The sight of those rosebud lips pursing heightened his arousal. He stifled a groan. He must return Sophie to her brother’s house a virgin or know himself a blackguard.
Love could be hell.
He gave in, as he was always going to, and kissed her. Her mouth opened immediately. Because she’d teased, he’d expected her kisses to tease too. But she responded with wild abandon.
He had enough trouble controlling himself when she was playful. When she acted like the uninhibited woman who haunted his dreams and left him waking ashamed and needy, his principles collapsed.
He tore his lips from hers. “Sophie—” he protested, hands clenching in her blue silk dress.
“Don’t stop,” she begged, ripping clumsily at his neckcloth.
He went rigid. All over. And told himself to stop before he did something irrevocable.
Since those torrid moments in that woodland glade, he’d struggled to keep their physical interactions light. That day, the dangers of unrestrained desire had been agonizingly apparent. The problem was that he didn’t feel light with her. He felt like significance weighted every moment.
But Sophie Fairbrother was pure and good. No man had the right to sully her outside the bonds of marriage. Harry must hold back even if he disintegrated into a million smoking embers.
He grabbed her hands. “Sophie, no.”
Her expression was urgent. “I think about you all the time. I think about the things you’ve done to me. I think…” She licked her lips and he closed his eyes and prayed for strength. “I think about the things I’d like you to do.”
“Darling—”
“You want to do more. I know you do.”
“We can’t,” he said in despair, stroking her wrists until she pulled free.
“We can.” She tugged his neckcloth off and tossed it over a chair.
God give him strength. She intended seduction. Then where would they be? Leath would want his guts for garters. And rightly so. “Sophie, you’ll be ruined.”
Damn it, he should pack her into a hackney right now and send her back to Leath House where she was safe from over-excitable young men. But still he stood, breathing her scent as though it kept him alive.
“I don’t care,” she said stubbornly, tearing at his waistcoat buttons. Whatever happened tonight, he’d emerge looking like he’d fought a bear single-handed. “Tonight we have time.”
“How do you know?” He tried to resurrect the teasing, but the question emerged as a strangled yelp.
“I don’t,” she snapped, sounding frustrated and so desperate, his bones dissolved with longing. At this rate, he didn’t have a hope in Hades of resisting.
“Sophie, I can’t deflower the Marquess of Leath’s sister.”
To his surprise, a knowing smile curved her lips. Blazing sensation incinerated scruples when she placed her hand on the front of his trousers. “If you mean you’re incapable of deflowering Leath’s sister, I doubt that’s true.”
He choked and despite every dictate of the code he followed, tilted his hips to increase the glorious pressure. “What the devil is a man to do with you, Sophie? I thought you’d be nervous.”
Lashes flickering, she glanced down to
where she touched him. She didn’t look frightened. She looked like she anticipated a wonderful treat. Harry’s blood pounded hard and heavy as though he’d swallowed a big, noisy drum. Whatever his head commanded, his body prepared for pleasure.
She curled her hand around him. “You’ll think me a wanton.”
“I think you’re beautiful. You know that.” His voice lowered to a growl. “And if you don’t stop touching me, you’ll find you’ve taken on more than you can handle, my girl.”
He grabbed her hand and, ignoring the howling protest of the devil who conspired against every ounce of goodness, he pulled her away. Then he released her. Even holding her hand threatened his resolve.
When he caught the purposeful glint in her blue eyes, he was smart enough to be nervous. In fact, he was bloody terrified.
Because of course, Sophie had an ally. The devil inside Harry that had slavered after her from the first.