He grasped his cock in his hand, pulling up, feeling his own hardness, the exquisite sensitivity at the tip.
He’d draw the laces from her stays, bare her fully for his own enjoyment. And under her skirts, there lay that sweet, warm, wet—
Downstairs, someone began pounding on his front door.
Griffin groaned. Surely there was someone to answer it. He didn’t have many servants, but he did have enough to answer a bloody door. Or perhaps the caller would give up.
But the knocking continued.
“Hell,” he spat, letting go of his now-rigid cock. The visitor might be Nick Barnes with more news.
Griffin climbed from the tub, splashing water on the rug, then swiped a towel across his body and pulled on breeches and a shirt. He ran down the stairs barefoot and stomped across the hall floor to fling open the door.
“What?”
He found himself glaring into Lady Hero’s startled gray eyes. She glanced down the length of him, making him very aware of the damp shirt clinging to his chest and the breeches covering his half-aroused state.
Her gaze snapped back up to his. “Oh!”
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, thank God!” she said low. “I’d heard reports this morning of a gin still burning in St. Giles. They said a man was dead.”
“Well, it wasn’t me,” he said, not very graciously.
“I can see that.” She cleared her throat. “Might I come in?”
He looked up and down the street. No one appeared to be paying attention to them. He reached out, wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, and yanked her inside his house.
Lady Hero stumbled in with a squeak. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Trying to salvage your reputation,” Griffin muttered. He turned and stomped into the library without bothering to see if she’d follow. “What do you think you’re doing visiting a bachelor’s residence—unaccompanied—in the middle of the day?”
“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” she said from behind him. “And I need to talk to you.”
Griffin grunted. The damned woman no doubt wanted to continue her harangue about the still. He picked up a decanter of brandy and splashed some into a glass. He turned with the glass in his hand and found her frowning at the scatter of papers on his desk. Probably disapproved of the mess.
He tossed back some of the brandy. “About what?”
She turned, still frowning. “I’m sorry?”
He gestured with the glass, spilling some of the brandy onto the floor. “What do you want to talk about?”
She pursed her lips in a fussy little moue that only served to draw attention to her mouth. He had a sudden image of her mouth pursed and filled. His cock, ever at the ready, came to full, raging arousal.
Griffin slammed back the rest of the brandy.
She opened that luscious mouth. “I—”
“Perhaps you wanted to chat about the weather?” Griffin said silkily. He refilled his glass. “That would be an appropriate topic of discussion for an early morning call.”
She blinked. “I—”
He held up a finger to stop her and took another gulp of brandy. It burned going down, but his shoulder, which had been aching from this morning’s fight, began to loosen.
“Should you be drinking so much before noon?” she asked disapprovingly.
“Yes.” He glared and took another sip to prove his point. “I always drink when I’m half dressed and entertaining ladies.”
She flushed a becoming pink. “Perhaps I should come back another time.”
“Oh, no.” He set down the glass with a crack and stalked toward her. “You’ve interrupted my bath, interrupted my quite pleasurable pursuits there, in fact. You might as well tell me what you want to say.”
She stared at him, mute.
“Perhaps you wanted to take me to task for my gin-making ways yet again, hmm?” He leaned over her, not caring if he intimidated or even frightened her. “Or chide me for fucking too much.”
She flinched at the word but stood her ground bravely.
He narrowed his eyes viciously. How dare she stand there like a martyr when he ached—literally ached—for her? He snapped his fingers as if remembering something. “But you can’t chide me for seduction when you’ve fallen victim to my lewd advances yourself, can you? Not so saintly now, are you?”
Her eyes widened, and he thought he saw a shimmer that might’ve been tears. He wouldn’t give ground now. Not when he might finally drive her out of his house, out of his life, and out from under his skin.
Griffin bent and murmured in her ear, “But perhaps that’s what you really came here to discuss—seduction. Perhaps all that stuff about gin making was merely an excuse you seized upon to come see me. Perhaps you want me to kiss more than your sweet breasts this time.”
HE’D TAUNTED HER, baited her, argued with her, and made her feel far more than she should. And now he loomed over her, clearly trying to scare her away.
But she wasn’t frightened.
Lord Reading’s warm breath washed over her bare neck, scented with brandy, and his wicked words sparked something deep within her. It might be—definitely should be—shame, but she very much feared it was something else entirely.
“Is that what you want?” he purred. “My hand on your belly? Stroking down until my fingers tangle in your maidenhair? I’d wager it’s as soft as a kitten’s fur, your hair down there.”
She drew in a shuddering breath, pressing one hand to her stomach. He shouldn’t say these things. She should make him stop. She should leave. Except… except she wanted with all her heart to stay. To meet him on equal ground—just this once.
To be a woman to his man.
He didn’t touch her, simply stood over her too close and whispering those shameful, shocking, seductive words. “But what’s below is even softer, isn’t it? Your sweet petals, all wet and silky, blooming open for me. I’d find your secret bud hidden in among them, and I’d circle it just so. Never hard enough to hurt you—oh, no, I’d not hurt you—but not so soft that you couldn’t feel it. For I want you to feel it, Hero. I want you to feel me.”
She moaned, and she couldn’t help it—didn’t want to help it anymore. She turned her head toward him. His face was inches from hers. His eyes were a pale, implacable green, arrogant and sinful. If that was all she saw in his gaze, she would’ve walked from the room.