Don't Tempt Me by Loretta Chase Page A

breeze carried her scent to him.
    â€œI collect it must be me, then,” he said.
    â€œWho else?” she said. “You’re the leader of fashion. I am to be your…protégée—that is the correct word, isn’t it?”
    It sounded most incorrect and very naughty the way she said it, but he nodded.
    â€œThen you must supervise my dressing,” she said.
    He could see himself in her dressing room, saying, Take off your clothes. He could see himself helping her take them off, starting with…
    He shook off the image.
    Why must she make harmless words sound like the lewdest innuendoes?
    â€œI believe you mean I must supervise your wardrobe selection,” he said.
    She shrugged, and the motion seemed to travel the length of her body. She moved like a cat, he thought.
    She walked on, and he became far too aware of the way she moved: the slow, beckoning sway of her elegantly curved figure. He walked alongside her, and he knew he was too close, because he could hear the brush of muslin against his pantaloons and he could smell the womanly scent, clean and warm.
    It seemed to him that the grey spring day had turned into sultry summer.
    â€œYou oughtn’t to walk that way,” he said.
    â€œWhat way?”
    â€œ That way,” he said. “An Englishman would get the wrong idea.”
    â€œTo desire me? But that’s the idea I want the men to get. I must be popular and receive many marriage proposals.”
    He hadn’t thought of that—or had he? Other men, watching the way she moved her body. Other men desiring her. Other men, tempted.
    â€œYou’ll get other kinds of proposals,” he said.
    â€œLike what?” she said.
    â€œLike this,” he said.
    He closed the small space between them and brought his arm round her waist. He only meant—or so he lied to himself—to teach her a lesson.
    To his shock, she put up no resistance whatsoever. Not even a show of it. She simply melted into him.
    She was warm and soft, and the scent of her was like a summer garden with a woman in it. He drew her against him, and the warmth and softness and scent enveloped him.
    He slid his hand up her back and along her neck and drew his fingers along her jaw. He tipped her head back and she looked up at him. There was thedeep blue sea of her eyes, and there was he, wanting to drown.
    He bent his head and brought his mouth to hers.
    It was only a touch of their lips, not even a proper kiss, but he felt it ricochet inside him: a stunning jolt of feeling. He didn’t know what it was and didn’t try to find out. He drew back. It was then, before he could shake off the surprise, that he heard a bird sing out lustily.
    The sound penetrated the warm fog of his brain and called him back to his surroundings. The Green Park was far from deserted, and a public embrace was unforgivably, perhaps catastrophically, stupid. It would undo all the work he’d done thus far to make Society accept her.
    He drew back. He took his hands away. Then he took himself a pace away, to leave a proper space between them.
    He was furious with himself.
    â€œDon’t do that,” he said.
    â€œWhy not?” she said.
    He stared at her. “Why not? Why not? ”
    She brought her index finger to her lips and touched the place where he’d kissed her. “A little caress, a little teasing.” She studied his face. Then she laughed.
    â€œIt isn’t funny,” he said.
    â€œThat’s what you say because you can’t see the expression on your face.”
    Expression? He didn’t wear expressions. “Zoe.”
    â€œDid you not like it?” she said. “I did. I never kissed or touched any man but Karim, and that was like caressing furniture— soft furniture,” she said with a laugh.
    â€œZoe, you can’t talk like that.”
    â€œOh, I know,” she said. “My sisters tell me. You cannot say this, Zoe. You cannot say that. But