“I don’t want to interfere with your official duties.” With her eyes closed, she pressed her lips to his neck and let herself enjoy the gentle stroking of his hands.

“But you do, ma mie. I sat listening to the huffing and puffing of ten stuffy men who are more interested in paintings than people, and I imagined you sitting there with your hands neatly folded and your eyes solemn. And you were wearing nothing but your hair.”

She’d slipped off his tie, but paused now on the third button of his shirt. “In the boardroom?”

“In the boardroom.” Would he ever stop being fascinated by that dry, serious tone and those dark eyes? “You can see why I had such a problem concentrating.” He didn’t tell her he’d also dealt with unexpected tingles of fear as he’d pictured her with Deboque, at his mercy, helpless, alone. It was an image he hadn’t been able to drown out in innumerable cups of coffee or glasses of wine. “So I came in here to wait for you.”

“And fell asleep.”

“I’d hoped you’d see the irony and reverse the fairy tale. Wake the sleeping prince with a kiss. Instead I got a shove.”

With her hands framing his face, she drew his head up. “Let me make up for it now then.”

She touched her lips to his, brushed, retreated, teased then touched again. She felt him tense his fingers at her back as she toyed with his mouth. Her tongue traced, her teeth nipped as heat built to a flash point. She didn’t object when he pressed her head closer, when his mouth closed hungrily over hers. If he had longed for her through the day, his need had been no sharper than her own. They would take the night hours together.

She had his shirt unbuttoned and open. Her dress had slipped down, revealing the shimmer of honey-colored lace beneath. Bennett let his fingertips play over it while he absorbed the contrasts and delights that were his Hannah. He drew the pins out of her hair so that it flowed over her shoulders and his. The scent of it was as light and elusive as the scent of her skin. What witchery she had was an innate part of her rather than something that came from bottles and pots.

Fresh, real, his. Delirious from her, he tugged the dress down her body and let it fall to the rug.

And his fingers slid over the stiletto strapped to her thigh.

She stiffened, remembering the weapon the instant he discovered it. Passion cooled so swiftly, she shivered. When she drew away he didn’t stop her.