Knight's Mistress by C. C. Gibbs

even an assertive woman like Miss Hart might think twice before travelling alone in the revelling crowds outside.
    Quickly collecting her coat, he dipped his head to the concierge as he passed his desk, the man spoke in rapid Dutch and Dominic grinned. Then a servant opened the door for him, and a moment later he was out on the street.
    She was standing to the right of the door, shivering, warily eyeing a crowd of young men coming her way. He stepped between the raucous group and her and held out her coat. ‘You’re cold,’ he said.
    ‘I wish,’ she whispered, turning to slide her arms into the sleeves.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, pulling her coat up on her shoulders, turning her back to face him. ‘That’s a lot to take in. Or rather too much to take in.’ He softly exhaled. ‘Sorry, poor choice of words. Would you like me to call my car?’
    She drew in a shuddering breath, desire still raw, all-consuming, unsated and beating at her brain. ‘No, no – thank you. Does the office – staff do this … often?’ she stammered, trying to appear calm. Like him.
    ‘I’m not sure. I could ask Max.’
    ‘No – don’t.’ She noticed the young men gave him wide berth and wondered if he’d said something she hadn’t heard. ‘It really – doesn’t … matter.’
    Such trembling innocence was the ultimate temptation. ‘We’re only a few blocks from the house. You don’t mind walking then?’
    ‘No, no … I’d prefer walking. It was hot in there.’
    He suppressed a smile. ‘You’ll cool off now. It’s cold tonight.’
    He hadn’t worn a coat but seemed immune to the temperature and to her carnal agitation. He carried most of the conversation on the way back, but then he spent his life being sociable to people he wouldn’t bring home to dinner. Not that Miss Hart fell into that category. She might look real fine across the table from him on occasion.
    On occasion, the operative phrase.
    But by the time they entered the town house, he’d sorted out all his uncertainties. Miss Hart was too innocent to exploit.
    When they reached her apartment, he opened the door for her then stepped back. ‘Thanks for your help with the Bucharest problem. Max will have you flown home tomorrow. I enjoyed your company this evening.’ He turned to go.
    ‘Wait.’ A small frantic explosion of sound.
    He turned back, his brows faintly raised.
    ‘I know I shouldn’t ask,’ she said in a breathy rush. ‘Youprobably have women hitting on you all the time, but I’d kick myself later if I left without kissing—’
    He moved in a blur, inhaled the word
you
as his mouth captured hers, felt a sudden, unnatural exhilaration, an impatience he hadn’t felt in years. He heard her small whimper as his tongue skimmed hers, her eagerness exciting him. He shoved her coat down her arms with a sweep of his hands, had her bottom in his grip before her coat hit the floor, and hauling her hard against his body, kissed her with a barely suppressed hunger.
    She kissed him back with a rough urgency that surprised him.
    It wasn’t a semi-virgin’s kiss.
    But then Miss Hart had a no-holds-barred personality he was guessing might go with no-holds-barred sex. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered, moving one hand upward to rest in the small of her back. ‘I was trying to behave.’
    ‘Don’t.’
    Her voice was a shimmering hum on his lips; he could even taste her smile. ‘Then we both thank you,’ he murmured, his erection surging higher at such welcome news. ‘Can you feel that?’ He moved his hips in a leisurely back and forth motion, offering graphic evidence of his capacity to please.
    ‘Clear down to my toes,’ she said with a small heated sigh, his massive erection thick and stiff against her belly. ‘And everywhere in between,’ she purred, curling her arms around his neck, melting against him, every muscle belowher waist quivering wildly in anticipation.
    ‘Now I felt
that
,’ he whispered.
    ‘You couldn’t!’
    ‘I did.