Deliciously Wicked by Robyn DeHart Page A

time. I know they are detailed work and am told they take a while to produce, so I shall help you with that as well.”
    â€œNo more help from you,” he argued. “I do not need help with the boxes.”
    â€œThere is one tiny problem with that,” she said. She used her thumb and first finger to illustrate her words. It was, in fact, a tiny problem. Gareth, however, might not see it that way.
    â€œI’m almost afraid to ask. What would that tiny problem be?”
    â€œYou are not to be alone in the factory. So either Mr. Munden shall supervise you, or I shall. Your choice.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She knew he would not select Munden; he detested the man.
    He came around the chair. “Miss Piddington, youseem to enjoy playing the part of the factory manager while your father is gone. You’re meddling in the business and fiddling with the paperwork.”
    He gestured to the desk behind her and the order form she’d been pretending to read when he came in. She felt her cheeks begin to burn, partly from the truth in his accusations, partly from the heat of his gaze.
    She wanted to quip a response, but her mind was blank, and she was fairly certain that her knees no longer functioned.
    â€œDo not think to use me as some pawn in your game with Papa’s factory. I don’t take kindly to games.”
    He now stood right in front of her. She straightened to her full height, which frankly wasn’t all that much, and was rather difficult considering how wobbly her legs felt. She didn’t even come to his chin. But that didn’t stop her from tilting her head back and meeting his eyes.
    Hazel. Luscious, rich mixture of brown and green. And they nearly stole the words right from her mouth, but she caught herself.
    â€œDo not be so arrogant as to think I should use you for anything, Mr. Mandeville,” she said tartly. “I do not play games with my father’s factory. I am merely aiding you with a sticky situation, since I am not able to give you your alibi.” His eyes were watching her lips, and she nearly forgot what she was saying. She frowned. “Consider it a favor.”
    Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she was certain he could see it thumping through the fabric in her dress. And her hands were shaking fiercely,which made it convenient that she was holding on to the desk behind her.
    He grabbed her by the waist with one arm and pulled her to him. With one swift movement, he planted his lips to hers in a quick but passionate kiss. How was he able to keep penetrating her barriers? She thought she’d done an admirable job of feigning control and disinterest. No sooner had she melted into his lips than he abruptly let her go.
    â€œNor do I play games, Miss Piddington.” And with that he turned, and left her to slump against the desk with nary a thought in her head.
    Â 
    Gareth slammed his head into his hands. He really had to stop kissing her in such a fashion. He really ought to stop kissing her in any fashion at all. Teaching her a lesson was only an excuse to taste her sweet lips, and he’d be a fool not to admit that.
    Touching her lips a second time had not fettered his desire. He wanted her. Her kisses were an intoxicating mixture of passion and innocence, and they left him wanting more. Which was why he needed to tighten the reins on his lust.
    He would work with Meg, because he had no other options, but he would not give in to temptation to touch her in any fashion. He could play the gentleman long enough for the winds to change and this minor accusation to blow away. He laughed. The irony of that was too much to ignore.
    Play the gentleman. He’d been playing the poor Irishman for so long, he wondered if he even remembered how. But surely the last vestiges of the gentleman hetruly was lingered somewhere deep inside. Somewhere very deep.
    Wouldn’t everyone here love to know the truth about him?
    How