A Daring Passion by Rosemary Rogers

with you.” His gaze lowered to the delicate curve of her throat before roaming down to the tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. The urge to taste of that soft flesh hit him with a force that had him clenching his teeth. “An intriguing notion, is it not?”
    Her eyes widened as the air filled with a prickling awareness that she could not fail to sense.
    â€œYou are no gentleman.”
    He had never felt less a gentleman than at this moment, he accepted with a flare of unease. The things he longed to do to that soft, slender body were more fitting for a randy dockhand.
    Fiercely, he turned his thoughts to more important matters. “No, I am a man who is accustomed to doing precisely as he pleases, and one who will halt at nothing to have his way,” he warned. “A knowledge you would do well to bear in mind. I have no compunction in making you suffer if you do not tell me the truth.”
    A mutinous expression settled on the beautiful features. “You intend to beat me?”
    â€œIf necessary.”
    â€œFine. You can beat me all you desire. I will not tell you anything.”
    Philippe did not doubt her sincerity. She was clearly a chit who possessed none of the usual female sensibilities. A woman prepared to take any outrageous challenge, no matter what the consequences.
    A fact that might have inspired his admiration, if her audacious courage had not led her to assault his carriage. He possessed too much pride to easily forgive being treated as a common pigeon waiting to be plucked.
    Of course, he had no intention of taking a whip to the ivory skin. It would be a sin against all that was holy. Oh, no. He had a far more pleasant sort of torture in store for this lovely criminal.
    â€œThen I shall have to find another means of persuasion,” he said as he lowered his head.
    â€œWhat do…?” She stiffened in shock as his lips skimmed the line of her jaw. “Oh.”
    Philippe closed his eyes as the heat and sweet scent of lilacs washed through him. By God, she was wasted as a thief. She could make a fortune as a courtesan.
    Meu Deus, at this moment he would pay that fortune.
    â€œSuch skin,” he whispered, his lips following the long length of her neck. “As perfect as the rarest pearl.”
    She gave a small jump as he lightly nipped at the pulse racing at the base of her neck.
    â€œNo, you must not.”
    His mouth continued its exploration, discovering the swell of her breasts. “Tell me who you are.”
    â€œRaine,” she said on a strangled gasp.
    Philippe used his teeth to tug the offending chemise out of his way. “Your real name.”
    â€œThat is my real name.” She shivered, but Philippe possessed enough experience to know it was not from fear. “Raine Wimbourne.”
    â€œRaine.” He pulled back to regard the tight rosebud at the tip of her breast. It was already puckered as if pleading for the touch of his mouth. A plea he had no intention of ignoring. “Yes. It suits you.”
    â€œYou said if I told you my name you would release me,” she charged.
    â€œYou have not told me why you were playing such a dangerous charade.”
    â€œI cannot.”
    â€œGood.” Philippe closed his lips over the hardened nipple, his grip tightening on her wrists as she abruptly arched upward in shocked pleasure.
    â€œDear God,” she breathed.
    Philippe barely noticed her ready response. This was no calculated seduction, no well-rehearsed lovemaking that was designed to captivate his partner while leaving him satisfied, but unaffected.
    Far from it. His blood rushed through his veins and his heart pounded with excitement. The woman must be part fey, he decided as he suckled her with a growing insistence. Only some dastardly magic could have set his body on fire with such shocking need.
    Any thought of the inappropriateness of seducing some unknown wench in a near-frigid carriage was lost as Philippe pressed his