Chapter 12

The rising sun warmed Logan where he sat alone behind his desk.

He hadn't slept well the night before, lying awake under his covers, thinking about the strange woman, his heart racing as he recalled his gallop across the pasture, and his launch onto her back.

When memories of her softness brought an unwelcomed hardness between his thighs, he groaned. He needed to uncover what she knew, and get her out of his house, his life, and his head. He frowned into the mocking sunshine, rang for the footman, commanding him to fetch the woman, and gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white. Straightening, he paced the floor, fighting the urge to rub the bridge of his nose. Stopping midstride, he turned and gazed at the door, grit his teeth, and waited.

The clock on the mantel intoned, signaling the approach of the breakfast hour. She should be awake waiting for his summons. She might even show a little fear and willingness to beg for his mercy. Oh, how he would enjoy that. A sneered curled his lip when he envisioned her on her knees before him, bowing her head, begging for his forgiveness. His smile disappeared as the vision in his head turned intimate. She was on her knees before him, but she wasn't begging for forgiveness. She was begging for his touch, her lips pouty and eager, her gaze bright and hungry, and her body warm and wet for his cock. He hardened instantly.

A knock on the door signaled her arrival. Deploring his weakness, he swore and prayed that when she entered she wouldn't notice the erection tenting the front of his trousers.

"Come." His voice was steady, but the huskiness was arousal-born.

The door opened. Startled by how she looked in the bright light of day, he blinked once and picked invisible lint from his coat sleeve. She'd re-dressed in her freshly-laundered, immodest peasant garb. It took no small amount of self-control to keep his gaze on her face as she approached, but the curiosity and carnal hunger beating at the back of his brain took control.

She was taller than most women. He was six-foot-four, and her lips could brush the bulge of his Adam's apple. He swallowed around the tightness in his throat. She wasn't just tall, she was lean, not a bit of fat on her. Her forearms were muscled, unlike the soft fleshy arms most women of the ton sported. He knew the length of pleated skirt hid gloriously long legs. He didn't doubt she'd been gifted with thighs of supple, touchable skin, and ankles of perfect proportion, slim, and lovely. Her top hid little from his view. Her shoulders were a golden olive, and her skin flawless, dipping between two round globes of feminine treasure. He knew how he must look to her, but he couldn't rush, he needed to take his time to absorb the sight of her. Though his heartbeat accelerated, his gaze was slow and appreciative.

***

Heat rushed to the roots of her hair. Despite her experience with leering men, his perusal made her feel naked and on display. Sucking in a deep breath, she cocked her head, summoned up a bit of spunk, and gave what she got.

From the top of his ebony-crowned head, to the tips of his gleaming black boots, the man was gorgeous. His face was a masterpiece of marble and flesh, his nose straight and strong, and his lips, though currently set in a grim line, were full. She tamped down the powerful yet foreign desire to suck his bottom lip between her teeth. Blinking to clear the erotic image, she focused on his face. Eyes as black as his hair, they were large and deep, ringed with dark lashes, long and thick. He was ridiculously beautiful. When his gaze met hers, her skin warmed.

For the fiftieth time in the last two days, she felt out of her element. She'd spent the last five years catering to the desires and attractions of thousands of men, but she'd never experienced real desire or attraction of her own. Despite her short-lived marriage, she'd quickly lost any desire to be intimate with Elgin. Lies would do that. Even among the droves of men flooding Delicious every night, there wasn't one who fired her passions, or made her want to give her body, soul, mind...heart.

For the first few years after her split, she didn't think it was a big deal. She was young, separated from Elgin, and just starting to pay down his debt. She could breathe a little easier, and God knew she had opportunities to turn her pent up frustrations into hot sex. After rejecting hundreds of requests for dates, she began to wonder if something was wrong. Was she too picky? Was she trying to remain faithful to her estranged husband? There had to be some reason her heart didn't skip a beat when a man showed interest. She was very careful to put on a mask of confidence, cynicism, and indifference. No one knew she craved intimacy, or that she spent nights fantasizing about men she read about in regency romance novels. More than anything, she wanted to trust a man enough to open her heart to him. Even though she'd trusted Elgin and been burned, she wasn't ready to give up on all men. Yet. Despite the hoping, praying, and fantasizing, no one got to her.

Until now...

She willed her breathing to resume normal depth and speed.

Her heart sputtered in her chest as her gaze roved over the dark, virile stranger. The cut and fit of his clothes showcased his frame. His broad, straight shoulders crowned his wide chest, and elicited images of her fingers stroking the muscles hidden beneath his crisp white shirt. His lean torso tapered to strong hips and beyond. The sleeves of his black coat encased his arms, emphasizing the strength and tone of his biceps. She was having severe palpitations. Her chest rose and fell erratically, and she hoped to God Mr. Tall, Dark, and Devastating didn't notice her sudden development of asthma.

Oh God. Why does my tormenter have to be so lip-smacking? Please tell me I'm in a coma and I get to dream about this guy forever. Although, I'd prefer a better fantasy than bondage.

The deep timbre of his voice ripped her from her lusty thoughts.

"Let the inquisition begin." His tone was even, but spiked with sarcasm. He indicated the chair on the other side of the desk.

Haven hesitated only a second. Just get it over with.

She stepped forward, and descended into the chair, taking great care to avert her gaze, even though she really wanted to look at him again. Her brain was half convinced she was in hell, and that the dark man before her was a demon waiting for her to crumble at his feet.

"Now, I believe the first matter of business should be your name. Who are you?"

She straightened her shoulders, and drew up her chin. "My name is Haven Edwards."

His eyes lit, and an eyebrow lifted, almost like a light bulb clicked on in his brain. "Your accent, you're from the Colonies."

She furrowed her brow. Where had she heard that reference before? Second grade social studies class. "You mean the American Colonies?"

What the hell?

Her spine stiffened, and the corner of his eyelid twitched. "Yes."

Her stomach jumped into her throat, and she nodded.

"What is an American doing in my fields in the dark?"