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She opened for him on a gasp and he entered her intoxicating warmth. With each greedy slide of his tongue, the flames of desire licking at his insides burned brighter, hotter.

She responded with a sweet ardor, arching her head back, weaving her fingers into his hair.

His hands roamed over her, committing to memory every curve of her body, reveling as she trembled at his touch. She was soft and lithe like perfectly ripe fruit, ready to be plucked from the branch .

A conflagration of pleasure and agony filled him to the brink, urging him to take things further, now . To lay her back, peel off her gown and grant his hands and mouth and cock the freedom to please her—and sate his own desperate craving for her.

Desire for her shook him to his core, and he’d only kissed her. Had he ever wanted a woman so badly? Had he ever known this overwhelming, all-consuming passion?

Something akin to terror filled him. He ripped his mouth from hers and pressed his damp forehead into her neck, dragging in ragged breaths, steadying himself through sheer force of will. He’d teased her about liking his kisses, but, in the end, she possessed a sorceress’s power over him.

He raised his head, noting her own dazed expression. Gods she was beautiful, with that heart shaped face, that luminous skin, those tilted, exotic eyes.

“Caden?” Her fingers toyed with the hair at his nape. She licked damp lips, parting them as if in invitation for his kiss.

He rose from the settee, all but crashing into an adjacent armchair in his haste to get away from her and the spell she cast over him.

This feeling—this bottomless yearning— was familiar. Reminiscent of that summer. He’d been fourteen, edging into fifteen. Gloriana was slightly younger, even though she acted as if she were the older of the two.

For three long months, he avoided playing Prince-Charming-rescues-his-princess, mainly because he feared the effects of that perfunctory kiss when simply being in her vicinity tied him in knots—not that it stopped him from seeking her out.

She wasn’t like the other girls he knew. She was feisty and funny and didn’t melt at his smiles the way every other female, young and old, seemed to do .

That last day she seemed almost forlorn. If he was honest, he felt rather morose himself, knowing she would leave in a matter of days. To cheer her, or so he claimed, he offered to play her favorite game, rescuing her and carrying her to the riverbank, then kissing her.

That kiss had turned his insides to a tangled mass of wanting and agony, pleasure and torture, and he’d bolted like a scared rabbit.

Within days she was gone. His youthful heart had ached for months after she left.

He missed how she made him feel—alive and challenged and completely off-kilter, like standing atop a precarious cliff, staring down at crashing waves.

The way she made him feel seen, as ludicrous as that sounded to his own thoughts even now.

Then there had been that kiss.

How had he entertained the notion of a dalliance, with her ? Then again, one second in her company, and how could he not?

“Caden?” A combination of vulnerability and concern shown in her eyes.

She likely wanted an explanation for why he’d jettisoned away from her as if she’d suddenly caught fire. Too bad he couldn’t offer her a reason that made any damned sense.

Sorry, love. Kissing you feels too damned good, makes me want too damned much, makes me ache in places I’d just as soon forget existed, and oh, by the way, you seem to have had this power over me since forever.

No. He could not explain his reaction to himself, much less her.

He waited to speak until he had his practiced mask of banal civility in place. “Anna,” he finally said in response. Not bad. He sounded normal, even to his own ears.

Her brows knitted. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it with a snap. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and smoothed her skirts. “I’ve never…that is, that was…”

“Quite a kiss, and more than proved my point, wouldn’t you say?”

She stilled. “Your point?”

He grinned like a cocksure ass and somehow resisted the compulsion to jam his hands through his hair. He needed to get them out of this room—for both their sakes.

He could make her want him, make her want to give herself to him. He knew he could like he knew his own name. Which should be fine. A lighthearted fling between like-minded adults, and old friends to boot.

Problem was, this—her and him—felt like more. Even now, he couldn’t make himself not want to reach for her and kiss her, touch her and whisper promises he’d never made to a woman in his life, promises he’d never wanted to make, promises he had no clue if he could keep if he did make them.

If they stayed in this room, they’d wind up making love, which should be fine. It was a house party.

And yet, a quick seduction in a back room in a stranger’s manse seemed beneath her.

As for him, he knew, to the core of his being, if he made love to her, she’d be his undoing.

It made no sense. He felt like a perfect idiot.

“Your point?” she repeated, sounding irritated now.

He paced toward the door, and freedom, then, helpless to resist, moved back in her direction. “You do like my kisses.”

Nothing like a dose of arrogance to force a wedge between them. It couldn’t be helped. Creating distance was his only possible recourse.

“I like your kisses?”

He chuckled at her offended tone and tugged at his too-tight cravat. “Oh, I like yours, too. Never doubt it.” Too damned much .

“Oh.” She sniffed and made an obvious effort to appear unfazed by his comment, but he saw the tell-tale tremor of her lips as she fought a pleased smile.

That damned smile threatened to overturn all his good intentions.

“Do you suppose we ought to…” he jerked a thumb toward the door, unable to voice the words that would catapult them from this room, this moment. He was a sad sack. Reduced to a bumbling greenhorn lad, from one bloody kiss.

“By all means.” She lifted her hands to her hair, experimentally padding the once neatly coiffed chestnut tresses. Several tendrils had escaped her hair pins altogether, to artfully frame her face.

His fault, he supposed, him and his clumsy hands.

The thought of how his hands had roamed over her had him inching further in her direction. He slammed to a halt, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bloody, damned idiot.

“Are you…quite all right?”

He ignored her question and the concern etched on her face. “Is Jones your actual, married name, by the by?”

She unfolded herself from the settee, shimmied past him leaving a trail of her heavenly scent in her wake. She made for a small, gilt-framed wall mirror he hadn’t noticed to the right of the door. Women always seemed to know where those things were, even in a room they’d never entered.

The fact she had not answered him did not escape his notice.

Gazing at her reflection, she made an inarticulate sound of horror, and her nimble fingers went to work, smoothing and re-pinning.

He moved to stand behind her and met her eyes in the looking glass. His insides tightened with a maddening desire to drag her into his chest and nuzzle the tender skin at her nape .

Instead he jammed his hands in his trouser pockets. “Good as new, Glory,” he said, voice gruff.

She lowered her eyes, licking her lips. “Caden, may I ask that you refrain from referring to me by that name? I wouldn’t want you to slip. Indeed, sticking with Mrs. Jones would be best. And I shall call you Mr. Thurgood.”

“I won’t give your secrets away by word or deed, Glo--An— Mrs. Jones ,” he corrected himself with mock severity. It helped, focusing on her predicament as opposed to his own unsettled state.

“I think, however, you could come clean with Lady Wentworth, and then your need for secrecy would disappear altogether. She seems genuinely fond of you. You don’t seriously believe she would dismiss you if she learned the truth?”

She twisted around to face him, eyes pleading. “Please, Ca—Mr. Thurgood. Promise me you won’t say anything to her. To anyone.”

Panic reflected in her eyes again. What was he missing? “I’ve already promised, haven’t I? You must believe I’d never do anything to harm you.”

She searched his eyes a long moment, before nodding once. He didn’t know whether he felt relieved or insulted.

“Now, then,” she began.

“Yes?”

“Shall we make an effort to fill some more of the squares on our game card? Where did I leave that feather?”

She set off in search for it.

He blinked, piqued by the notion she wanted to go on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them, although why he should be—he wanted the same .

“A moment, if you please. Hadn’t we ought to finish discussing Hardasher?” He wasn’t stalling for five more minutes of having her all to himself. Hah.

She plucked the recalcitrant feather from the ground near the settee, and turned to face him, skirts swishing at her feet. “But we have. You convinced me his interest in me lies more in the way of a, er, shall we say…”

He arched a brow. “Lascivious nature? I’m happy to handle his interest for you.” He imagined planting his fist in Hardasher’s face.

Her eyes went wide. “Mr. Thurgood, promise me you won’t approach him about me.”

“Another promise? You’re demanding quite a lot of those, aren’t you?”

She pressed her lips together.

“I suppose you also want my promise not to badger you about your future plans. You know you can’t continue indefinitely as a lady’s companion, An—Mrs. Jones.”

She slipped around him like water ‘round a river rock, making for the door. “Why-ever not?”

“Because you were meant for something more. Anna,” he began gently, “if it’s money you need—”

“ No. ” She grasped the door lever and looked over her shoulder at him with stern eyes.

“Get this through your thick skull, Caden Thurgood. I require neither your money nor your assistance. I shall live my life as I see fit. Regardless of how pleasant seeing you again has been, nothing of my circumstance has changed, nor do I wish it to.”

“Pleasant,” he aped in a neutral tone, nodding. Ironically, he’d said similar words to women over the years. He’d had no notion how much the rejection, however nicely phrased, stung .

He ought to be thanking his lucky stars she’d stuck to her guns. Hadn’t that kiss convinced him that keeping his distance was the only possible course? Spending time together would only fuel the carnal desire that flowed like lava, like air, between them. Too dangerous—for him at any rate.

If he made love with Anna he’d likely be marked for life. Meanwhile she seemed to content to walk away at party’s end, never to see him again.

He glanced around the room. Spotted his discarded gloves and the abandoned game card. He stalked over, snatched up both and proceeded to re-don the kidskin gloves with meticulous attention. Anything to avoid looking at her.

From the corner of his eye he saw her turn her back to the door.

“Caden, it has meant the world to me to see you again.”

He snorted. Now she meant to let him down easy? This was too rich.

“Your kindness—”

“—Enough. You don’t want my help and you want to be left alone. I don’t foresee a problem, Mrs. Jones. Shall we rejoin the others? I have an idea where we might find a few additional items along the way, if you’d like to make a good showing.”

He closed the distance between them and reached around her to open the heavy door. “After you?”

She lay a hand on his forearm. He bit back a curse as his entire body clenched with need.

“Please believe me. You don’t want to get tangled up in my life, Caden. It would only cause you trouble.”

He sent her a crooked smile. “Duly noted. Shall we?”

She searched his face a long moment. Finally she nodded and stepped into the empty corridor .

A sinking feeling settled in his gut, like he’d gambled all he had on a weak hand and lost. But he hadn’t. That was the point. He was walking away as surely as she. If only he could keep that straight in his head.