Rake Beyond Redemption. Anne O'Brien

and I should not have done so. Forget what happened.’

      ‘I will not.’ A determination stormed through Marie-Claude, to hold tight to what she believed might be if he would only allow it. ‘If you will not come to me at the Pride, then I must come to you. But you have to agree. I’ll not force myself on you or be a trouble to you.’

      ‘You don’t know what you’re stepping into. You don’t know me.’

      ‘I know what I see,’ she persisted. ‘A man who is brave, who risked his own safety to rescue an unknown woman.’

      ‘And kissed her in an inn parlour. Hardly a reputable act.’

      ‘Yes, you did. And then you took me home to save my reputation, from some ridiculous sense of honour!’

      His lips twisted. ‘Don’t think too well of me.’

      ‘I’ll think what I like, what I know here.’ And Marie-Claude placed her palm flat against her heart.

      For a long moment he looked at her as if he were reading her thoughts, considering an answer. Even searching for a decision. For the length of that moment Marie-Claude thought that he would dismiss her again.

      ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

      ‘I am thinking that, almost, you persuade me, Madame Mermaid.’

      And Zan Ellerdine, for better or worse, made a decision.

      Drawing her close, he released her hands to slide his arms around her waist so that she fit perfectly against him, then lowered his head and laid his mouth against hers. Warm and firm, as was hers in reply. He deliberately kept the pressure gentle, seductive, tender even, sinking into her scent, her soft curves. Even when desire flooded through him, prompting him to pounce and ravage, he maintained the control to keep his demand light. His senses swam and he was suddenly iron-hard, but he lifted his head and smoothed the pad of his thumb over her cheek.

      ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll not come to the Pride. Come here if you wish. I’ll not turn you away. But you must take care—if you tell them at the Pride, they’ll try to turn you away from me.’

      ‘So will you meet with me, Zan?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes. Come to the cliffs. Tomorrow afternoon.’

      ‘Will you call me by my name?’

      ‘I will call you by your name.’ His lips, soft as a breath, devastating as a spear of lightning, a seductive promise on hers. Or was it a warning? Marie-Claude was not sure.

      ‘Adieu, Marie-Claude. Until tomorrow. If you dare…’