Celia sucked in a breath. “Please go away. And stay away.”

“Impossible.” He laughed, nuzzling into her hair. “I think I should kneel before you once more. Do you know why? Because you are most amendable just after you come. As are most women.”

His arrogance was astounding, but deep in Celia’s belly, there was a nervous, excited flutter. Somehow, she needed to regain control of herself and this dangerous situation.

She pushed at Gabriel’s broad chest with balled fists. He did not budge from his position. He loomed over her. A lion guarding his kill. Watching her with those sharp, golden-brown eyes as though he found her efforts greatly amusing.

“Next time, I’ll have you on your knees, my little sugarplum. And it will be you pleasuring me.”

Celia could not help herself. Her gaze drifted, landing on the prominent bulge marring the flat front of his trousers.

Dear Lord, the man had no shame. No restraint. And for some bloody reason, Celia apparently liked it.

She liked it too much. It sickened her how much she hung on his every word despite her outrage.

“Your words are as coarse as your manners.” Her exasperated huff hung between them.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, then his head bowed slightly. “I apologize, my lady. One should not expect too much from a bastard. I shall see you tomorrow. Rest well.”

His lips pressed against her forehead in a brief caress, and then he was gone. The door clicked behind him before Celia could even muster up an admonishment at the derogatory term used in describing himself.

Later, much later, restlessly tossing and turning in her bed, Celia wondered why the faint self-recrimination in Gabriel’s voice bothered her so terribly.

CHAPTER 13

Once again, Gabriel spent a night cursing his damnable weakness when it came to the delectable Celia Buchanan.

The failure to distance himself was becoming an infuriating exercise in delusional behavior. He had nothing to offer her, despite his wealth. Nothing of value remotely capable of overcoming his lack of title. And nothing would ever excuse the fact he was the bastard son of an opera singer who had, unfortunately, fallen in love with a man of higher social standing.

The Earl of Darby should marry off his headstrong daughter as quickly as possible. Lady Darby’s strangely complacent attitude in throwing her daughter to a wolf like himself should be discouraged as well. In the interim, Gabriel decided he must physically place the girl at arm’s length before they found themselves in a tangle of consequences and scandal.

But even as Gabriel made those hard decisions, he could not help but remember the soft, warm taste of her in his mouth. The sweetness of her climax and those intoxicating gasps for air that escaped her lungs as he pleasured her. She was an addiction now. One he should forget.

Or, at the very least, learn to live without.