She was naked, so she felt every bit of the male body pressed against her back. In a daze, she realized that it was not John. This man was bigger, firmer, and he smelled like a wild storm rather than the lavender-water that John often wore. It took a few minutes for everything to come back to her. It was Kit in her bed—no, not her bed. She was in his bed. Violet’s eyes shot open. She’d lain with a man in the middle of the day, when everyone in her household was running about doing chores. Her cheeks burned and she put her hands up to cover them. How had she let him talk her into this? If she was going to be so reckless, it was better done at night when there was the illusion of privacy and she could walk about her house with dignity. Soft lips brushing over her neck reminded her of how much she’d yearned for Kit, how much she still craved him. Even though he’d spanked her like a child, it was difficult to think back on that without feeling flushed all over. From embarrassment, but also from arousal.
