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“I’m thinking of a new play,” Thea said as she opened the door to Jasper’s bedchamber. A brief glance over her shoulder revealed

a rumpled bed as massive as a barge on the Thames taking up most of the room. Stepping backward, she gripped a fistful of

his black shirt and tugged the big man across the threshold. “Picture the curtains opening to a carriage, racing toward Gretna

Green. A pair of lovers embrace in the dark confines, making the most of their time.”

“But he has nothing,” Jasper said, his voice pained as he staggered inside.

“Not true. He has land. Additionally, she has a small dowry, but enough to build a cottage with room for them, his aunt and

cousins, along with Roly and Thumper.”

“Garmr,” he corrected, his lungs pushing against her hands as he watched her smooth the wrinkles she’d just made in the fabric

of his shirt. It was impossible not to notice that there wasn’t any give in the muscular torso beneath her hands.

“If you say so,” she said, briefly leaning one-footed to slide the chamberstick onto the mantel. “The curtain closes then

opens again on Act Two with the arrival of their first child... born scandalously premature.”

She looked up at him through her lashes and smiled again.

His eyes glazed over as if entranced and she knew she had him. Her very own rapt audience.

He swallowed. “Then what happens?”

“Well, every good play requires a conflict.”

He tensed, his hands finding her waist as if to shield her.

“Theirs is that they cannot seem to stay out of each other’s arms,” she clarified and felt his chest rise and fall in relief.

“They mortify their children with their affection.”

At last, Thea understood her parents. If they felt even a portion of the passion and yearning that she had for Jasper, she

couldn’t blame them.

Standing there, with the heat of his body warming her through the layers that separated them, she wondered what he’d do if

she untied the cord of her nightdress and let it fall to the floor, right then and there. And yet, she wanted to explore him

first.

So, she continued her leisurely perusal, tracing the open V that revealed a triangle of dark blond hair. It was crisp and

curling, tickling her fingertips. His grip on her waist went slack as she charted a path lower still, roaming down the ridges

of his abdomen to the waist of his black trousers.

He stilled her hands. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you. You’re too... delicate for the likes of me.”

Delicate? She wanted to laugh until she saw the worry etched between his brows. “I’m hardly made of glass. Besides, you’ve always been

careful with me, when we waltzed and... when you had me on the trestle table.”

She lifted her face in a silent query. He stared back at her with dark, hooded eyes and a breath shuddered out of him. She

interpreted that as permission.

His head fell back on a groan as the flat of her hand traveled down the considerable length of him, the thick column positioned

at an angle. It was only when she’d traversed from the taut base and all the way to the tip that she felt her first stirring

of trepidation.

“Shakespeare’s soliloquies!” She gasped. “Are all men... made like you?”

A muscle ticked along his jaw as he took his time in answering. Then he offered a hesitant “Yes.”

Thea wasn’t entirely convinced. Truth be told, she’d assumed her mother had been exaggerating the size of Lord Turgid for

shock value. Now she wondered if she’d minimized it to spare her daughters from the truth.

Drawing her hand away from her explorations, he took her mouth again, the scorching pressure of his lips obliterating all

traces of uncertainty. She wanted him. And she wasn’t going to leave this bedchamber without having him.

He lifted her off her feet, his large hands gripping the globes of her bottom, gliding her center against his length. “You

can still change your mind,” he said against her throat, his tongue laving the thrumming pulse.

Her fingers twined in his hair. “I won’t.”

“But you can.”

She knew this already. But even the fact that he said it—cemented it—made her heart flutter.

“You’re smiling again, aren’t you,” he accused, nipping her collarbone through the thin cambric.

“No,” she lied, smiling wider.

When he raised his head and caught her, he groaned. Sliding a hand to her nape, he took her mouth again. His kiss was feral.

Gone was the patient man, still holding on to control. Taking his place was the unrestrained Jasper, who was finally willing

to seize what he wanted. And she thrilled at the knowledge that she’d made him this way.

Never leaving her lips, he walked her deeper into the room until the backs of her calves brushed the black-lacquered footboard.

After setting her down on a velvety soft coverlet the color of midnight, he briefly drew away to reach back with both hands

and pull his shirtsleeves over his head, tossing them carelessly to the floor. Then he was back again, licking into her mouth.

She barely had time to marvel at his body as she shifted up to her knees. But, oh, when she laid her hands on him, skin to skin, exploring the muscles along his arms and chest with greedy fascination, she could scarcely catch her breath.

Her overeager examination caused her fingernails to accidentally bite into the thick cording of his broad shoulders. An apology

was on the tip of her tongue. But before she could draw back to utter it, he issued a low animal purr of pleasure, his grip

tightening on her, encouraging her.

“I love your hands on me,” he said, his voice rough against her throat. “And your scent... I want it all over me.”

In that moment she understood when she’d started to fall in love with him. From the very beginning, he made her feel wanted

and desired for who she was. He didn’t see her as lacking some fundamental quality. Instead, he shined a light on all the

parts of her that she thought were either deficient or flawed and he made her see herself as whole. As if she’d never been

lacking in the first place.

She wanted to be the person who did the same for him.

“Tell me what you like,” she said, peppering kisses against his hair, his temple, his brow. “I need to know how to please

you.”

“You already are. Just by being you. Just by being here.” His big hands traveled up from her waist to the warm space beneath

the curve of her breasts as his open mouth followed the line of her clavicle. And when he reached the cord that held her nightdress

in place, he freed the knot with his teeth.

She felt the tug of it all the way to her core. And when he found her breast, she gasped, her fingers flying to his hair.

The heat of his mouth engulfed her, the sweet suction almost too much.

“I cannot tell you how often I’ve thought of having you here,” he said, his breath feathering over the damp, tender flesh, making it pucker in the cool air.

Fiery licks of his tongue charted a path to the other side, where he plumped the swell in his hands like a ripe fruit ready for the feast. “All the wicked things I’ve dreamed of doing. ”

Her lips parted when he took her into his mouth but no sound emerged. The pleasure was too intense. Her insides went up in

flames, burning everything down into a molten liquid that pooled between her thighs where her body pulsed in a wanton rhythm.

But she wanted more. Wanted to be closer. Even though her mother’s play had been embarrassingly informative, there was one

thing she’d neglected to mention. The ache. The yearning to be so close they would share the same skin.

Thea needed to feel his flesh on hers. Now. This instant.

Drawing his mouth up to hers, she shucked out of her nightdress, slipping her arms free and letting the cambric pool around

her bent knees on the mattress. She felt the hitch in his breath, the tremor in his hands as he touched the bare skin of her

waist, her hips, skimming fingers down her thighs and up along the inner softness. Her breath caught as he cupped her, a bold,

possessive gesture.

“You’re wet. For me,” he growled, nipping along her jaw as a flush of heat suffused her skin. “I still think about the taste

of you. All the time. And I just need you to let me...”

She wasn’t sure she was completely in control as she nodded without thinking. Before any trepidations could form in her mind,

she let him tip her backward on the bed and strip away the nightdress, tossing it aside.

A low, guttural sound left him as he gazed at her body, the greedy intensity making her squirm.

Something had changed in him. The bashful man who was all apologetic and reluctant to have her in his flat now looked at her

as if he was half feral, half starved, and she was the meal he intended to devour.

A shiver rolled over her, gooseflesh prickling her skin.

“You cold?” he asked, his voice husky.

She had no doubt that he would stop to light a fire in the hearth if she asked. But stopping was the last thing she wanted to do.

Mutely, she shook her head.

His attention never wavered. Even in only the faint flicker of a single candle flame, he was wholly attuned to her. He missed

no detail, not her ticklish response to the graze of his knuckles along her insteps or the catch in her breath as he encircled

her ankles.

Modesty might have bade any number of young women to try to shield themselves. But curiosity had always ruled her actions.

And in that moment, she couldn’t stop staring at him.

Her gaze roamed over those broad shoulders, along the fleece of dark tawny curls covering his brawny chest that tapered to

a line down the ladder of his abdomen, disappearing beneath the waist of his trousers to the thick shape—

“The way you look at me... it takes every ounce of restraint not to...” He swallowed and gripped himself through the

fabric, the corded muscles of his forearm flexing. The sight caused a corresponding clench deep inside her.

She licked her lips. “I want to see you. All of you.”