The breath went out of her in a gasp as his arms circled her and he lifted her off her feet. Cordelia knew she was no delicate little doll like Lucie, but James swept her up as if she weighed no more than a parasol. Her hands came down on his shoulders just as he clamped his mouth over hers, stopping her words, her breath, with one explosive kiss.

Blood sang in her ears. His mouth was hot and open over hers; she parted her lips as his tongue swept inside, stroking, caressing. She pressed against him, fingers digging into his skin, wanting more, running her own tongue over his lips, the soft inside of his mouth. He tasted like honey.

They sank to the floor, James still holding her; he let her down gently onto the carpet, arching over her, his expression drunk and dizzy. “Daisy,” he whispered. “Daisy, my Daisy.”

Cordelia knew that if she told him to stop, he would, immediately and without question. But it was the last thing she wanted. His body stretched the length of hers, pressing her into the yielding carpet; he was stripped to his undershirt, and she let her hands go free—sliding them up his biceps, feeling the swell of muscles there and in his back as he rose over her on his elbows.

“That’s right,” he whispered against her mouth. “Touch me—do what you want—anything—”

She reached down, tugging at his shirt, pushing her hands up under the fabric. She wanted to lay her hands on the place where his heart beat. She shimmied her palms up his bare chest, feeling the flutter in his belly as she skimmed its flat planes. Up over his rib cage, the smooth muscles of his chest—his skin was like silk, raveled here and there with the marks of old scars.

He pressed his forehead against her shoulder, shivering at her touch. “Daisy.”

Cordelia felt again that power she had felt before. The knowledge that though James did not love her, he wanted her. Even despite himself, he wanted her. It was a shameful sort of power, stronger even for the guilt of it. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

The words seemed to go through him with the force of lightning. He groaned, crushing his lips to hers before dragging kisses down her throat, over her collarbone. His hands found the buttons at the neck of her gown: he flicked them open one by one, pressing his lips to each inch of newly uncovered skin. Cordelia sucked in a deep breath of air—she had dressed herself, and there was no corset, no chemise under the gown. She heard his sharp inhalation as the fabric fell away, baring the tops of her breasts.