Tall, Dark and Disreputable by Deb Marlowe

out a whisper of a moan, a sound of pure pleasure. The resonance of it, low and throaty, vibrated against his searching mouth and sent a surge of lust straight through him.
    She turned her head, capturing his mouth with her own, moving her hands along a sensual path around his ribcage and across the breadth of his back. She trailed naughty fingers down to his buttock, making him writhe against the slow, soft circles she drew there.
    Not a nymph, then, his Portia, but a siren, full of mischief and devilry of the most appealing kind. He measured the weight of her breasts in his hands, stroking his thumbs over nipples already peaked indesire. His erection strained further and he pressed it against her. Let her feel what she did to him with her bold mix of confidence and need.
    He stilled, his caressing hands slowed. The sudden realisation of where she had come by such confidence struck him like a blow. J.T. Dio , she’d been married to that snivelling boy. He’d had the teaching of her, had the right to put his hands all over her, in just the way Mateo did now. And more.
    No . It was an image that he could not endure. He kissed her again, purposeful, urgent and hot. He was desperate to drive the image of J. T. Tofton from his mind, the memory of him from hers.
    But the heavy fabric and high neckline of her habit frustrated him. He ran his hands along the length of her, delighting in the sweet turn of her waist, rejoicing in the abundant curves of her breasts. He pulled her close, wrapping himself around her, as if in that way he could claim her, make her his own.
    She pulled her mouth from his, breathed his name in his ear. Her voice rasped, husky with need.
    Portia . He stiffened, torn reluctantly away from desire once more. This was Portia in his arms, tempting him, driving him wild and making him forget.
    But he ought to remember. No matter how much he burned for her, he needed to remember who she was and why he was here. Remember that only yesterday he’d accused her of the vilest betrayal. Remember that people were depending on her. That others looked to him for their livelihoods and on top of that responsibility healso carried the weight of a centuries-old family tradition.
    How weary he was of carrying so many burdens. He yearned to dump them overboard, leave them behind as so much flotsam and return to the discovery of this new and intriguing facet of his relationship with Portia. But could he do it? No doubt it was exactly what his father would have expected him to do.
    He pulled away. Stepped back.
    ‘We cannot,’ he said, holding on to her hands, meeting the question in her eyes with regret. ‘This has to stop.’
    Her eyes filled. She ducked her head. ‘Does it?’ she asked the floor.
    ‘It does,’ he affirmed. He let her go and retreated across the tiny office. ‘I’m sorry.’
    She raised her head then and took a step towards him. ‘I’m not.’
    ‘No,’ he said again. ‘Portia…’ he turned her name into a caress ‘…my impetuous Peeve, you do not understand all the issues I am faced with.’
    ‘Then tell me,’ she said simply.
    He ran a hand along his jaw. How to make her understand? Turning away, he braced a hand on the door frame and looked out over the small courtyard and the street beyond. But it was the thought of Philadelphia that occupied him, and a clipper he saw in his mind’s eye, heavy in the water as she fought an icy sea.
    ‘First I have to make you understand how things are at home.’ He sighed. ‘Twenty years ago, Philadelphia was the greatest seaport in America. Our ships, buildersand seamen were famous, our reputations earned us the greatest respect. But war and blockades, the rise of other ports, shifting markets, they have nearly broken us.’ His head dropped. ‘You have been to my home. You know how all of my family is involved in Cardea Shipping, in one way or another. If the ships do not sail, if the warehouses sit empty, then my uncles and cousins and their wives