Free Some Like It Sinful (Hellion's Den) by Alexandra Ivy Page B

“I have several skills of my own. Many of which I would be quite happy to share with you.”
    She clenched her hands together, staunchly battling the urge to reach up and test the hardness of his broad chest.
    Oh, Clara, you are treading in waters that are far beyond your depth, she warned herself.
    However innocent she might be, she could not pretend that the dark, fluttering excitement lodged in the pit of her stomach was anything but sensual awareness.
    Unfortunately, she could not seem to stir up the proper sort of dismay for her traitorous reaction.
    Wetting her lips, she did her best to ignore the tingling sensations and instead forced herself to concentrate upon more pressing matters.
    “I desire to know your name,” she at last demanded.
    A raven brow arched. “My name?”
    “It is awkward enough to be trapped with a stranger without at least knowing his identity.”
    There was a short pause, almost as if he was somehow reluctant to confess his name. Then with a twist of his lips, he gave a resigned shrug.
    “Hawksley.”
    She frowned, sensing that he was deliberately hiding something from her.
    “Is that your true name?”
    “Yes.” He shifted until his thighs brushed her own. A magical fire flickered through her blood. “Anything else?”
    She swallowed heavily, astonished her skirts did not burst into flames.
    “I wish to know why you are interested in Lord Doulton and why you have brought me to London.”
    He narrowed his gaze as he blatantly shifted his attention to the uncertain line of her mouth.
    “I will agree to reveal a portion of my interest in Lord Doulton,” he conceded slowly, “but only over a very large slice of shepherd’s pie.”
    “I will not be fobbed off,” she warned, her voice strangely breathless.
    “Or?”
    “Or you shall not have one bite of the apple tarts.”
    He gave a husky laugh as his dark head swooped down to gently nip at the lobe of her ear. “You do not play entirely fair, Miss Dawson, but I am too hungry to quibble. Allow me to change my coat and I will return.”
    His lips stroked the line of her jaw before he was abruptly pulling away and striding from the kitchen.
    Still leaning against the cabinet, Clara gasped for air.
    Oh . . . my.
    Until Hawksley had stormed into her life, she had always presumed that passion was one of those fussy emotions that she could never quite feel as she ought. After all, she had known gentlemen throughout the years. Perhaps not suitors, but friends and acquaintances.
    Certainly none of them had managed to make her face flush and her body tremble.
    But Hawksley . . .
    Well, at least she now knew beyond a shred of doubt that she was more than capable of experiencing desire.
    Whether that was a good or bad thing had yet to be decided.

Chapter Six
    “Good God. This is ambrosia.”
    Leaning back in his seat, Hawksley regarded his slender angel with astonishment. He supposed he should not be surprised that he had just enjoyed one of the finest meals ever set before him. Miss Dawson was clearly a woman who demanded the highest standards in whatever she did. Whether it was baking a tart that would melt in the mouth, or driving a man to Bedlam.
    Still, he found himself continually caught off guard whenever in the presence of this woman.
    Perhaps it was the fact that she appeared so fragile, he inanely acknowledged. She looked as if she should be lying upon satin pillows with a gown of gossamer lace. Not marching through life with the skill and determination of a seasoned general.
    As if sensing his ridiculous imaginings, his companion set aside her napkin and tidily folded her hands in her lap. She regarded him with the same expression his governess used to conjure when about to wring an unwilling confession of his latest sin.
    His lips twitched. It was an expression that was doomed to failure. How could he possibly think of her as a forbidding governess when the entire meal he had been plagued with the image of sweeping aside the