Christ, she was practically bursting out of the gown. The fabric seemed to stretch to the breaking point to contain all that straining flesh. All he had to do was reach down, slide his finger along the edge of her bodice, and he’d see the pink of her nipple. What shade would they be? A delicate light pink or succulent, berry red like her mouth?

Aye, looking was difficult, but having them crushed against his chest, that was torture unlike any he’d ever felt before. He ached to touch them, to feel the full weight in his hand, to rub his finger over the silky skin and pebbled tips, to squeeze and lift them to his mouth and tongue. Just thinking about it made him crazed with lust. His body was as hard as a damned spike.

Those siren eyes didn’t help any. They dragged him in and made him think of pleasure. Of hot, twisted limbs in bedsheets, of sweaty, naked flesh, of sin and passion and lust.

She was temptation and base desire, and a damned fantasy come to life. It took everything he had not to pull her into his arms and cover that taunting, but achingly soft red mouth with his. He knew how good she would taste, how good she would smell. Like warm honey and flowers in the spring . . .

The fierce intensity of his reaction infuriated him. He knew what she was doing, damn it. She was only trying to provoke him. He should be repulsed by the obvious ploy. But his body sure as hell didn’t understand. It throbbed, ached, and tightened to the point of pain.

Ploy or not, he was good and provoked. He was going to take what she offered, damn it, and teach her a lesson about prodding hungry lions with a stick—or in this case, two very firm and barely covered breasts that he’d be picturing for too many nights to come.

He slid his arm around her waist to pull her even closer, groaning at how good she felt. She seemed to melt right into him. She gasped at the movement, and his mouth was about two seconds away from smothering the next one, when he suddenly swore and pulled back.

Christ, what the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t teach women lessons like that. He sounded like a barbarian. Women were to protect, cherish, honor, and revere.

He released her so quickly she seemed to need to catch herself. But that didn’t explain the slightly dazed look on her face. She blinked a few times, staring at him in confusion.

Clearly she’d expected him to kiss her, and just as clearly she’d been surprised when he hadn’t.

But was there something else? Had she wanted him to kiss her? Had the ploy been less of a game than he thought?