Harriet blinked. Good heavens, what was wrong with her that she was thinking about kisses from a strange man? Well…not that strange. He was, in a way, her fiancé.

Wasn’t he?

He lifted a finger to her cheek and brushed a line from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, his touch sending a fury of tremors through her. “I remember that your lips were my first contact with consciousness after I was wounded.”

Piffle. The man had a memory like a trap.

“But the circumstances of our other kisses…” He shook his head. “We can do better. Much, much better.”

Harriet was suddenly certain they could. She found herself unable to move when he stepped closer, placing his hand on the fence at her hip. He had her boxed in, trapped against the railing, his arms to either side, his hips even with hers.

She should protest, she supposed. But why? She rather enjoyed the feel of him surrounding her. She looked into his eyes and almost sighed. They were so blue that Harriet could only stare. It was sinful to see a man with such long lashes. She thought about her own brown lashes and had to repress a sigh of envy. Drat the man, making her feel as if she was inadequate in some way.

She shook herself mentally. “Look, Captain—”

“Call me John. I am your fiancé, after all.”

“Yes, but I—”

“I want to hear my name from your lips.” He stood so close his knees brushed her skirts. “In fact, I demand it.”

“Demand?”

His eyes glinted. “Call. Me. John.”

She could see that he was going to be difficult. “Oh, very well. Have it your way. Though why it would matter—”

“Perhaps the sound of my name on your lips will refresh this damnable memory of mine.”

“You shouldn’t curse.”

“Sorry. Must be my time at sea. I daresay I know quite a few more curse words, just by dint of being a sailor.”

She never thought she’d hate the word “logic,” but it was truly beginning to grate on her nerves. “Oh, very well,” she said, sighing. “Jo—”

Chase kissed her. He would never be sure afterward if it was her audacity in continuing the farce, his irritation in being so maneuvered, or simply the sight of her perfect lips making the most delicious “j” of his entire life. Whatever it was that sent him over the edge, he recklessly plunged forward, capturing her to him with a force that echoed his exploded control.

He wasn’t sure what he expected. Resistance perhaps. Or outright anger. But what he got was something entirely different. She stiffened, but only for a second, and then something happened. She responded. Only not in a genteel, careful way as one would expect from such a starchy paragon of virtue, but in a hot, hands-clutching way that aroused Chase more thoroughly than any kiss he’d ever received.

Still, as heated as it was, it wasn’t a particularly good kiss. It was inept and strangely endearing. He pulled back and said in a low voice, “Easy, sweetheart. Not like that.”