My Reckless Surrender by Anna Campbell Page B

to be a heartless devil?
    The longing to cede to blazing passion tugged at her. He was close enough for her to feel his warmth. That radiating heat was its own invitation. She’d been cold for eight long years.
    Once, she’d basked in a husband’s love and care. Then death had ripped William from her arms, and she’d been lonely ever since.
    The reminder of her husband propelled her back to reality. For her sanity’s sake, she couldn’t afford to lose herself in passion. “I want an affair, not a quick tumble then good-bye.”
    â€œYou do yourself an injustice, Diana,” he said slowly. “And me.”
    â€œSo you accept my proposal?”
    The word hung between them, with its connotations of permanence, virtue, wedded bliss. Eventually, he lowered his head in a sharp nod. “I accept.”
    She waited for hallelujahs of triumph to ring inside her. But instead her heart beat a preternatural warning that she should end everything now. She should flee London and return to the woman she’d been last week, yesterday, an hour ago.
    The woman she was before she’d succumbed to a rake’s touch.
    â€œThank you.” What else could a woman say when she consented to surrender her honor?
    He reached for her hand. Even through her glove, his touch scorched. “Now for pity’s sake, come with me before I lose my mind.”
    He jerked her against him and slipped one hand behind her head. He kissed her thoroughly. Her toes curled in her brocade slippers, and pleasure flooded her veins.
    When sensation threatened to overwhelm her, she wrenched her head back. In the darkness, she couldn’t read his expression. His breathing was tattered, and his heart raced under the hand she rested on his chest.
    How she wanted him. Desire should ease her way. Instead, it made everything fiendishly difficult. She hadn’t expected to navigate the rapids and ravines of emotional involvement.
    Untold danger lay ahead unless she controlled her responses and remembered she did this monstrous thing for purely selfish reasons. She wanted something from Lord Ashcroft, and once she got it, he was no more use to her.
    He groaned and leaned his forehead against hers. Their breath mingled in the space between, almost more intimate than his kiss. “You torture me. Damn it, Diana, I must have you.”
    â€œNot tonight,” she forced out, even as the urge to yield, to run away with him and never look back made her shake with longing.
    For all her harsh reminders of why she was here, it was impossible to forget what they’d shared tonight.
    She wanted one last memory to carry home. Her kiss was soft, tentative, unlike the earlier passionate ravishing. His lips were soft, too, like warm satin. She clung for a sweet moment that whispered innocence. She glanced swift kisses at the corners of his mouth and along the hard line of his jaw.
    His scent filled her head. Musk and clean skin and some essence that was Ashcroft himself.
    Temptation drew her on. She feathered her mouth across his commanding blade of a nose, hearing his sharply in-drawn breath. Almost as if she were blind, she glided her mouth over his cheeks, felt a hint of bristle. This evidence of masculinity made her toes curl again.
    She cupped his face between her hands and returned her attention to his lips. His hold tightened at her waist, and he opened his mouth. Any hope of restraint evaporated in incinerating heat. He took control, lit the kiss to flame.
    She was lost to the world before something, the whicker of a horse or the rattle of a carriage, pierced her flaring madness.
    He speared his hands through her hair in a rough gesture that scattered bright shards of desire through her veins. His voice was rough too. “My house. Tomorrow.”
    Diana struggled to muster her thoughts, difficult when his kiss still tingled on her lips. She couldn’t mistake his urgency. His urgency fed hers.
    â€œNo. Someone