He didn’t know why. He only knew that when he saw the fear in her eyes, he was overcome with the need to act, to take charge, to protect her.

Which was entirely foolish.

A look of amazement arose in her gaze. Then, before he knew what she was about, she slipped an arm about his neck, lifted onto her toes, and kissed him.

The kiss was bold, like Moira herself. She made full use of her curves, pressing against him as she pulled one of his hands to her hip.

Robert’s resolve fled. God, she drove him mad with desire. He still wanted her, desired her, dreamed of her—he’d never stopped.

He wrapped himself around her, deepening the kiss, molding her to him, the thin silk urging him on.

She moaned, her thigh rubbing his rigid cock. Robert cupped her rounded ass and lifted her, carrying her to the bed, where he joined her on the coverlet, his hands roaming over her body like a starved man gorging himself. God, how he’d longed to have her like this. How he’d dreamed of it.

No other woman could inflame his passions as quickly as this one. She knew just where to touch, how to stroke; even her kisses were more intoxicating than any others.

He ran his hands up to her breasts and impatiently pushed aside her robe. Her creamy breasts were revealed, the dusky rose-colored nipples begging for attention. She didn’t have the overly large breasts some men craved; hers were more delicate in size, fitting the palm of his hand perfectly.

He bent and captured one of her nipples between his lips, teasing her to gasping moans, his body aflame as she tugged at his trousers, releasing his shirt.

He slipped his knee between hers and opened her thighs. Her robe slipped even more, revealing her body to his hungry gaze. God, but she was seductive; he ached for her touch even as she gave it. Her hands never stilled, seeking, stroking, undoing buttons until she’d opened his breeches.

The feel of her hands on his bared waist brought him to his senses.

This was how she tricked me before. It is how she will trick me again. The thought was like ice water upon his passion.

He pushed himself away and looked down at her. She appeared somehow vulnerable, her eyes were half closed, her face flushed with desire, her lips swollen from his kisses. Her skin white against the blue silk robe, her dark hair making her eyes appear almost emerald.

Never had any woman worn the flush of passion better, yet Robert found the strength to leave her by remembering the last time she’d been like this, moaning beneath him. He’d been enthralled, enraptured . . . and at the end of that day, she’d tricked him into marriage and disappeared.

Ignoring the thundering of his heart, he rose from the bed and adjusted his clothing, saying with a coolness he was far from feeling, “I shall send my carriage in the morning to convey you wherever you wish. Just don’t make the mistake of appearing at Ross’s.”