb along her cheek, savoured the softness of her skin, the slight tremble of her whole body in response to the caress. He leaned in, setting a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the delicate skin just below her ear. ‘You owe me at least that much.’
‘One.’
‘No.’ He bit her softly on the neck, teeth grazing flesh until she shivered, pressed closer.
‘Three. I’ve never given anyone that.’
‘No.’ He rolled his head past hers, brushing her chin with his before tonguing her earlobe on the neglected side. She wilted back against the door, breath shuddering out of her.
‘Five,’ she said weakly.
‘Six.’ He kissed her hard, crushing her mouth beneath his. ‘Six nights, whenever and wherever I say, and you’re not to offer any other man so much as a kiss until our bargain is complete.’
‘What makes you think I want you badly enough to agree?’
Ivo just smiled and kissed her again. She was down to nothing but sheer bravado. Her whole body had begun to tremble.
‘Just tell me no, then.’ He pulled back slightly, just enough for the cold air of the room to rush between them, to dispel the warmth of his body against hers. ‘Send me off to sleep alone.’
‘Damn you,’ she said, her hand locked onto his lapel.
‘Too late,’ he replied as he dragged open the door and half carried her up the stairs, too deeply in the moment to care who might be about to see them.
George paused as she opened the door to her room, locking eyes with him over her shoulder for just a moment, a challenging glint in her eyes. She was angry. Oh, yes, she was. But she was also every bit as excited as he was.
Angry wasn’t a problem. He could work with angry.
He shoved her into the room and fumbled behind his back for the lock. The fire was lit, lending a dull glow to the room. A single candle burnt behind glass on the mantel.
The door shut audibly in the quiet room and she put one hand out to him, beckoning him to her. She grabbed hold of his hand, her grip strong and true, and pulled him towards the bed, never taking her eyes from his.
Her familiar wicked smile was back in place as she pushed him down onto the bed and leaned forward to kiss him. His favourite smile. The one that always seemed to imply some shared secret.
‘Time to take your boots off,’ she whispered, sliding off him to kneel at the bedside.
Ivo lay back and stuck one foot out, riveted as she gripped his boot—one hand at the toe, one cupping the heel—and firmly tugged it off as skilfully as his valet would have. She cocked one brow at him and he put his other foot out, laughing quietly as she wiped her prints off his boots with the skirt of her habit, ever the conscious Corinthian’s lady.
When his boots were off, she unbuttoned his breeches at the knee, carefully removed his stockings, rolling
