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Thea didn’t understand why Jasper was so determined to silence her, but she didn’t mind his method. Not a single bit.

His mouth tasted like whisky, the burn setting her blood on fire in a kiss so intense that her bones incinerated. He kissed

her like he wanted to devour her, his mouth hungry and searching. Anything less wouldn’t have been enough.

This was what she needed. This kiss. This heat. This embrace.

Though, in actuality, he was still holding her shoulders. But the promise of his embrace was so close that she could feel

her body melting into the only place that made the world right again after such an abysmal day.

Then, all at once, he withdrew. And cursed.

Stalking over to the window, he threw up the sash and leaned out to draw in a ragged breath, leaving her on legs as insubstantial

as ribbons. She staggered to find her footing. Reaching out, she gripped the desk for support and struggled to find her own

breath.

“Well,” she panted, “when you want a girl to stop talking, you certainly have an interesting method.”

“You didn’t know what you were saying.”

And she didn’t need air in her lungs to become instantly offended by that.

He’d said it before and she hadn’t had time to become properly vexed.

But now, with all the blood simmering through her body with no ready outlet, her temper was quick to ignite.

“I beg your pardon? Are you accusing me of not understanding the words exiting my own mouth like some empty-headed nitwit?”

“Of course not. But you are a romantic,” he accused.

“And just what does that have to do with anything?”

Curls of steam were surely escaping her ears as she glared at his back. You don’t know what you’re saying was a line Kellum might have used. Never would she have expected Jasper to do the same.

Hands on hips, she narrowed her eyes as Jasper shut the window and turned. If he so much as attempted to placate her with

pretty words, she was going to throw the inkwell at him.

It would be David—no, Davinia— taking down Goliath.

As the curtains closed behind him, she caught a glimpse of hunger in his gaze before he scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I am a penniless viscount.”

“So? I don’t care about that.”

“Damn it all, Althea! I rob men under the cloak of darkness. I make them fear for their lives.”

“You have your reasons,” she fired back.

He growled in frustration and shoved a hand through his hair, leaving the short layers in disorder. “You’ve cast me as some

sort of romantic hero, when that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

The vehemence in his tone crackled like cinders shooting from a roaring fire, each trying to set a path of destruction in

their wake.

She felt one of those flames ignite inside her, seething. “You think I’ve just conjured these feelings from the ether, don’t

you? That my foolish romantic heart has simply attached itself to you for no reason at all.”

“You may not see it now but, come morning, you will regret all you’ve said.

You will see that I am unworthy of your regard.

” As he spoke the last sentence, his voice went quiet, almost apologetic as if he were taking all the blame.

As if he, and he alone, must bear the burden of every mistake ever made.

But it was at the subtle break on the word unworthy that Thea knew the real issue at hand.

No matter how far he’d come in his life, no matter how much good he’d done for the sake of others, there was still the boy

who’d been told he was undeserving of basic kindness and decency—not to mention love—that still resided in him.

Oh, Jasper , she thought, the freshly beating organ beneath her breast breaking for him.

“Rest assured,” he continued, “I won’t think less of you for any alteration that the brightness of day will bring.”

In that moment, all her vexation fell away like a layer of bark burning off a log in the grate. The warmth left behind emboldened

her to shrug out of her cloak and drape it over the back of the desk chair.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“I won’t regret a single thing come morning,” she said, knowing with complete and utter certainty that she wasn’t leaving

before dawn.

He eyed her warily as one would a torch bearer beside a barrel of gunpowder. “The hour grows late.”

She took a step toward him. “It was already late when you brought me here.”

“Regardless”—above the open neck of his black shirtsleeves, his throat worked on a swallow—“I should take you home.”

She couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t move from the spot as she neared. Nor did he make any gesture to hold her. Clearly,

she needed to take matters into her own hands.

Closing the distance, she stood on tiptoe to loop her arms around his neck.

His hands found her hips, though more as if to steady her than to encourage her.

Even so, his grip tightened, fingers splaying beneath the small of her back as she pulled herself up high enough to press her lips to his throat, to the tempting shadow beneath his Adam’s apple, tasting the salt on his skin.

His scent curled warmly inside her as she breathed him in, nuzzling beneath his open collar. Her parted lips opened over the

corded muscles of his throat, finding the galloping pulse that told her he wasn’t unaffected by her nearness.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, trailing her lips along the silken rasp of stubble emerging along his jaw. “If you kiss me, I’ll

consider allowing you to take me home.”

Liar , her Greek chorus chimed in.

Thankfully, St. James was a bit more trusting. He lowered his head just enough for her to lift her mouth under his. The pressure

was light, his lips dusting gently over hers, tenderly as if she might break.

This would not do. She wanted his unbridled passion. Wanted him to feel the same uninhibited joy and love that were building

inside her as if she were a cannon ready to explode. So, as he started to withdraw, she caught his lower lip, raking her teeth

over it.

He growled, his arms tightening. His breath staggered between her parted lips. “You said one kiss.”

“Actually, I never specified a number,” she countered, nibbling at his mouth.

When she threaded her fingers through his hair and suckled the tip of his tongue, a low, hungry sound vibrated in his throat

and he lifted her off her feet. Rough hands burned a path along her back and down over the curve of her bottom, gripping fistfuls

of her nightdress.

On a ragged breath, he said, “Tell me to stop.”

Even as he spoke, she could feel the heat from the in triguing hardness against her stomach. It tunneled through her, setting her pulse to a quick canter. Stop? The word was missing from her lexicon.

“Only if you do something I don’t like. But I should warn you...” She brushed her tender lips against his. “I like everything

you do. Although, I’m completely willing to let you try new things. Is that your bedchamber?”

He followed her gesture toward the closed door on the adjacent wall and swallowed thickly. She took that as affirmation.

Wiggling down his body, and delighted when he sucked in a breath during her progress, she stood in front of him. “I’d like

to see where you sleep.”

He was quicker to react this time, attempting to stop her, but she ducked under his arm, grabbed a chamberstick and made for

the door.

The instant she curled her fingers around the knob, he covered her hand. “We should be married before we cross this threshold.”

“Is that a proposal?” She beamed up at him and he groaned in agony.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “You cannot smile at me like that. When you do, it opens up everything inside me and it’s

nearly impossible to resist you. But I must resist you.”

Unrepentant, Thea smiled again.