The Earl is Mine by Kieran Kramer

“But that’s your lot, and it’s just as difficult to be a man. You’ll find that out in Paris.”
    “Good.” Her tone was arch. “You’re already imagining me there.”
    “ Au contraire . I’m not imagining you in the City of Love at all.” He looked out the window at all the puddles left behind by the deluge. “You’re swimming in dangerous waters, young lady, right here in England.”
    She made a face. “You can’t make me stay.”
    “I can, and I will.” He went over and bolted the door.
    She crossed her arms over her man’s coat. “So you got a private room to entrap me?”
    “The last thing I want to do is be here—in this room—with you.” The two of them alone in a room together had always spelled trouble . He folded his arms and tried to stare her down.
    “Good.” She glared right back. “Then we’re agreed. Because I feel the same way about you .”
    “We’ll stay ten more minutes,” he said in an even tone, although his temper was getting the better of him. “Ten more. Until you accept your lot with a modicum of surrender. A modicum . That’s all I ask. And then I’ll unbolt the door.”
    “I’m not going to surrender, no matter what. So what are we going to do for ten minutes?”
    Oh, he knew it was wrong. But she annoyed him mightily, the stubborn little spitfire, and he was cold and tired—and she looked outrageous in that cravat. So he yanked one end loose and pulled her toward him. “We’re going to kiss each other,” he murmured, “and you’re going to like it.”

 
    Chapter Eight
    Gregory leaned forward and kissed Pippa, a light yet lingering kiss that sent her thoughts swirling into all sorts of hazy, pleasurable directions, the same way they meandered when she crawled into a hot bath and the water embraced her and sent her head lolling backward against the rim.
    When he pulled back, she felt the way she did when she had to stand up from the tub—and saw the towel halfway across the room. Her mind cleared in a rush. “Thank you for the carriage ride. And thank you for agreeing to keep up the ruse that we’re running off together. If you don’t mind, I’d also appreciate—”
    He kissed her again, and this time, his tongue parted the seam of her lips with a bold assurance that should have offended her—he was a practiced lover, obviously—but captivated her instead. She liked a challenge. And Gregory was one. He always had been.
    While he held her cravat, he kissed her thoroughly, teasing her lips with his own skilled ones, and she kissed him back, not letting him get the advantage for a moment. She wasn’t sure how well she was doing, but their explorations grew more heated. He pulled her bottom closer with his right hand and deepened the kiss.
    She decided then and there that it was the greatest pleasure, kissing and getting and giving caresses so hungrily. She only wished she could do it every day, several times a day—more than several times, actually.
    The thought made her desperate—desperate for him, so she dared to put her fingers in the curls at his neck and lazily comb them. His hair was like silk.
    “You’re delicious,” he said, “even in pantaloons.”
    She giggled against his mouth, and he reached his free hand into her coat and caressed her right breast.
    “It’s perfect,” he whispered. He looked into her eyes and ran a lazy circle with his thumb over the linen shielding her nipple.
    He had her hypnotized.
    And this time when they kissed again, something happened, something raw and needy between them that each had been suppressing in the carriage and up until that moment. Except for the warm and cozy bit at the end, the encounter in Gregory’s vehicle had been mostly uncomfortable, awkward, and tense, all at the same time. This kiss was a reward for their endurance.
    She couldn’t help wanting to feel him as intimately as he was exploring her, so she ran her hand over his belly, her lips never leaving his, and pushed her hips into