He kissed her, harder and more demanding than before, overwhelming her protests, overcoming her fears. And all the while, his fingers were never still. He found her most secret place, stroking and touching her, building her desires until they burned and she arched against him, her inhibitions gone in the flash of a moment.

Heaven help her, but she was on fire. She yearned for him, ached for him deep within. He kissed her cheek with the softest of touches, his mouth leaving a damp trail as he traced a line to her ear. His breath fluttered against her earlobe and sent a deluge of delicious tremors through her.

He was slow, deliberate, his intent all too clear—he meant to make her crazy with desire before seducing her in full.

And why not, Harriet decided. She was a woman grown. And in all her years, she’d never met a man like this, one who wore his sensuality like a fig leaf on an ancient statue. She knew what was behind that blasted leaf—she hadn’t lived on a farm for all these years for nothing. Nonetheless, her fingers itched to remove everything that stood between her and him, so that she could get a nice, long look at what lay beneath.

What was a true revelation was how many other weapons of seduction the man had at his disposal. Not only were his hands roaming freely, but his mouth never ceased delivering shivery kisses and delicate nips. His breath sent a flutter of heat down her spine. His skin burned beneath her fingertips, begging to be touched even more.

Harriet was lost. Her body tightened in response to each and every new delight. How she wanted this man.

She could feel his fingers busily unlacing her gown. And before she knew it, he was pushing the neckline free, shoving it down, over her shoulders, to her waist. Mindless with the need to taste him, to feel him, she pulled her arms free of the gown, and wrapped them about his neck.

He pressed a passionate kiss to her neck, his hands cupping, kneading her through the thin material of her shift, driving her wilder.

“Remove it,” he murmured against her ear.

“What?” she asked breathlessly, shifting restlessly, aware of a deep ache within. She wanted more, needed more.

“Your shift,” he said, placing wet kisses along her cheek and neck. “Remove it.”

It was an order, softly made, yet insistent. Harriet didn’t even question. She wanted this, wanted him. She tugged the lace that tied her shift free, and somehow, she never would remember exactly how, she was soon naked and pliant on the bed beneath him. He bent over her, resting on one elbow as his mouth continued to trace a heated path from her neck to her ear and back.

It was erotic, the feel of their limbs entangled with nothing between them. Harriet ran her hands over his broad shoulders, kissing his throat, his chin.

He cupped her breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple and causing her to drop her head back and close her eyes. “Harriet, look at me.”