She lowered her handkerchief and leaned over to him, sniffing his shoulder, then gave him a mischievous look. He slid the cloth from over his nose and raised his eyebrow, daring her to do what he knew they both most wanted to.

And, thank God, she did.

“At least it’ll keep me from smelling it all,” she murmured before grabbing his head and bringing his lips down forcefully on hers. He placed his hand on her waist, then lower so he was cupping her arse. Her delicious, fulsome arse. She responded by moving closer, keeping one hand in his hair and putting the other one on his thigh, squeezing it as they kissed.

His cock reacted immediately to her hand’s proximity, of course, stiffening and straining against the cloth of his trousers. He shifted, and she chuckled against his lips, clearly enjoying the situation.

He responded by moving his hand so he could reach the skirts of her gown, gathered the fabric in his fist and began to draw it up. Slow enough so she could stop him if she wanted to.

She didn’t stop him.

He extended his hand to slide his fingers over her leg, continuing to bring the bottom of the gown up. Up her shin, over her knee, until he was able to roll it up and rest it on her thighs.

His eyes were closed, but he couldn’t resist opening them for a moment to look at what he’d done. And then he couldn’t stop staring—her revealed thighs, the juncture between her legs beckoning him.

Damn, he wanted her. Even in this ridiculous-smelling hackney cab, barreling through London’s streets en route to take her home, he wanted her.

It was the first time he’d ever begrudged his size; if he were a smaller man, he could take her against the carriage seat, her holding on to his arse as he thrust into her.

He’d have to make do with what he had, however. He slid his fingers on her thigh and then curled down between her legs. Not quite there yet, but just shy of there. Waiting to make certain she was on board with what he was doing.

She moaned into his mouth, edging her body closer so his fingers touched her soft wetness. She was definitely on board with what he was doing, then.

He felt the damp curls, and then his finger found her nub and he rubbed it gently. She broke their kiss, tilting her head back and closing her eyes as she bit her lip.

“Do you want me to touch you, Della?” he asked in a rough voice. Even though he knew what her answer would be. He needed to hear her say it.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Touch me, please, Griff.”