The desire to throw up her skirts and plunge his fingers deep into her to remind her of how good they were still fired through his veins. Her fingers rested lightly on his forearm as he guided her home. He could only blame the moment of madness—not taking her then and there that was, rather than the kiss itself—on his resolution to prove to her they could have a respectable relationship without marriage. She didn’t need to feel like a mistress, there for his pleasure and nothing else. The truth was, even while their desire burned bright, she had always been more than a mistress to him. They had been friends, confidantes, and lastly, lovers. It was only in the recent months had he not had time to see her for more than a quick bedding. He scowled at himself. Why was that exactly? It was heading into summer so his social life inevitably became busier. But still... He really had been quite an ass. When they arrived at her house, he slowed his pace. A tall gentleman stood at her door.
