“Stop trying to control my life, Whitmore. You, of all men, ought to understand what it’s like to have someone forcing your every move. I won’t allow it.”

The pointed reminder wasn’t lost on him. But he wasn’t behaving like his autocratic family. This was about taking care of Emily, ensuring her safety.

She tried to break free of his embrace, but he held her fast. The top button of her gown hung open, baring her throat to him. The glimpse of skin made him hungry to taste, to tantalize her. He didn’t want anger between them, not after all that had transpired.

He held her wrists captive while he bent forward and kissed her neck. As soon as his mouth touched the spot, her posture stiffened. “What are you doing, Whitmore?”

“Distracting you. I find that I’m hungrier than I’d thought.” To emphasize his words, he nipped at her throat, moving closer to her mouth.

“I—I suppose I could find more biscuits, if you—”

He cut her off with the kiss, taking what he wanted most. Her mouth, her lips…her tongue. He kissed her deeply, and she responded as though she didn’t want their night to end. And neither did he. Desire flared through him once again.

Emily wound both arms around his neck, kissing him with the reckless abandon he loved about her. He unbuttoned the rest of her gown, pleased to find that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. Baring her breast, he leaned in to suckle the tip. She gasped and reached beneath his shirt to touch his chest. Nipping her gently, he turned his attention to the other breast.

She consumed him, making him lose sight of every good intention. He wanted her, and not just for this night. He sensed that even if they had a thousand nights together, he’d never be satiated.

He tasted and stroked, his tongue moving over the soft nipple. Her fingers dug into his scalp, and when he slid his hands up her skirts, he found her wet between her thighs. The need to take her, to claim her body with his, drove out all rational arguments. He guided her toward the wall, resting her palms upon it. “Stand here, Miss Barrow. I’m going to ravish you.”

“But you—that is, I’m not sure—”

He lifted her skirts to her waist, baring her firm bottom. “I’ll stop, if you’d rather not.” But he caressed the curve of her hip, moving his hand between her legs to the damp curls. He teased her, stroking her with his hand until she lowered her head, still balancing her hands against the wall. Her breathing was unsteady when he moved between her legs. She gasped when he unfastened his trousers, using his length to rub between her legs against her moist center.

“I don’t think—men and women behave like this—in the kitchen, do they?”