He lowered his gaze, watching as more and more of her skin came into view, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself from being entranced by his hands. Such capable hands that never faltered. She imagined the quickness it had taken for him to steal the pea away and hide it, then return it to its place as he lifted the cup. A direct contrast to the speed with which he worked now. Every subtle action could be seen, every tiny stroke felt. Nothing was by happenstance, all was deliberate. Her breasts grew heavy, as though they wanted to break free of the confines of her clothing in order to be touched as well.

Slowly, slowly, he slid the silk over her hand, off her fingers, his forefinger returning to provide support for her fingers as his thumb skimmed over the area where her wedding ring had been nestled the night before, had remained from the moment the duke had placed it on her hand at St. George’s. But it wouldn’t have been right to take Aiden Trewlove between her thighs while she wore something that tied her to Lushing. She hadn’t realized it when she’d set out on her quest yesterday, but the club owner had brought that fact home, clearly and succinctly. She wouldn’t cast Lushing from her heart or her memories, but she most certainly could not have him haunting her bed.

Aiden brought her hand up to his lips, placed a gentle kiss where the mark of her ring remained. Her eyes stung, and she very nearly hated him at that moment for being so understanding, for giving her such a kindness when she didn’t deserve it.

Releasing his hold on her, he tossed her glove onto the first. “All right, then, let’s get to the lesson.”

Although she could not help but believe that one had already been given: Aiden Trewlove did not do things in half measures. When he was done with her, she was going to find herself well and truly bedded. The thought both exhilarated and terrified her.

Chapter 6

Christ, removing her gloves had him so hard, Aiden was surprised he retained the ability to walk over to the wall and take a cue stick from the rack. He grabbed the chalk and began grinding it into the tip of the stick, which unfortunately had him thinking about grinding into her and did nothing to relieve his embarrassing circumstance.

“Select your ball,” he said.

“The red.”

Lifting his gaze to her helped reduce his swelling somewhat because she appeared so hopeful and innocent standing near the table with her hands clasped before her, so intent on learning the lesson he was to teach—only he didn’t really want to teach her about billiards. He wanted to educate her on exactly what she wanted him to: bedding.

But tormenting them both was going to make it all so much sweeter in the end.