“I’ll slay him.” There was something about Giles’s tone that promised violence.

“No need,” Yasmin said. “I refuse to dance with him.” She nestled closer. “I’m practicing my countess stare.”

A smile pricked his mouth. “Indeed?”

“It has to be fierce to match yours,” Yasmin pointed out.

“My ancestors were rather dour,” Giles said. “My father told me once that the earls all look so bad-tempered because the smell of linseed and paint is unbearable.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“My father had a particularly acute sense of smell.” He dipped his head and took her nipple into his mouth.

Yasmin gasped as he moved above her, his tool sliding over her wet folds and breaching her as her legs curled around him. He smelled like soap and something indefinable that was him, the unique person whom she loved.

She arched her back, thrusting her breast into his mouth, loving the way it made him start thrusting faster and harder, a muted groan escaping. This time was less frenzied. There was time to run her hand through Giles’s hair, to catch his eyes with hers, to moan into his mouth. When he rolled over, she practiced her new skill of balancing on top of a man.

Her hand clutched the slabs of Giles’s chest. Her hair had fallen down her back, her breasts were held in his hands, his thumbs roughly caressing her nipples. “I love this,” she gasped. “My favorite position.”

“You said the same thing last night when you were bent over a chair,” Giles murmured, his eyes gleaming, his hips flexing up to meet her.

“I liked that too,” Yasmin said, giggling.

He pulled her down and kissed her laughing mouth. “I’ve never imagined anything as wonderful as the sound of your happiness.” Giles dragged his mouth along her cheek, the abrasion of his stubble making her breath catch.

“I can’t help it,” Yasmin gasped. “I feel as if I’m melting, and it’s such a strange feeling, but so . . .” She couldn’t find the right word. “I feel free,” she decided, finally. Heat was building in her limbs, and she couldn’t pay attention to language.

It wasn’t until later that Giles picked up the thread of conversation. “What do you mean by feeling free?”

“I didn’t like kissing.”

“Why not?”

She wrinkled her nose. “A man puts his lips on you, and he thinks you will be overcome by craving for their tongue, and it’s all so unlikely and disgusting!”

“But not with me,” Giles said with deep satisfaction. He wanted to prove it, so he kissed her until she lost her head.

“I’m exhausted,” she murmured sometime later. “I need to sleep.”

“I should leave.”

Her arms tightened. “I wish you wouldn’t. I wish you’d spend the night here and drink hot chocolate in bed with me tomorrow morning.”

Giles dropped a kiss on her mouth. “Soon. We set Lydia’s wedding date, by the way.”

Yasmin blinked at him. “That’s marvelous. Next week?”