He looked down as she tied a clean bandage around the wound. “Kiss me. I need distraction from the pain.”

She was more than happy to oblige. The nearness of him, the scent of all that smooth, bronzed skin was just too tempting.

He tasted of brandy and heat. His tongue slid against hers in a steady, sinuous rhythm she felt in her breasts and her stomach, between her legs. She smoothed her hands over the muscled expanse of his shoulders, loving the feel of him, the power, but pulled back when her fingers ran over the puckered patch of scar tissue just above his clavicle.

“I took a bullet at Salamanca,” he said softly. “French sniper. I was lucky; it came right out the back.” He guided her hand behind him, and she felt a corresponding ridge where the bullet had exited his body. “Didn’t even touch the bone.”

Georgie shuddered, and her stomach pitched weightlessly. The scar was so close to the throbbing pulse of his neck. It could so easily have been fatal. She bent and kissed the damaged skin, and his long body shivered in reaction. His hands went to the tie at the front of her boyish shirt and he pulled on the strings. It opened in a deep V, and she raised her arms to help him as he lifted it over her head and threw it aside.

She understood this time, knew exactly where it would lead. And she welcomed it. She wanted it all—the darkness, the passion, the heat. Him.

Her linen shift was tucked into her breeches and her heart thudded against her ribs as he tugged her forward by the waistband. The back of his hand slipped against her stomach as he undid the buttons at the fall.

“These damn things have been driving me mad all night,” he growled.

She toed off her boots and stockings, removed the breeches and her shift, and heard him draw in a deep breath when she stood naked in front of him. The look in his eyes made heat curl low in her belly.

He caught her and kissed her, holding nothing back, and she felt as if she’d been burned, scalded by his kiss, his strong body, and his big hands. He opened his mouth against her, tasting the corner of her lips with his tongue and then plunging deep inside. She threaded her hands through his hair and felt his fingers encircle her wrists. He didn’t push her away; instead, he tightened his grip and held her in place, a thrilling, willing bondage.

Georgie quivered all the way to her bones. Lust dragged her down like a whirlpool, an undertow impossible to resist. She didn’t even want to come up for air. She lost herself in him, inhaled his scent, drew him into her lungs, into her heart.