Damn this dress. Voluminous skirts hampered her access to him. If they were naked, he’d be inside her. Her stomach cramped on a thrill to think that might yet happen. When she twisted like a maddened animal to advance the contact, she tangled herself unbearably in a gown that became an instrument of torture.
She pulled away long enough to snatch a breath. She placed her palm on his chest. “Silas.”
He didn’t hear her as his hands feverishly stroked her breasts. She could hear his erratic panting and feel his radiating heat. He rocked slowly between her legs, torturing her with the promise of where he wanted to take her. He returned to those deep, luxuriant kisses that left her shaking.
And close to forgetting everything but her hunger for this man.
On the verge of sinking fatally into the undertow of desire, she reached up and tugged hard on his hair. He shuddered, but didn’t stop. She pulled again and at last distracted him from kissing her.
“Devil take you, Caro.” His voice was hoarse as if it hurt to speak. Reluctantly he lifted his head to survey her with glassy eyes.
“Silas, I can’t move.”
She found unworthy satisfaction in how long awareness took to penetrate his daze. “What in Hades?”
With another breath, the wildness retreated a fraction. Enough to allow her mind to register where she was and what she was doing. She glanced around and to her horror realized that he had her splayed across a workbench. During those incendiary minutes, she’d lost contact with everything solid except Silas’s body against hers.
She made a dismayed sound in her throat as her appalled gaze took in the wreck surrounding them. All that crashing and banging had been Silas’s botanical equipment hurtling to the floor. The greenhouse was a wilderness of spilled dirt and shredded plants and smashed glass.
“Dear Lord in heaven,” she whispered in shock.
He loomed above, hands spread on the bench on either side of her. His eyes were molten caramel and the determination sparking in them suddenly made her afraid. “Take me as your lover.”
“Silas—”
“Don’t pretend you don’t want me as much as I want you. Not after that.”
She gave him a shove, but it was like trying to move the Great Pyramid with a teaspoon. “I’m not pretending anything.”
When he’d touched her, she’d succumbed to madness. Now she surveyed the shambles they’d created and grim reality cooled the fire in her blood. She made herself recall all her reasons not to give in to Silas. Principally quite how muddle-headed he made her. She could see herself reaching a point where she lived for the sound of his voice. And there was no freedom in that.
“I want you and you want me,” he said urgently.
“Yes, I want you.”
His eyes flared and he loomed toward her with undisguised intent. This time she punched his shoulder hard enough to elicit a grunt of discomfort. “What the deuce was that for?”
“You’re not kissing me again.”
“Why not?”
She punched him once more, because despite knowing that this reckless interval must end, passion’s interruption left her stirred up and edgy. Her mind told her to stand up and walk out. Her sinful, hungry body wanted to lie back while he ripped away this pestilential gown and delivered the pleasure every kiss had foretold.
She hardened her jaw. “Because I’m going to be Lord West’s mistress.”
That uncompromising statement achieved what pummeling hadn’t. He jerked upright and stepped back, regarding her like a pernicious weed invading his orchard. “What blasted rubbish is this, Caro?”
To her chagrin, it took her several clumsy moments to straighten her dress before she could sit up and meet his eyes. He looked angry again. And hurt. She curled her fists against the bare planks beneath her as she fought the need to give him anything he wanted as long as he lost that desolate expression. Definitely muddle-headed.
Even more lethal to her frail willpower, he also looked utterly magnificent. She tried to regret the destruction she’d wreaked on his clothing. She’d dragged his shirt off one shoulder, baring part of a hair-roughened chest. The shirt hung loose around his thighs where she’d torn at it to reach his skin. His silky light brown hair fell across his forehead, leaving him deliciously ruffled. With his hands on his hips in unconscious arrogance, he looked like a swaggering pirate ready to ravish a willing captive.
Well, Caroline Beaumont was far too sensible to have any dealings with pirates. However dashing they might be. “It’s not nonsense.”
“Yes, it is. You want me.”
“Stop saying that.”
“It’s true.”