Free Dance of Seduction by Sabrina Jeffries Page B

appealing just now.
    But he wouldn’t. Not because of her silly threats, ofcourse. Ravenswood would handle any complaint to the police with swift efficiency. He wouldn’t because he didn’t take unwilling women, even when the force of desire made them temporarily willing.
    So no matter how giving and lush her mouth, no matter how womanly the body pressed to him, and no matter how freshly scented her hair, he must put her aside before she got under his skin any further. He’d made his point. If she didn’t flee his shop now, she didn’t have the sense God had given her.
    Releasing her, he stepped back and waited for the outrage to show in her face, waited for the inevitable slap. He needed it, wanted it. Then he’d be rid of her for good.
    No slap came. Instead, she twined her arms about his neck and hung onto him. When she then stretched up to press her lips to his, he jerked back to growl, “What the hell are you doing?”
    Her pretty eyebrows arched high on her forehead. “Kissing you, of course.”
    Her apparent eagerness confused him. But his body didn’t think twice—every confounded muscle sprang to attention. “Why?”
    Determination glinted in her eyes. “Without more proof, I can hardly complain to the officers that you were ravishing me. You have to be in the midst of something more incriminating than kissing me before I can scream for Samuel and have him march you off to the Lambeth Street Police. Of course, if you’d rather just give me that watch, Captain Pryce…”
    The little fool thought to bluff him with her petty threats. She had no idea how close she was coming to breaking his control. Even knowing it was a bluff couldn’t calm the havoc in his randy body. “If we’re to be intimate,” he taunted her, “don’t you think you should call me Morgan?”
    “Very well.” Her voice dripped sweetness. “My dear Morgan, can we get on with this business of ravishment?”

    “You still think I wouldn’t dare, don’t you?”
    “I know you wouldn’t,” she challenged him.
    He glared down at her, his hands tightening convulsively on her waist. “I ought to call your bluff. I ought to ravish you if only to make you see how foolish you are to risk your virtue so recklessly.”
    “I’m touched, truly touched that you care,” she retorted, echoing his own mocking words.
    “Oh, stubble it,” he rasped and kissed her again, not bothering to hide one ounce of his need, determined to teach her a lesson.
    But damn her if she didn’t kiss him back. Her mouth accepted his reckless tongue as enthusiastically as any tart’s, and if he hadn’t known she didn’t mean it, he would have laid her down right there and taken her. He wanted her that much. Too much.
    Perhaps it was time he showed her how much. He slid his hand between them to cup one breast, kneading it through the worsted of her gown.
    For one incredible moment, she actually responded, leaning into his hand and making his loins stir with keen excitement. Then she froze and jerked back, her eyes a brilliant, startled blue. “What are you doing?”
    “Waiting for you to scream for your watchdog, my dear Clara.” Holding her gaze, he lifted his other hand to caress her other breast. He tried not to imagine what color the nipple might be or how it would taste in his mouth, tried not to notice how well it fit his palm. “Go ahead—scream. This is your plan, after all. Or must I remove some clothing before you consider it sufficient evidence for the police?”
    With a shocked little gasp, she slid out of his arms and away.
    Thank God. Another minute, and he’d have abandoned any gentlemanly impulses entirely, reduced to a slavering beast with only one thing on his mind.

    “All right, you win,” she whispered. “You win.” Her eyes were huge in her face, and her chin quivered.
    He felt like a blackguard, but he pressed the point ruthlessly. “You must be more specific. What is it I win?”
    She took a shuddering breath. “I