Never again. Portia’s tortured words haunted Fredrick as he forced himself to bathe and dress for the upcoming meeting with his father. Dash it all. He hadn’t meant to startle her. In truth, he hadn’t expected her to give into his coaxing for a kiss. But once she had . . . His body shuddered at the memory of her hands moving over his chest with those soft, tentative strokes. In that moment he would have given his fortune to have tugged her onto the bed beside him and eased his smoldering frustration in the heat of her body. Instead she had once again bolted, leaving him alone and aching, with no genuine hope of relief in sight. Bloody hell. The woman was enough to drive the most sane man to Bedlam. One moment she was the cold, aloof general who commanded all those around her with crisp precision, and the next she was melting in his arms as if she were a sweet, vulnerable woman who was in dire need of a man’s touch. No doubt if he had a lick of sense he would flee with all possible speed.
