Page 51 of Gone with the Rake

But he couldn’t let her get away with whatever she had planned unscathed. He kissed her cheek, her jaw. “You are so passionate. Just like I imagined you would be.”

“Don’t speak,” she panted and captured his mouth again.

Oh, I will speak. “Your letters made me realize how shallow my life had been before I met you.”

She kissed him again, more desperately this time, obviously trying to silence him.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to love my own wife, but I am not anymore. Penelope, I lo—”

“No!” She wrenched away violently and put her fingertips to her wet and puffy lips as if he’d hurt her.

Her eyes were wild behind the mask, and Thorn narrowed his own eyes, trying to decipher what she looked like. His fingers itched to rip the mask away from her face and look at the woman who had deceived him all this time.

Why? Why did you do this to me?

He grabbed her by the arms and crushed her body to his. Her breaths grew shallow, and her eyes fell closed. Her body went pliant in his arms, and his own reacted the same.

He wanted her. Damn all the lies and deceit. She wanted him to want her, and she got it. But she was in his arms now. And he wasn’t letting her go easily.

He took her hand and led her away, cutting his way toward the shadowed alcove, craving more privacy. He shut the drapes behind them, plunging the room into complete darkness save for a sliver of light seeping through a narrow crack.

He crushed her lips to his again and devoured her hungrily. Before he revealed her identity, her plan, he would have a piece of her. She owed him that much.

His hands traveled to her breasts, and he weighed them in his hands, rubbing her nipples through the thin fabric of her gown. Instead of pulling away, she leaned into him, her hips gently moving against him, her warm curves pressed against his erect length.

Thorn moved his arm, his fingers clutching at her skirt and raising it—the need to feel her warm flesh overwhelming his mind.

She instantly covered his hand with hers—not to stop him but to encourage him. She entwined their fingers and raised her skirt, revealing her stocking-clad legs. When they reached her thigh, she pressed his palm against her bare skin over her stocking.

They both gasped as they stared at each other through their masks.

“I want you,” he whispered and crushed his mouth over hers, kissing her savagely. He wanted her. He needed her. Without even knowing who she was. And yet… he hated her, too. For her lies and deception. For making a fool of him.

He was angry at himself for these complicated feelings she evoked in him. He was angry he could not control himself in her presence.

Just one more kiss.

He circled his tongue inside her mouth, soliciting desperate moans out of her. His hand traveled up her thigh, tracing her hot, silky skin. Just to distract her, he told himself. Just to feel her once… At the same time, the fingers of his other hand tangled in her hair, fisting her locks, tugging, and then undoing the ties of her mask.

“Art, don’t!” The cry left her lips before she slapped her hand over her mouth.

It was too late.

The mask slipped off, and so did her wig.

She took a shaky step back, her eyes wide.

Thorn stared at the woman who had deceived him, and he could not believe his eyes. He was staring at a ghost. But it was too dark. He could still be mistaken. After all, he could barely see the outline of her face.

He was so shocked that it took him a moment to realize what she’d said.

Art, don’t! She’d called him Art. Was it really her? He could believe neither his eyes nor ears.

“What did you say?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“I–I said don’t.” She looked away from him, retreating slowly.

“No, before that.” Thorn pursued her step for step.