It was all so mad, so completely wrong and yet so deliciously perfect. It was every sensation in the world, wrapped into one woman, and he could not get enough. In that moment, in that room, he could never get enough.

His palm moved to her shoulder, then to her back, pulling her closer until his hips pressed hard against her belly. She was small, and she was strong, but she curved in all the best places.

George was no monk. He had kissed women before, women who knew how to kiss him back. But he had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted Billie. He had never wanted anything as much as this kiss.

This kiss . . . and all that could come after.

“Billie,” he groaned. “Billie.”

She made a sound. It might have been his name. And somehow that was what it took.

Good God. Reason came slamming back into him. His brain woke and his sanity returned, and he stumbled back, the electricity that had sparked so hot between them now jolting him away.

What the hell had just happened?

He breathed. No, he tried to breathe. It was an entirely different thing.

She had asked him what he wanted.

And he’d answered. He wanted her. He hadn’t even had to think about it.

Clearly, he hadn’t thought about it, because if he had, he wouldn’t have done it.

He raked a hand through his hair. Then another. Then he just gave up and squeezed both, pulling on his scalp until he let out a growl of pain.

“You kissed me,” she said, and he had just enough presence of mind not to say that she’d kissed him back. Because he’d started it. He had started it, and they both knew that she never would have done so.

He shook his head, tiny unthinking movements that did nothing to clear his mind. “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “That wasn’t—I mean—”

He swore. This was apparently the extent of his coherency.

“You kissed me,” she said again, and this time she sounded suspicious. “Why did—”

“I don’t know,” he bit off. He swore again, raking his hand through his hair as he turned away from her. Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody—

He swallowed. “That was a mistake,” he said.

“What?”

It was just one word. Not nearly enough for him to decipher her tone. Which was probably for the best. He turned around, forcing himself to look at her while at the same time not allowing himself to see.

He didn’t want to see her reaction. He didn’t want to know what she thought of him. “That was a mistake,” he said, because it was what he had to say. “Do you understand me?”

Her eyes narrowed. Her face grew hard. “Perfectly.”

“For God’s sake, Billie, don’t take bloody offense—”

“Don’t take offense? Don’t take offense? You—” She stopped herself, shot a furtive glance at the open door, and lower her voice to a furious hiss. “I did not start this.”